Hook (Neverland Novels Book 2)

by Gina L. Maxwell

  When it comes to sex, James is more than happy to initiate things and usually does. But he still isn’t the first one to offer affection outside the bedroom. He’s holding on to that last wall of his for dear life. I’ll knock it down eventually. Until then, it makes my heart melt every time he accepts any tenderness from me.

  Reluctantly, I pull away before all that adrenaline flowing through him switches focus from weightlifting to ass-fucking. It wouldn’t be the first time one of our workouts turned into a sweaty sex fest. But I can’t risk missing my appointment. Too much is at stake.

  As I straighten, his sharp blue gaze follows me up. “Where you going?”

  “Gotta meet Henderson.” Eventually. “Should only be a couple of hours or so.” Ignoring the stab in my heart from the lie, I smile and tack on, “Don’t worry. I’ll be back in plenty of time for us to watch a few episodes of Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives. I know you have a secret thing for Guy Fieri.” I give him a wink and then cross the room to the back door.

  But before I can make a clean getaway, I hear, “Johnathan.”

  His use of my full name flays me with another stab of guilt, because that’s his version of affection, and it feels like I’m tarnishing it with my dishonesty. Fixing a relaxed expression on my face, I turn back. “Yeah?”

  “Everything okay? You just met with Matt yesterday.”

  “Yep, it’s all good. He just has some more things he wants to go over with me.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, but I force a smile for his sake. “I’ll be back soon.”

  I hold my breath as he studies me for several, eternal seconds. When he nods and resumes his presses, I exhale and leave the loft. Twenty minutes later I’m parking Starkey’s bike in front of a warehouse in an abandoned shipyard on the far south end of the city. When I get to the front door of the warehouse on the property, two military looking motherfuckers with AK-47s stop me.

  “Arms out,” the taller guy says, training his weapon on me. The second guy pats me down, easily finding the gun at my back. But then, I wasn’t trying to hide it.

  Satisfied I’m unarmed, they lead me inside into a huge industrial, open space. With a discreet scan, I don’t notice any cameras, but I wouldn’t expect them in this part. That’d be like doing our job for us, recording all the illegal activity for us to use in court.

  The left side of the room has rows of tables with girls in their underwear and bras divvying up the glittery Fairy Dust into one-ounce baggies while armed men keep an eye on them. The scene is one Matt warned me about—the girls are made to work in their underwear so they can’t easily steal the drugs for themselves—but it still enrages me. At least the girls don’t look abused or strung out. It’s possible they’re paid well enough to show up every day and keep their mouths shut, with a healthy dose of fear heaped on for what will happen if they don’t.

  The right side of the space is where the larger quantities—approximately one-pound packages, if I had to guess—are stacked and wrapped in cellophane on pallets. No wonder Croc is pushing Hook for a larger distribution. It’d take us years to sell this much at the local clubs and raves, even if we covered the entire eastern half of North Carolina. Croc needs big dogs like Tannen in major cities dealing this shit if he’s going to move this amount of product.

  Acting totally unfazed, I keep pace with the goons on either side of me as we approach another double-guarded entrance at the back of the warehouse space. My escorts lead me through the steel door into what appears to be the administrative area of the building—or at least it was when the shipyard was operational. For as loud as the area up front is, the back is almost eerily silent. There’s no one roaming around or guarding any of the rooms we pass as we wander through the maze of hallways on our way to wherever Croc is.

  “You guys on the boss’s permanent payroll, or are you one of those ex-mil third-party mercenary type groups?”

  Without turning his head, the guy who almost got a little too personal with my junk earlier says, “If you were supposed to know that, you would.”

  “Can’t argue with that,” I say with a low chuckle, playing into my character’s give-no-fucks attitude.

  We arrive at one of the farthest rooms at the end of a hall, and I can’t help but notice there’s no camera covering the door and no keypad for a coded entry. Either Croc got lazy when he set up an office at this location, or he foolishly thinks that all the guard dogs he has stationed at the different entrances is more than enough security. One of the guards knocks on the door, then lets us in.

