by Jenny Lynn
“Me too. Are you a working girl?”
I shook my head. “No, I’m a reporter. Are we even in Vegas anymore?”
“I think so.” Caroline kept her voice low, as if she was afraid of being heard. I knew better. Wherever we were, no one would be able to hear us - no one who could help, anyways. “But I can’t be sure. Sometimes they bring me food, but not nearly enough. No one has told me why I’m here or what’s going to happen. They said they were waiting for one more, I guess that means you.”
“One more for what?”
Caroline shook her head. “I already told you, I don’t know.”
I sucked in a deep breath. The air was stale and damp, there was a stained toilet in the corner and the two mattresses with threadbare sheets. Secured into the wall there was a heavy metal door. I didn’t have to try it to know it would be locked from the outside.
“Okay.” I needed to think. I wasn’t sure how much time I would have. “Let’s go over what we do know. I’m a crime reporter in Las Vegas, my name is Ella James. I’ve been looking into my missing sister, Dana James, a private detective was helping me. He had some information about her, we met at a coffee shop. She worked as an escort, she came to Vegas for a job five years ago. That was the last anyone heard of her. She was taken and… and then, she was sold into sex slavery.”
“Oh god, oh god,” Caroline moaned. “That could be my story. I’m an escort. I’m from New York, I came to Vegas to work a job. Some high roller booked me for a weekend. I was picked up in a limo, there was a man in the back. Before I could even react he stuck a wet cloth against my mouth. I woke up here.”
“Shit.” My heart started to beat faster.
“What else do you know, Ella? What happened to your sister?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “They didn’t tell me anything else. Apparently there is this secret club, they sell women. It moves locations each time to stay off the radar, untraceable. Sick bastards.”
Caroline started to cry, wrapping her arms around her knees and rocking slowly. She was wearing a fitted black dress, it was dirty from spending who knows how long wearing it in this disgusting room. We had been abducted, we were prisoners, and now I had an idea why. It didn’t look good - for either of us.
“Did you tell anyone where you went?” Caroline asked me, her eyes going wild. “Your parents? A friend? Could someone track you down and find us?”
I shook my head. “My parents are dead. My friends… my boyfriend… no one knows where I am. I thought the man I met was someone hired to help me, but now I don’t think he was who I thought he was. They tricked me. They tricked us both.”
“No one knows what I do,” Caroline whimpered. “Not my family, not my friends. They think I’m just a student on a scholarship. My agency is the only one who knows where I went. Do you think they’ll call the police?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been investigating the sex trade for years, after what happened to my sister. Women are vulnerable to abuse, because of the often secretive nature of the work. When they go missing, there isn’t always a trail.”
Caroline tipped over onto the mattress and curled around herself, sobbing. I wished I could be of comfort to her, but there was no sense lying about the situation we found ourselves in. I got on my shaky legs and walked over, sitting down on her mattress, and I stroked her hair softly. I let myself cry too, my tears falling in hot trails down my cheeks. I needed to think of a way out of this. I needed to fight somehow, but I couldn’t think of anything.
Time passed, fast or slow, there was no way of knowing. I sat with my back against the wall, Caroline curled up beside me, and I stared at the door. When I eventually heard footsteps in the distance my body jolted, I tapped Caroline on the shoulder and she raised her head. The door creaked on its rusty hinges as it swung open. In the doorway stood a giant, he must have been at least seven feet tall, layers of muscle stretching his pants and shirt. He glanced at us with a bored expression, then a short fat man stepped past him. They couldn’t have looked more polar opposite if they tried.
“Good, you’re awake,” the short man said, looking down at me. He carelessly dropped two bottles of water and two granola bars onto the floor, not even bothering to hand them to us. “The dose they gave you, I assumed you’d be out longer.”
Short man turned to walk away and I leaned forward.
“Wait!”
Slowly, he turned back from the doorway.
“I at least have the right to know why I’m here, what you’re planning to do to us.”
He chuckled, the sound nasal and high pitch. It grated on my nerves, like nails on a chalkboard. He was a disgusting specimen of a man.
