by Debra Dunbar
I picked my spot—between a wooden crate and a pallet full of three-foot-tall concrete garden gnomes—and put my finger on the trigger. Desk-guy was unlucky enough to slink around the corner first. I aimed for center mass, but wasn’t used to this pistol and ended up shooting high, luckily nailing him in the head. Blood sprayed like a paint can had exploded in aisle four, and he dropped to the ground.
Shots rang out in response. Ducking back in between the crate and the gnomes, I cringed and covered my head, protecting myself from the flying bits of wood and concrete. Maybe they’d run out of bullets. Maybe I could dive into the aisle and take them all out in a blaze of glory. Maybe a shelving unit would collapse and kill them all, but miraculously spare me. Maybe…
What was that screaming? And why did none of the gunshots seem to be coming my way?
Taking the opportunity, I dove into the aisle and rolled, aiming in the general direction the shots had been coming from. Two men were dead in a pool of blood on the opposite end of the aisle from the guy I’d shot. As I watched, one man ran past the aisle, screaming loud enough that I heard him over the air conditioner. Right behind him and gaining fast was a mountain lion.
A fucking mountain lion.
I stared, open-mouthed, as I processed the fact that there was a giant cougar in the old US Customs warehouse, chasing down and killing the gang members who worked here.
What. The. Fuck.
Had it been shipped in, and gone into a frenzy from all the shooting, breaking out of its cage? Because I couldn’t see how a mountain lion could have wandered from the hills all the way to the airport, and managed to get through multiple locked steel doors.
I wasn’t going to waste time thinking about it. I needed to unlock the room where the kids were being held, get Nevarra, and get out of here before the mountain lion finished with his appetizers and decided I might make a good main course.
Keeping the safety off and the gun in my hand, I dug out Soprano’s keys, and snuck my way over to the door. Cursing the dead guy just ten feet from me, I tried key after key. The gunshots had ended, but I kept trying to keep an eye on my surroundings as I worked my way through the keyring.
Finally, one of them worked. I pushed the door, and nearly had a heart attack when a small hand grabbed around the edge and yanked it open. Looking down, I saw the little kid I’d managed to catch a glimpse of right before I’d stabbed Soprano.
The little kid gripping the door shot past me. Suddenly I was nearly knocked off my feet by a stampede of children racing through the warehouse to freedom.
Oh, shit. Mountain Lion.
“There’s a cougar loose,” I shouted after them.
They vanished like little mice and I stood there, holding the door open. Where was Nevarra? She hadn’t been one of the kids who’d ran out. Was she hurt? Was she tied up inside the room? I let the door shut, then grabbed Soprano by the legs, hauling him over and using him to prop the door open. Then I went inside.
Ten by ten was bigger than my bedroom at home, but it wasn’t big enough for eight kids. The room stank. The blankets and sleeping bags were scattered around on the floor. A bucket in the corner reeked of urine. The cool air pouring down through a vent in the ceiling did nothing to combat the stale air. It was horrible. It reminded me of a puppy mill I’d once seen where the filthy dogs had been kept in tiny wire cages, cleaned up only when they were sold.
But beyond the bucket and the blankets, the room was empty.
Where was Nevarra?
I yanked the keys out of the door and tried the other rooms. The warehouse by this point was silent aside from the hum of the HVAC system. Hopefully the cougar wasn’t eating the kids. Had they gotten out somehow? I assumed the place had fire doors that would allow rapid evacuation. I didn’t like the idea of eight little kids racing around the streets where they’d get picked up again. Hopefully they’d stay in one place and I could…what? I rode a fucking motorcycle here. I couldn’t drive eight kids home on a bike. Maybe I’d call the police.
Yes, that’s what I’d do. Get Nevarra. Get all my stuff out of the mantrap room. Call the police to come help the kids. Warn them there was a mountain lion loose in the warehouse. Take Nevarra home. There. That was my plan.
Except there was no Nevarra.
