The Wrong Girl (John Taylor Book 3)

by Travis Starnes

  “You better,” she said, her voice level and completely serious.

  They left the hotel, her following a few steps behind him, toward the warehouse. There wasn’t any sign that something significant was happening, at least from the outside of the building. When he knocked, the guard from earlier in the afternoon opened the door, a look of recognition flashing across his face. This didn’t stop him from frisking him, both physically and with the wand metal detector, just as before.

  He, however, didn’t check Kara, which struck Taylor as a mistake, although one he hadn’t been prepared for and so hadn’t taken advantage of. Inside the small entry room were two more guards, one of whom opened the door to the big room on the other side.

  There were several men already inside, most of whom were gathered in the center of the room. One large man was near the door that led to where the girls were held, talking to Mr. Middle Management. Taylor stood, Kara behind him, separate from the rest, waiting for it to start when one of the men walked up to him.

  “It’s unusual for someone to bring a girl when they’re about to buy new ones.”

  “I got here earlier today, and am back to see if they have any more of similar quality,” Taylor said, the words feeling like ash in his mouth.

  “You bought before the auction?”

  “Apparently. I actually hadn’t known the auction was tonight when I first arranged the purchase. I received my invite after.”

  “I wonder if I can set up a preview next time. She is much better than they’ve had in the past. It’s a shame you were unable to poach her.”

  Taylor held out his hands in a ‘what can you do’ gesture.

  “Gerasimov,” he said, holding out his hand.

  “John,” Taylor said, shaking the man’s sweaty, almost greasy, hand.

  “American?”

  “Yes.”

  “You are full of surprises.”

  “I’m a factor for private clients,” Taylor said, by way of explanation.

  “Ahh,” he said, seeming to understand what Taylor was implying which made Taylor wonder how common this kind of thing was.

  Their conversation was cut off by a sound system turning on. Looking toward the stage, Taylor saw the middle manager walking away from the fat man in the loose suit toward the stage. Just as he’d looked up, Taylor thought he’d seen red hair disappearing into the door where the girls were kept, but he wasn’t sure. He wanted to turn and see if Kara had seen it, but he knew that would have been a mistake. Once he’d explained why she was with him, the other man had completely ignored her, as if she were furniture.

  “Gentlemen, we have some fine products for you today,” the man on stage was now saying as if these girls were nothing more than cattle. “First up . . .”

  He went right into the virtues of the first girl, who was being walked from the door to the stage. Several more men had come in since Taylor had been standing there, although the fat man remained by the door.

  One after another, girls were brought to the stage, stripped, and their virtues listed in one of the most disgusting displays Taylor had ever seen. The men bid on various girls based on criteria that Taylor couldn’t work out. Sometimes they bid against each other, other times only one man bid and got the girl cheaply.

  On stage, each girl was responding to commands in Russian, which ruled out any of them being the newly taken Americans, which probably meant Kara had been right. Taylor just happened to be looking at the door to the girl’s room when, while one girl was on stage being displayed, he saw the door open, and Mary Jane step out.

  It was only for a moment, and the fat man nodded, then followed her and the guard with her through the door. She looked terrified and had a bruise on her neck that was still relatively fresh, with a deep purple color. She was pushed forcefully through the door by the guard, followed by the fat man, who pulled the door closed behind them.

  Taylor started to head to the door but was pulled up short by a guard by the wall who made eye contact with him, lifting the small sub-machine gun threateningly. Taylor stood, watching as more girls were paraded through, waiting for his chance to talk to the manager.

  Some of the guys ended up buying multiple girls, others just one or two, and it seemed almost all the girls were purchased. And he had yet to see any who didn’t seem to speak Russian. Finally, the manager wrapped up and stepped off the stage.

  Taylor made a beeline for him, keeping eyes on the guard who had been watching him the whole time. Taylor felt a knot in his stomach when the guard made the same move toward the manager. Taylor desperately wished he was armed. More so when the guard reached the manager and held up a hand for Taylor to wait, and leaning over to whisper something in the man’s ear. Listening, the manager nodded and waved Taylor forward.

  “I’m told something caught your interest?”

  “Yes. I saw a girl a while ago. She never came on stage, but she is exactly what my client is looking for.”

  “All of the girls we have for sale were presented.”

  “Maybe she wasn’t ready for sale yet. I understand there are things you have to do to make sure they are ready and meet your standards, and I won’t hold you to any difficulty I receive from them. My client actually likes it when they’re . . . . more challenging.”

  “Yes, we do encounter that sometimes,” he said with a smile. “I’m sure we can arrange something. Which girl did you see?”

  “I was quite far away, but similar to my previous purchase, she had red hair and freckles.”

  “I’m sorry, but she’s already been purchased.”

