by McLean, Jay
“See, at the start of the game, it can be two steps forward, one step back, but in the end, we all have the same goal, right?”
“And what’s that?”
The sound of my knuckles cracking fills the cab. “To take down the empire.”
“This motherfucker,” he murmurs to Neilson before turning to me. “What are your requests?”
“I have two.”
“Of course you do.”
I stare out the window, watch the world fly by as we pass Logan Square. “I need access to Bailey,” I tell them. “Unlimited and unmanned.”
“That’s not going to happen,” says Neilson.
Ignoring him, I say, “You guys are busy. I’m sure you can’t always be there for her, but I can. I need to be her first point of contact.”
“You need to be, huh?”
I exhale, low and slow, and let my shoulders fall with the force of it. “No one’s going to care more about her safety than me—”
Neilson clears his throat.
“—and this way, if anything happens, if she’s somehow found out, it’s not tied to you, and you can carry on with your investigation. No one has to know your involvement in the bigger picture.” I sit taller. “It’ll just look like I put her there to stop Parker from getting info on me for the detective.”
Neilson makes a sharp left while Perceval ponders this information. Dropping his head, he grips the back of his neck. “Give him the phone,” he tells Neilson.
My pulse skips a beat.
Neilson white knuckles the steering wheel. “No.”
“Give him the goddamn phone,” Perceval deadpans.
Neilson glances at me before focusing on the road again. “Give us the girl first.”
Fuck this shit. “Drop me off here.”
“Neilson, hand it over.” Perceval’s words are an order this time.
Neilson reaches into his suit jacket pocket and reveals an old flip phone. “A burner?” I ask.
Perceval nods. “Neilson’s been using it to keep in contact since she moved into the apartment. She’s under Madison.”
“Madison?”
“That’s her name now,” he informs. “The contact in hers is Sara.”
I flip open the phone and go through the contacts. The only one in there is Madison.
“What’s your second request?” Perceval asks.
We drive past the salon again. We’re going in circles.
I tell him, “Short of murdering someone, Tiny and Ashton are granted immunity from everything.”
He turns to me, his eyebrow quirked. “And you?”
“I really couldn’t give a shit what happens to me.” Besides, I don’t plan on being around for the downfall.
After grabbing a notepad and pen from his pocket, he says, “I’ll start the paperwork, but I need full names.”
“Can’t you look that up?”
He rolls his eyes. “I can, but you’re right fucking here, so...”
“Mark Angelo Wade.”
“And?”
I stare down at my knuckles, bloodied and bruised from going one-on-one with a hundred-pound bag. “Ashton Elena DeLuca.”
He stops writing, glances up at me. “I don’t know if I can make full immunity work.”
“You’re going to have to.”
“I need something more here, DeLuca,” he says, shoving his notepad and pen back in his pocket. “You know this business. It’s give and take.”
“You give me your word you’ll do what you can, and not only will I give you the girl, but I’ll give you the addresses of every drug house linked to Franco.”
“I told you,” says Perceval, “we’re not interested in the drugs.”
Shrugging, I tell him, “I figure at some point the girls probably age out, become too used, too damaged. Where do you think they throw them after that? If Bailey…” I trail off, the instant ache in my chest making it impossible to finish the thought.
“All right,” Perceval says with a nod. “We’ll get the DEA involved so it doesn’t come back to us.”
A beat passes before Neilson speaks up. “Want to tell me where the fuck I’m going?”
“Multi-level parking garage on Sixth.” I flip open the phone again, go through the call log. There are dozens of back and forth calls between them, not a single one missed.
“What floor?” Neilson asks.
I check the messages, and all air leaves my lungs.
“DeLuca?” Neilson yells. I look up at him through the rear-view, watch as his eyes flick to the phone in my hand. His brow dips, and his lips thin to a line. He knows exactly what I’m seeing, but he won’t say it out loud.
“Third floor,” I mutter, holding his gaze.
When he looks away, I go back to the phone, to the last set of messages:
Madison: I met a Ky.
Sara: Good.
Madison: I miss you.
Sara: Me too.
Chapter 21
Sara: Fire escape.
Madison: It’s locked. Don’t worry.
Sara: Which room gives you access again?
Madison: Bedroom. Why?
Sara: Flick the light on and off twice.
Madison: ?
Sara: Just do it.
With a yawn, I check the time. It’s close to midnight, and even though the bed should be where I lay my head down to sleep, I just can’t find comfort in it. Rubbing my eyes, I get off the couch, move to the bedroom, and do what a good little pawn is supposed to do. I flick the light on and off twice.
Madison: And?
I stare at the phone, waiting for a response. When nothing comes after a minute or so, I start to head back to the living room, but a knock on the window stops me. Then a text comes through.
Sara: Let me in.
There’s no reason why Brent should be here this late. Not unless it’s an emergency. Urgency pulses through my veins, and I rush to the window and part the curtains. My heart stills when I see him. He’s leaning against the railing, his gaze down, face lit up by the phone in his hand, and when he looks up, those dark, dark eyes pin me to my spot, making it impossible to breathe.