I’d checked all five rooms and was starting to panic. Was there another place they were holding children? Multiple batches they’d separated and were selling maybe on different sites? I tried to remember the faces of the kids that had run out of the room, to think if any of them I recognized from the proofs I’d taken from Jimmie’s desk drawer, or that I’d seen on the website. I thought a few of them had matched, but they’d run out so quick I couldn’t be sure.
Where was Nevarra?
Holding back tears, I jogged up to the offices and started going through the desk drawers. Maybe there was paperwork somewhere that would tell me where they were holding her.
Calm down.
I tried to slow my breathing and think logically. There had to be another location somewhere. Damn it all, why hadn’t I kept one of these guys alive to question? Although that wasn’t completely my fault. I hadn’t expected a mountain lion to burst in on the scene and start killing them off.
Speaking of which…
“Looking for this?”
I whipped around and saw a woman with golden-blonde hair and the eyes of a reptile. In one hand she held the mangled body of the cougar. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed the animal into the corner where it landed with a pained cry.
Desiree. I looked at her eyes with their weird pupils and wished I had to face the mountain lion instead.
“I’ll admit that I’m impressed. This wasn’t quite what I had in mind when I set up the interview, but I’ll go with it.” She took a step toward me and I backed up, realizing that I was trapped. I’d need to go through her to get out of the office.
“Points for taking out all of the staff here. Points for creative use of this creature, although you need better control over your beasts. Damn thing tried to bite my throat out.”
Too bad it hadn’t.
“And judging from your energy signature, you’re also the one who killed off a bunch of Disciples in a warehouse and at an auto parts store. All in one week. You’ve been a busy girl.”
Energy signature? Did she mean my magic? I’d electrocuted someone at both locations. Did that sort of thing leave some sort of magical trace behind that could be linked to me? Fuck, that would have been good to know before I started frying gang members.
“I’m taking points away for almost letting the product escape though. That’s the whole point of the job. Keep the brats alive, uninjured, and contained until we can unload them on their buyers.” She made a tsk sound. “If you can’t manage to do that while you’re shooting and stabbing men, then you’re of no use to me.”
“Where’s Nevarra?” I put my shoulders back and decided to stand my ground, no matter how scared I was. “Where’s my sister?”
She blinked and tilted her head, staring at me in a way that was creepily inhuman. “Your sister?”
“The Fixers took her from my house and sold her to the Disciples—to you. She’s not here. She’s not with the other kids.”
Who was I kidding? This woman wouldn’t tell me what had happened to her or where she was. She probably didn’t even know the kids’ real names.
Desiree did an undulation motion with her head, then smiled. “Oh, the little Black girl. Around thirteen or fourteen? Pretty? The one I got two days ago?”
“Yes. My sister. Her name’s Nevarra.” My heart raced, I felt a trickle of hope that I feared was false.
Desiree’s smile widened, showing a line of teeth that looked like they’d been filed into points. “Ah, her. Sorry. She was perfect for one of my clients. I sold her outside the auction. She fetched a very high price. You know, I’m not sure I want you guarding the brats, but I think I might be able to use you on a freelance basis for some jobs that require a wom
an’s touch. What’s your rate?”
Sold. She’d been sold right away. She could be halfway across the country by now. She could be dead by now. I was too late.
Maybe I was too late, but I still needed to know. Even if she was dead, I needed to know.
“Who?” I choked back a sob. “Who did you sell her to? I’ll pay you. I’ll work for you. I’ll do anything, just tell me who you sold her to and where to find her.”
Desiree’s eyes morphed into something more human. She stared at me for a moment, as if she were trying to weigh whether to tell me or not.
“I already got paid for that girl,” she mused. “There is no shortage of clients, but this guy does like to throw his money around. Every three months he buys a new one. Every three months, right on time. You’ll work for me, be loyal to me? You’ll be mine if I tell you his name?”