  The room is fairly large, maybe twenty-feet-square, but the only piece of furniture in the whole place is a large metal utility desk where Croc is sitting with a money-counting machine and stacks of bills covering the entire surface. If he was a cartoon character right now, he’d be Scrooge McDuck, gleefully swimming in a silo of his own money.

  “JD, it’s good to see you.” The smarmy grin on his face tells me he’s not lying. Whether it’s sheer curiosity or he’s legitimately glad I called, I’m not sure.

  “Appreciate you seeing me on such short notice.”

  “Nonsense. I’m always happy to discuss business with my employees. That is what you want to discuss, isn’t it? Business?”

  “That’s right. More specifically, my role in yours. But I’d rather not speak in front of Thing 1 and Thing 2,” I say, tipping my head toward his guard dogs.

  Croc laughs and slaps his hands on the only open space on his desk in front of him. “I like you, McRae.”

  When he nods at his goons to leave, I hold out my hand and add, “But I’d like my piece back first.” The men stop, and the one holding my gun snorts. I arch a brow at Croc. “Come on. If I wanted you dead, I sure as fuck wouldn’t do it in a place crawling with Rambo wannabes.”

  Croc flicks his hand, and the guy reluctantly returns my 9 mil before leaving the office. As soon as I feel the metal tucked against the small of my back, I breathe a little easier. Not that I’d stand a chance against the firepower under Croc’s command, but after carrying a sidearm for so many years, I feel like I’m missing a limb without it.

  Steepling his hands over his protruding gut, my mark studies me carefully. “Now, why don’t you have a seat and tell me what I can do for you.”

  The man’s clever, choosing words to lower my defenses, as though I’m the one with the power and he’s just here to help me. Like he gives two shits about me or what I want. He’s only interested in what it is that I can do for him. Which is exactly how I’m playing this.

  “It’s what I can do for you. Running the Dust is a decent gig and all, but it’s not really my thing. Hook and the other guys seem content with the party perks that come along with selling in the clubs. I’m just used to a more…serious job, if you know what I mean.”

  He makes a low sound of understanding. “Like the kind you used to do in the Scavengers?”

  “That’d be great, for sure. I enjoyed being one of Dante’s enforcers, and I was damn good at my job.” Dante Ellis was the head of the Scavengers until the gang was brought down last year. Now he’s serving eighty to life in a maximum-security prison, so I’m relatively safe throwing his name around. “But Dante had plans to expand into a new business—plans only a few of us knew about—and I thought maybe someone with good business sense, like yourself, would be interested to know what it was. Because the money potential is ten times what you’re doing with the Fairy Dust.”

  “And what was Dante so interested in?” he asks, narrowing his eyes slightly.

  I stare him dead in the eyes. “Girls.”

  His eyebrows wing up his forehead before he catches himself. His expression smooths out and melts into one of smug pride, even as he keeps his cards close to the vest. “What about girls, exactly?”

  “You know,” I say, letting a wicked grin curve my lips. “Acquiring the ones who won’t be missed but still have teeth in their head and keeping them in a place where they can offer specific services to a certain clientele willing to p
ay top dollar for an hour or two of the girls’ time.”

  Croc rises and walks around his desk to stand in front of me. Crossing his arms, he leans back on the edge. “What does Hook think about that?”

  I snort. “I didn’t say anything about this to Hook or any of his crew. No offense to your top guy or anything, but I don’t think he’s got the stomach to run much more than drugs.” Putting my hands up, I add, “No disrespect—all the Pirates are good at moving Dust—but dealing in girls is a whole different animal. I was set to head up Dante’s operation before he got pinched. Now I’d like to do the same for you and make us a shit ton of money.”