The corners of his lips lift when he takes me in, and without thinking, I run a hand through my hair. Pathetic really, because I shouldn’t care what I look like, especially to Nathaniel DeLuca.
“You going to open up?”
I have to remind myself that right now, he’s not the enemy. We’re fighting the same fight… and for some reason, he has Brent’s phone or at least access to it. I slide the window up as far as it will go, then take a step back.
“Expecting someone else?” When I don’t respond, he pulls back an inch, looks me up and down this time. “You were sleeping.”
“No, I wasn’t,” I lie, crossing my arms over my chest. “What are you doing here?”
“You were totally sleeping.” There’s a playfulness in his tone that ignites a warmth of familiarity deep in my chest. “You’ve got those eyes.”
I blink. “What eyes?” And what the hell is he doing here?
“Those tired eyes,” he tells me, pushing off the railing. He leans in closer, his gaze fixed on mine. “You used to get them when I’d come home late. You’d pretend you weren’t tired so we could spend some time together. But then you’d pass out the moment you were in my arms, and I’d stay awake for hours just watching you sleep.”
I can’t look at him anymore. Can’t face the man I once loved and now loathe. “You can’t do this.” I wish my words came out stronger than they do, but my voice wobbled. My strength wavered.
“Do what, Bai?”
“This,” I say, blindly motioning toward him. “You can’t come here and pretend as if nothing happened between us. Like we’re just two normal people who loved each other once upon a time.”
He’s quiet a beat, and when I look up at him, he’s already watching me, his brow knitted. He doesn’t even try to hide the pain in his eyes.
I hate this.
&
nbsp; With a heavy sigh, I ask, “What are you doing here, Nate?”
“Come for a ride with me.”
A disbelieving snort bursts from my lips. “You’re insane.” I reach up to close the window, but his hand circles my wrist, not harsh, but just enough to get my attention. To set off goosebumps across my flesh. I choke on a shuddering breath and meet his eyes again.
“Maybe,” he says, the corners of his mouth ticking up. He shifts his hand until we’re palm to palm. His fingers close around mine, capturing my touch. Large and strong against small and weak. “Feel like being a little insane with me?”
And that weakness pulls me into him, leads me to say, my words barely a whisper, “Yes.”
Sitting behind the wheel of a car I don’t recognize, Nate asks, “What are you thinking, Bai?”
What am I thinking? I’m thinking that the lights of the nightlife that keep passing us by are too bright for my eyes. That the low hum of whatever song is playing is making me antsy. And I can’t stop looking out the window, searching for strangers and wondering if they have a home to go to or if they’re lost, like I used to be, trying to find a safe place to sleep for the night.
I hate this.
I ask, facing him, “Where are we going?”
Loosening his grip on the steering wheel, he glances at me quickly. “Trust me.”
I scoff.
“What?” he asks, slowing down at a red light. When we’re stopped, he turns his entire body toward me, his back against the door. “You don’t trust me?”
I shake my head. “Not even a little bit.” Lie.
He blows out a breath, his cheeks puffing with the force. “I thought about you every day, Bailey.”
“Funny.” I disconnect from his penetrating gaze. “I waited for you every day, and yet…”
The car starts moving again, and I face my window, close off my airways so the sob doesn’t escape. I keep my eyes closed, keep my liquid agony hidden.
I hate this.
“I’m here now,” he murmurs. But he’s too late, and it’s not enough. It will never be enough.
I don’t know how long we drive for before the car stops again. “We’re here,” he says.
Here is the parking lot of an old warehouse with no other cars in sight. The only lights are from the street lamps. We’re secluded. No one would hear me scream, not that I would. “Feel like holding a gun to my head again?”
“Jesus Christ,” he whispers, and I turn to him. He’s shaking his head, slowly, slowly, his eyes searching mine. “That was before.”
“Before what?” I almost scoff. “Before you kidnapped me and held me captive for a year and a half?” Those words had never left my mouth before, had never once infiltrated my mind. Not until Brent used them to summarize my time with Nate once I’d explained everything to him.
Nate’s no longer looking at me. No longer searching my eyes for something that isn’t there. “I thought I’d give you a driving lesson.”
“What?” The loudness of my voice makes him flinch.
He responds, his tone even, “The one thing I wanted to give you when we were… whatever… is some form of normalcy. I couldn’t give it to you then, no matter how hard I tried. But I can do it now.”
I have nothing to say, so I stay quiet.
“You owe me nothing—”
“I know.”
“—but it would mean a lot if you could give me this one thing before...”
“Before what?”
I follow his gaze to his lap, where his hands sit, the skin around his knuckles flexing when he fists them. They’re bruised, almost identical, as if they’d been in a fight with each other. As if he’d been in a fight with himself. “Before I lose you one last time.”
Chapter 22
“I’m driving!” she all but squeals, bouncing in her seat.
“I mean, you’re going around in circles at five miles an hour—” She throws a glare my way, and I can’t help but grin. “Look at you! You’re totally driving.”