I had the feeling I was selling my soul, damning myself for all eternity. “Yes, but I need his name, and where I can find him and Nevarra. There’s no deal unless I bring her home alive.”
Desiree laughed, revealing those sharpened teeth once more. “William Matthew Cumberland. Santa Monica. 488 Mesa Road. We have a deal. Now come over here. I’m going to mark you as mine.”
“The fuck you are.”
I looked up to see Bishop standing in the doorway of the office. He looked furious, like he was about to rip the threshold apart with his bare hands and bring the ceiling down on us all. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the doorway, then he let go and stepped forward.
Desiree bared her teeth at him and hissed. “You don’t belong here.”
He snorted. “And you do?”
She jutted her chin out. “This warehouse belongs to the Disciples. One of my businesses is loosely affiliated with them. Thus, I belong here.”
He blinked at her and laughed. “You’re Desiree? You’re working for the Disciples?”
Desiree hissed again. “They work for me.”
“That’s not what I heard.” Bishop looked the woman over then shook his head. “You’re kidding me. You? And Desiree? Who the fuck names themselves Desiree?”
She sneered. “Bishop is worse.”
He shrugged. “Not like I picked it. You actually sat down and decided that it would be awesome if you called yourself by a stripper name.”
Desiree snarled. “It’s not a stripper name. It’s a sexy name. It’s powerful. I like it.”
Bishop rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” He pointed at the cougar then at me. “That’s mine. That’s mine.”
Desiree also pointed at me. “She is not yours. She’s mine.”
Bishop snarled, his blue eyes suddenly glowing gold. “She’s mine.”
I was starting to get a complex here. Were they fighting over me like I was a steak? It seemed as if there was something else going on here. I had no idea what that was, but I got the impression it would be wise if I just kept my mouth shut and let them work it out.
“Fine,” she snapped. “For now, anyway.”
“Twenty-four hours,” Bishop told her.
Her eyes narrowed. “One.”
“Twelve.”
“Two. I’ve got a business to run.”
“I don’t like your business.”
The demon snorted. “I don’t give a fuck what you like. You’ve got two hours. After that, we’re even, and all bets are off.”
Bishop folded his arms across his chest. “Two. And I strongly suggest you focus your efforts on a business that doesn’t involve kidnapping and selling children.”
Desiree’s eyes went back to looking like a crocodile’s. The air crackled, and for a second I wondered if the warehouse was about to come down around our ears.
Then she let out a sigh and flicked a bit of lint off her sleeve. “You’re a fucking dick, Bishop.”
“Yep.”
“It’s gonna get you killed one day. You’re seriously outnumbered, you know.”
“Yep.”
Desiree stared at him a few seconds then smiled. It shocked the hell out of me because the smile actually seemed genuine, as if she and Bishop had been doing this sort of dance for centuries and had come to a weird level of respect.
“See ya around then.” She strolled past him.
I watched through the window as she walked to the front of the warehouse and out the same way I’d come in.
“What the fuck just happened?” I sputtered.
“You really do get yourself into the damndest situations, Trouble,” Bishop said, ignoring my question. “You’ve got two hours to get your sister. The demon won’t move on you, won’t warn the buyer, won’t send anyone to interfere. I suggest you get going.”
“I made a deal.” The ramifications of what I’d done hit me. “I sold her my soul, or something like that. She gave me the guy’s name and address because I promised to work for her.”
“Yeah? Well, that deal’s off, and next time be a bit more careful what you offer.”
What was going on here? Desiree was a demon. Bishop knew her. There were at least five dead guys and a fucking mountain lion in this warehouse, and Nevarra still in danger.
The mountain lion.
“He’s hurt.” I pointed toward the big cat crumpled up against the wall. The thing had saved my life, and I hoped there was a veterinarian nearby that could do the same for the cougar.
“She,” Bishop corrected me.
She. I’d been too busy looking at the thing’s sharp, bloody fangs to notice whether it had balls or not.