  “I like the way you think, JD. Come on, I have something to show you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  John

  Outwardly, I’m calm and unaffected as I follow Croc out of the office, through several hallways, and up a back set of stairs to a second level. But on the inside, I’m cautious, wary, and nervous. Hearing about possible scenarios in a briefing is nothing like staring at the reality. I haven’t even seen anything yet, and I already feel the difference.

  The second floor is only a third of the size as the rest of the building with a single hallway flanked by four doors on each side. But instead of the typical wooden office doors downstairs, these are thick metal ones with small windows. Croc leads me to the first door on the right and gestures for me to peer inside, so I do.

  Shock, rage, guilt, more rage…all of it slams into me as I stare at a girl with matted blonde hair lying on a mattress that sits on the dirty floor wearing nothing but her bra and underwear. The rest of her body is covered in glitter. She’s alive—thankfully her chest is rising with her breaths—but she’s listless with dilated pupils and a blank stare.

  I whistle like I’m impressed, like I’m not holding myself back from putting my fist through his wretched fucking face. “Are all these rooms occupied?”

  “Yep. I have a whole stable of girls. This is my first batch, but I plan to have a steady rotation. In a couple of weeks, I’m transporting them by ship to my contact in Brazil. Then I’ll get a new batch of girls, make money on them for about a month while they’re here, and get even more money once I sell them to my associate. Rinse and repeat,” he ends with an evil chuckle.

  I smile wide. “Damn, Croc. Here I thought I was bringing something valuable to the table and you’re already way ahead of me. Don’t I feel like an asshole.”

  He claps me on the shoulder and squeezes. His touch makes me sick, and it takes all my control not to shake free of his grip. “Nah. Just proves you’re exactly the kind of guy I’m looking for to run this. You’re right, Hook’s too much of a pussy for this sort of thing.”

  Pretending I want to check out the rest of the merchandise, I walk down the hall so I don’t lose my shit and choke him out just for insulting James. “Where do you get them? From the clubbers buying the Dust?”

  “That was the original idea, but it’s too risky. The boys took a couple of them before I changed protocol to girls who don’t have anyone to report them missing. Hookers and runaways, mostly. The Fairy Dust is a good side hustle and a distraction for law enforcement to draw their focus from the real moneymaker.”

  “Fucking smart.” I’m hating myself a little more with every compliment I give this demented asshole. Every room I pass has another girl in it, just like he said. That one is crying softly…the next one is pacing and talking to herself or to someone who can’t hear her…the one after that is covered in bruises and rocking in the corner… Christ, I feel sick to my stomach. I want to knock Croc unconscious and find a way to get every single one of them out of here.

  But I can’t. No matter how badly I want to save them, I can’t. Not yet. Not like this. But so help me God, I will. Soon. I need to go back to my team with what I’ve found so we can get all the proper clearance to plan a bust and arrest him for his myriad of crimes. Putting him behind bars for life is the only way I free James and Starkey for good and prevent Croc from selling girls into sexual slavery.

  Too deep in my musings, I don’t realize I’ve stopped at the last door until Croc speaks. “She’s a sweet piece of ass, huh?”

  Mentally chastising myself for getting distracted for even the briefest of moments in this man’s presence, I play the part of leering asshole and look in on the girl. She is beautiful, or she would be if she didn’t look so gaunt and sad sitting in the corner and staring at the wall. Her raven hair hangs limp around her shoulders, and her cheeks are sunken in, making the angles of her face and jaw appear sharper than they should be. Like the other girls, she’s stripped down to her underwear and covered in glitter.

  “Definitely the hottest out of the ones I’ve seen so far,” I manage to say with lust lacing my words. As though she hears me, she turns her head and locks her pale green eyes onto me through the window. Unnerved, I tear my attention from her and set it on Croc. “What’s with the glitter? You got them all on Dust or something?”

  He shrugs. “It makes them more enthusiastic about their jobs, but we only give it to them during business hours. Daytime is when I run the drug side of things; then at night, I clear everyone downstairs out of the building and open the second-floor business. The men who know about my live merchandise enter through a separate entrance in the back of the building. Payment is handled downstairs, then they’re allowed up to make their choice of companion. There’s a guard who stays up here to let the clients in and out of the rooms and to make sure they don’t get out of hand.”