I thought the hard part of all of this would be convincing her to leave her apartment and come with me. It turns out, I was wrong. The hard part was getting her used to which pedal was the brake and which was the accelerator. For the first fifteen minutes, she sat behind the wheel, and the starting and stopping and whiplash were constant. But she’s figured it out now—kind of.
It’s been worth it, though.
Swear, at one point, I actually saw her smile. Maybe even heard her laugh. She tried to hide it with a cough, but it was there.
I think.
She hits the brakes, and I instinctively reach out, place my hand on the dash.
“Sorry,” she murmurs, looking behind us. There’s a car pulling into the lot, but it stops short of coming all the way in. Instead, it reverses out and goes back the way it came.
I saw it coming, knew it was there. “You look scared,” I state, and her eyes meet mine, wide and wary.
“Aren’t you?” She looks down at the gear shift before attempting to put the car in park. She struggles, so I cover her hand with mine and do it for her. As soon as it’s done, she pulls away completely. As far away as possible. With her back to the door, she asks, “What if someone sees you with me?”
“They won’t,” I assure. “And I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. Besides, you shouldn’t be worried about me. What if someone recognizes you?”
She shrugs.
“I mean it, Bailey. Aren’t you scared? You were in that house one minute and gone the next. After a fuckin’ raid, don’t you think they’re out there looking for you?”
“Shouldn’t you know if they are?”
And that’s the part that fucks me up the most. “Obviously, I’m only fed what they want me to know.”
Bailey reaches over, turns down the radio before pinning me with her glare. “What does it feel like, to know that your literal partner in crime is now your enemy?”
“I’m not stupid,” I mumble, flexing my hands again.
Her head cocks to the side. “What do you mean?”
“I was sixteen when my dad died.” I take a steady breath, and then another. “The first thing Benny did after his funeral was offer to take me under his wing. He said we’d be partners. Equal share of the business. He’d work behind the scenes, and I’d be the face. The front.” I pause, make sure she’s taking in everything I’m saying. She nods for me to continue, and so I do. “I was a sixteen-year-old orphan with nothing and no one, and he took advantage of that… and he’s been taking advantage of that ever since.” I know who I am to them, what I am. I should’ve seen it coming—the security cameras, using her as collateral— I should’ve seen it all. But it’s too late now.
Besides, regrets are useless.
Revenge, on the other hand…
“I’m not stupid,” I repeat. “I’m just biding my time…”
“Until what?” Bailey’s voice is barely a whisper.
Until I kill him.
I keep that thought to myself, and instead, I tell her something I’ve been meaning to say ever since I saw her in Perceval’s office. “Bailey, I just… I need you to know that I had no idea. About them taking you, or where you’ve been or… the fucking trafficking. I didn’t know…” And I’m sorry, I don’t say, because sorry won’t cut it, and neither will this one night together.
She stares at me, her eyes searching mine, and I hope she finds the truth beneath my heartache. “I know,” she finally says, her gaze dropping to her lap. “I can’t make sense of a lot of things that have happened to me, and I don’t know why you couldn’t just say goodbye instead of having Tiny take me in the middle of the night at fucking gunpoint.” I flinch at her words, the sting so intense it creates a physical ache. “I assume it’s because you’re a coward…” she trails off, waiting for my response, and all I can do is nod because she’s right about all of it. “But I like to think that I know you, or knew you at least. I know that you’d never take part in something so hei
nous. That’s why I agreed to help with the investigation.”
I take in her words, then ask, “So you had a choice?”
“Of course, I did.”
I nod once. “And after everything I did to you, you still believe there’s some good in me?”
Fuck, she’s beautiful. Even in the way her uncertainty clings to her actions. The way she shrugs. The way her eyes can only meet mine for seconds at a time. The way she chews her lip when she says, “I don’t know what I believe.” It’s wrong to be having these thoughts, to be consumed by them, and yet, I can’t not stare at her. “But after what you did to protect me somewhat after you found me the way you did, I truly doubt that you’d have anything to do with taking women against their will.”
I suck in a breath, hold it there.
“And even if it wasn’t about me,” she says, her voice weakening, “I saw the pain you carried with you every day.”
My eyes drift shut because I know where she’s going with this; I just don’t want to go there with her.
“There are dozens, if not hundreds, of girls who are victims of the kind of things Benny and Franco are doing.”
The car dips, and a moment later, a soft hand lands on my leg, and I wish… I wish I could open my eyes to hers, but I can’t. I need a moment of darkness, of breathlessness. Of fear. ”Bailey, don’t,” I beg.
“And before she died, Nathaniel… your mom was one of them.”
Chapter 23
Nate has gone stoic.
Cold.
And a part of me hates this for him.
Hates that I did this to him.
“I think I should take you home,” he murmurs, opening the car door.
In the few seconds it takes to swap sides, I come up with a plan to keep him with me a little longer. I’m not ready to part ways. I still have too many questions, and in a way, I think that’s why I agreed to go with him.
I need answers.
I need truths.
“You think you could stop somewhere so I can get something to eat. I skipped—”