Bishop walked over to the mountain lion, sighing as he knelt down beside it. “Dumb ass. What do you think you’re doing coming here by yourself?”
The animal’s eyes blinked open, looking up at Bishop, then over at me. Bishop turned his head to follow her gaze.
“Yeah, I know. But you still should have waited for me. You’re lucky she didn’t kill you.”
Was she…the mountain lion…a shifter like I suspected Bob was? A werecougar? Whatever the fuck that was?
“You didn’t see a bunch of kids running through the parking lot on your way in, did you?” I asked Bishop.
He looked over at me. “They’re locked in that first office. One of the kids was trying to smash through the glass window with a stapler.”
I liked these kids already—liked them enough that I didn’t want them trapped in an office in a warehouse with five dead bodies until I managed to make a 911 call and the police eventually showed up. Two hours. Would that be enough time to rescue Nevarra, steal a minivan, and drive eight kids to safety?
Bishop chuckled. “I’ll take care of my mountain lion, and I’ll take care of the kids. You go find your sister.”
I really did owe this guy. With a hurried thanks, I ran past him and quickly searched the dead guys—even the one who’d been majorly chewed on. I took everything that would fit in my pockets. Keys. Wallets. Weapons. Then I went back to the mantrap room where the doors stood wide open and collected my gear.
Weighed down like a video game character who couldn’t help but pick up and take every single item she came across, I got on my bike and drove north, heading for Santa Monica.
Chapter 24
I drove like a bat out of hell, only slowing down as I pulled off the 405. The sun had set hours ago, and the moon was ascending, spreading a silvery glow over the ribbon of black asphalt. Desiree had said three months—she’d said the fucker who bought Nevarra purchased a new kid every three months like clockwork. Nevarra had been with him less than forty-eight hours. She was still alive; I knew it. Nevarra was smart. She’d watch, learn, play the innocent, and all the while she’d be formulating a plan to escape. She wouldn’t do anything that would jeopardize her health or safety. She wouldn’t go off half-cocked and ruin her chances of escaping.
She was alive.
I was going to get her, and I was going to kill everyone who stood in my way. And if this William Matthew Cumberland wasn’t there, if he miraculously managed to get away from me, I’d hunt him down. I’d
make him pay. I’d make sure no other child ended up in his hands.
But what if everything went wrong? I pulled the bike over to the side of the road. Bishop and the possible werecougar had heard the name and address of the guy who had Nevarra, but I couldn’t count on them to do anything about it. I didn’t want to dump all this on Bea. Maybe I could leave a message on Detective Juke’s phone, just in case I got killed. Bags had vouched for her. It might take the police freaking forever to catch this guy, but as a worst-case scenario, I got the feeling she’d at least try to see justice done. I pulled my stolen phone out, dialed the number, then cursed when the “no service” notice flashed on the screen.
Of all the times for the owner to get the line switched to a new phone, it had to be tonight. Fuck. Shoving the phone back in my pocket, I pulled my bike back into traffic and drove on.
It was all on me. I was going in alone. Nevarra’s life depended on me. I couldn’t die—at least I couldn’t die until I’d gotten her to safety.
I parked five blocks away from the house and walked, feeling completely exposed on the empty sidewalks. This was a nice neighborhood—not one-percenter Carlson nice, but still upper class. Every house was hidden behind solid stucco fencing and verdant, manicured hedges. Only garages were visible from the street—garages and a few gates with security boxes blinking at their sides.
A car drove by, slowing as it passed me. I could practically feel the driver’s eyes on me. A woman in ripped, filthy cargo pants and a tank top, covered in guns and knives, didn’t exactly fit the profile for a resident out for a late-night walk.
These neighborhoods wouldn’t be relying on the police for protection; they’d be forking out to a local militia. I’d be willing to bet that driver was on the phone right now, and that in twenty minutes tops there would be someone pulling up beside me to ask who I was and what I was doing here.