  “Sounds like you’ve thought of everything. I’m impressed.”

  “You should be. Care to take her for a test drive?” he asks, nodding to the brunette.

  My stomach turns at the idea of taking advantage of her even for the purpose of keeping up pretenses. But if he’s going to leave me inside the room to do my thing with her, I can get photographic evidence before I hightail it out of here.

  “How much?”

  “Free of charge this time. Let’s call it a sign-on bonus.”

  Giving him a wicked grin, I say, “That’s awfully fucking generous of you, boss, thanks.”

  Using a set of keys he takes out from his pocket, Croc unlocks the door and walks over to her. Before I can see what he’s doing, he’s dipped her thumb into a baggie of Fairy Dust and smeared it on her arm.

  “That’ll perk her right up. She’s all yours,” he says, standing up and sweeping his arm in her direction like he’s Vanna White showcasing my prize.

  Shit. I hate that he drugged her again, but there’s nothing I can do now except maybe stay with her until she comes down from it to make sure she doesn’t have a bad reaction to this dose. I saunter past him, my gait easy and unhurried. I don’t hear him leave or close the door, but I wouldn’t care about that as a lawless, immoral man who’s about to sink inside of a woman—willing or not—so I keep my focus on her.

  Beauty, as I’ve come to think of her, tilts her head and watches me with deadened eyes and a faraway stare. She’s not scared or upset, not crying or pleading with me to stay away. No, she’s resigned, and that’s so much worse. She’s given up. Given up hope that she’ll be rescued, that she’ll be back with her loved ones, that she’ll ever have autonomy over her body and actions again. I want to destroy the man responsible for the defeat I see in her green gaze and for the destruction he’s wreaked on so many innocent souls, including James and all the Lost Boys years ago.

  Then it happens. The drug starts to take hold, and her demeanor changes drastically. Her green eyes are now glassy as she drags her hands over her body and into her hair like she can’t get enough of touching and being touched. But even though she’s in an altered state that makes her restless and aching with manufactured desire, she stares at me with wariness and fear for what comes next, and it kills me.

  For the first time in my life, I’m not viewed as the savior. Usually I’m the one coming in to put the bad guy in his place and rescue the victim. I’ve had people look at me with relief,
gratitude, and even begrudging acceptance. But I’ve never had anyone watch me like I’m a hungry wolf advancing on my prey. I hate that the man behind me has put me in this position, that he’s made me a predator in the eyes of this woman. I hate everything about this moment.

  I wrack my brain for a way out of this. The only plan I can think of is to make my intentions convincing enough that Croc leaves me to it. Bringing her up to her feet, I press her against the wall and bury my face in her neck. I hear the faintest whimper escape her lips, and hope surges through me. She’s not completely gone. There’s still a part of her left to save. And with time and care, maybe the rest of her can be brought back, too.

  Being careful to be quiet enough so only she hears me, I speak directly in her ear. “Shhhh, it’s okay, sweetheart. I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.”

  Taking a step back, I start to undo my belt, then look over and act as if I’m just now realizing Croc is still in the room. “You get off on watching or something?”

  “Maybe,” he says with a devilish smirk. “Or maybe I just want to make sure you’re the real deal. No room for soft hearts or soft dicks on my crew, JD.”

  “Ain’t nothin’ soft about me, Croc.”

  All traces of amusement fall away as he glares at me in challenge. “Prove it.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Hook

  I knew John was lying before he ever stepped foot outside the loft; I just didn’t know why. I still don’t. I only know where he went. Instead of the meeting with his handler like he claimed, I knew that John went to the warehouse, courtesy of the GPS tracker on his “JD” phone. I can track every one of my Pirates. I don’t have to do it often, but I’ve had to check up on all of them at one point or another.