  “That’s too bad. Maybe if I could talk to the man who purchased her. My client is very particular, and I’m sure I could make it worth his while to take her off his hands.”

  “That’s not possible,” he said, his mask falling away, showing a look of contempt and annoyance.

  “Just ask him. Tell him I am willing to pay significantly more than he paid for her.”

  “No. Our auction has now ended, and I think it’s best if you leave.”

  The man started to move away, and Taylor reached out, grabbing him by the elbow.

  “Please, she’s perfect for my client. I’m sure—”

  He ripped his arm from Taylor and looked at the guard, tossing his head in the direction of the door. The guard began pushing Taylor toward the exit, and Taylor reacted. It was a stupid reaction, and he knew he was losing the calm composure that normally served him well in heightened situations. But this wasn’t a gunfight, and he was far enough out of his element that he was off balance. Taylor pushed back against the man, his hand pushing the gun into the man’s stomach.

  Strangely, the man didn’t immediately try to rip the gun free but instead looked over Taylor's shoulder. Taylor’s head turned, following his line of sight, just in time to see the butt of a rifle headed for his head.

  Taylor felt a sharp impact on the side of his skull, then the lights went out.

  CHAPTER 12

  As consciousness returned, Taylor felt a dull ache which consumed his entire body. His head burned like it was on fire, pain radiating from the side of his skull. Eyes still closed, his hand reached out, and felt matted hair. The blood had dried completely. Taylor cracked his eyes open, trying to gauge how long he’d been out.

  The answer was, he’d been out for a while. His eyes were blurry, and the light that filled the room made his aching head throb more. The one thing that was readily apparent was that the light was daylight, streaming in through a window. That meant he’d been out for ten hours, minimum, which was bad.

  As his eyes started to focus, fighting off what he hoped wasn’t concussion, Taylor realized he recognized the window. Looking around he confirmed he’d been moved into his room at the hotel, and tossed on the bed. He sat up, and groaned, trying to work out what had happened. Being in the room he rented didn’t make sense. He remembered going for the guard, going after Mary Jane on an impulse, and being dropped by another one of the guards. He also
noted that Kara wasn’t with him, meaning either she’d run for it, or they’d decided to take her back. Since they’d been inside the warehouse, running didn’t make sense, so they must have taken her with them. But the fact he wasn’t dead meant she hadn’t spilled the beans on him, or at least not yet.

  So they thought he was pushy and aggressive, but still believed he was a buyer for an unnamed series of clients. Maybe they had decided to get rid of Taylor permanently but it was too risky, not knowing his client, and they chose to dump him as a better alternative.

  Pressing a hand to his head and fighting back the nausea that was threatening to take over, Taylor pushed all those thoughts away. They were all maybe, could be, and didn’t matter one way or another. He was alive, he didn’t have Mary Jane, and Kara, who he had started to feel responsible for, was missing.

  A thought jerked his head up, looking toward the vent, which was closed. Unscrewing it, he pulled out his real IDs, his gun, and his sat phone. That was something, at least.

  He was startled when the satellite phone rang, just staring at it, trying to get the thought of it ringing past his still fuzzy brain, then lifting it to see the numbers on the caller id screen. It didn’t mean anything to him, beyond the country code not being either Russian or US.

  “Hello,” he said, finally picking it up.

  “You’re alive,” a relief filled voice said.

  “Who . . .” Taylor said, trying to place the unknown voice.

  “It’s Kara. We don’t have time, they’ll be back soon.”

  “How did you know to call?” Taylor said dumbly again, fighting his brain to get into gear. He was still shaken enough to be having trouble picking up on things, but he’d managed to shake loose enough to recognize how slow he was being, which is a frustrating combination.

  “The back of your phone had instructions for calling. I memorized the number when I was in your room talking to you.”

  The phone had only been out in the open for a few minutes while she was in the room. She must have an amazing memory if she’d managed to memorize the calling instructions and the phone numbers so quickly. Combined with how quick she had been during the few hours they’d been together, Taylor couldn’t help but think this girl was something of a genius. An actual one and not just what you’d call someone who was clever.

  “I talked the man who purchased your friend into taking me with him. I know we crossed the border, but I have no idea where you are. I will try to call you when I know where we’re going, but I’m with her.”

  Taylor’s brain finally caught up, “Are you OK?”

  He heard her make a sound on the other end, but her voice remained forceful when she spoke, “I’m fine. The girl is too, for now. They are waiting to get her back to wherever home is for the fun to start.”

  “Is it just the three of you?”

  “No, it's fatso, some men, and your girl. There are almost ten men with guns, mostly the men guarding the auction, and Timor.”

  Taylor could hear the fear creep into her voice at Timor’s name. She had made it clear she was afraid of him and wanted to stay far away from him. His being there meant something though. Timor wasn’t just some flunky, he was involved in the entire smuggling operation, according to Reznikov, which meant the fat man was also someone of note. It also explained why so many of the guards had left the warehouse, which opened some options for Taylor.

  “Try to stay away from Timor," Taylor said.

  “I always try to stay away from him, but when Timor calls for you, you don’t say no. And the way he looks at me . . .”

  “I’ll find out where you’re going and come for you. Stay with Mary Jane, that’s the girl's name, and I’ll come for you.”

  “You’re going to owe me more than money for this.”

  “I’m good for it. I promise I won't leave you behind with them.”

  “I have to . . .” she started to say, and the phone went dead.

  He hoped that was because she'd had to hang up in haste, and not a sign that something had happened to her. He had meant what he said. When Taylor went down, Kara had placed herself next to Mary Jane and managed to stick with her and still get a message back to Taylor. That was not only brave, but it was also damn impressive. If this came off, the only reason would be because of Kara, and he wouldn’t forget that.

  He also had a direction now. If there were more than ten of the guards from the warehouse, that meant the warehouse was almost empty, which completely changed his earlier calculations. Taylor’s bag had been strewn across the room, but his clothes were all still there, at least. Feeling the pockets of his jacket, he wasn’t surprised to find the money in there the night before was missing. But that was a problem for down the road.

  Taylor found his extra clips inside of a rolled-up pair of underwear that had been overlooked, which is why Taylor had hidden them there. Clipping the holster to his belt, where it would be hidden by the coat, sliding the clips into one coat pocket and the sat phone into another, Taylor headed out of the room, ready to start getting some justice, finally.

  Once he was outside Taylor could see the sun was still very low in the sky, meaning it was still early. He hoped that meant he wasn’t too far behind the girls. Knocking on the warehouse door, Taylor waited, gripping the gun in his pocket.

  “You aren’t welcome here,” the guard from before said.

  Taylor took a sudden step forward, putting his hand in the center of the man’s chest and pushed, using his body weight to force the guard through the doorway. At the same time, he withdrew the pistol from his pocket, holding it back enough to make it a reach if the man wanted to go for it.

  It was a terrible shooting position, guaranteeing horrible aim and incredibly slow recovery time, but at this distance, none of that would matter to the guard.

  “Move,” Taylor said in a flat, dangerous voice.

  Seeing the gun, the man’s eyes went wide, and he backpedaled, almost tripping over the door jamb. No one was in the small entry room as Taylor crossed into the warehouse, letting the door swing shut behind him. Giving the man another push, Taylor stepped back, getting a better hold on his gun.

  “Turn around.”

  The guard glared but did as he was instructed. Taylor stepped forward quickly, pulled the gun at the man’s hip out of the holster with his left hand, then retreated to his original position.

  “Let’s go,” Taylor said.

  The man started marching toward the door to the large open room where the auction had taken place. As the guard turned the knob and started pushing the door open, Taylor kicked a foot out flat against the man’s rear and pushed hard. It left Taylor off-balance, his leg far extended, forcing him into an almost lunge to recover, which didn’t particularly matter since the only person close enough to take advantage of the situation was hurtling forward, having crashed through the door, hands already thrown forward to keep his face from smacking into the warehouse's concrete floor.

  Taylor bent his back leg, then powered through the now opened door behind the still falling guard, into the large room. Inside he found five additional men present, not counting the guard who had just been added to the mix. To his left, about fifteen feet away were two men, holding a third, who was bleeding from the nose and a split lip. A third guard was holding the bleeding man had his hand still raised in the air, the punch he had intended to land stopping as his attention was torn toward the door Taylor appeared through.

  Across the room, standing next to the door that led to where the girls were held, was another guard, a gun cradled in his arm. Since he had a gun at the ready, Taylor identified him as the immediate threat and aiming the gun in his right hand, he fired twice. It was a risk since the walls were not very thick, and a bullet through one could end with a dead girl on the other side. Thankfully, both bullets impacted where Taylor aimed. The grouping was wide, with one hitting dead center in the man’s chest and the other impacting into his shoulder, but it was good enough.

  The
surprise was nearly total when he’d entered the room, the falling guard being the only warning any of the men in the room had that something was happening. The guard by the girls’ door never even lifted his weapon, only having the opportunity to look shocked before he dropped, sliding down the wall, leaving a red streak to show his passing.

  Taylor’s head swiveled like a turret to the three guards and their victim to his left, bringing the gun in his right hand around even as he pulled the trigger on the weapon taken from the first guard.

  The side of the head of the guard whose fist was raised in the air, still poised as he gaped at Taylor, exploded in a spray of brain and blood, splattering the three men he’d been standing in front of.