“Your right? You have no rights, not anymore you don’t. Your only value is what someone is willing to pay for you.”
“So you’re selling us, is that it?” I found the tattered shreds of my courage and pushed myself to my feet. I had at least a foot on him, but with the massive ogre behind him, there was no chance I was getting out that door. Even if I did, I had no idea where I was. “I’ll die before I let a man buy or touch me. You won’t earn anything off selling me, I’ll fight and never stop, you’ll get asked for a refund so fast it will make your head spin.”
Short man snorted, looking me over.
“You think you’re the first girl to think she’s tough? I’ve seen all sorts, you all end up the same. You’re livestock to me. I don’t give a shit what happens to you after you’re sold. And I expect some interest in you, Ella.”
My expression softened at the mention of my name, but only for a moment. Still, it was enough for him to notice. “Oh yes,” he chuckled. “You’re not like most of the girls we get here. I’m very intrigued to see what I get for you. But to be honest, I’ve already been paid to have you brought here. Even if I get a dollar for you at auction, I’ve made a small fortune. It seems you made a powerful enemy.”
“Tony Venetti?” I asked. “Was it Tony Venetti?”
Short man turned and walked away, ignoring my question.
“Get some rest, both of you. Tomorrow is a busy day.”
He left and the door slammed shut behind him. I stood there, helpless in my anger, and clenched my fists. Caroline started crying again behind me; it took everything in me not to crumble and lay down beside her. We were caged like animals, and we were going to be sold to who knows what kind of monsters. They stole us, stole our lives from us, and there was nothing we could do to stop it now. I walked over to the water and food, scooping it up and placing it beside Caroline on the mattress. She turned over, facing the wall, ignoring it. I knew how she felt. I couldn’t eat anything either. Starving to death was probably a better fate than whatever was about to happen to us.
12
Beckett
It was just another ordinary morning, going through the comfortable motions of my well-established routine. I woke up early, went to my gym and blew off steam. I pushed my body to its limit until I was drenched in sweat and my muscles were aching. Afterwards I stripped and went over to the shower for a quick rinse. I got dressed, headed for the kitchen and started brewing coffee. I checked my phone and noticed Ella still hadn’t replied to my text. I made myself steak and eggs, then scanned the morning’s headlines on my laptop as I ate breakfast.
I enjoyed reading Ella’s articles in the Las Vegas Review-Journal. She had a sharp wit, was always well researched, and she had such a keen sense of right and wrong. Covering grisly, often disturbing, crimes didn’t seem like the type of beat a beautiful and sensitive woman like Ella would find herself in - but the woman was undoubtedly drawn to darkness. After all, hadn’t she been drawn to me?
When it was late morning and I still hadn’t heard from her, I sent Ella another text.
Did you get my message? Is everything okay?
I always tried to give Ella her space, but with the recent threats that had been made against her, I was on high alert right now when it came to the woman I loved. She made powerful e
nemies. I needed to keep them at bay.
I started digging deeper into my research, using a cloaked IP address and credentials to access LVPD files. I reviewed what they had on Tony Venetti so far, which to my disappointment wasn’t much. He had fired many of the people previously on his payroll, people who had been loyal to his father Marco but turned on him in order to get leniency during the trial. He kept a close inner circle, outsourcing minor jobs to people on the outside. He never gave the orders directly, there was nothing linking back to him. His father’s arrest had made him paranoid, and I couldn’t blame him. He should be. The police were sniffing around, and so was I.
An alert popped up on my screen as a new note was added to Tony’s file; I clicked it open to read the details. A detective had just come back from Jeremy Finn’s apartment, Tony’s enforcer turned police informant. The file indicated he missed a meeting this morning. When the undercover cop went to check on him, he was dead. They found him sitting on his sofa, a single bullet hole in the middle of his forehead. He clearly died from the gunshot, but there were signs of torture. All of his fingers had been broken, and his apartment had been ransacked. The detective suspected Tony had become aware Jeremy was helping the cops. That would be more than enough to get him killed.
I clicked through the crime scene photos, feeling detached. I had met this man myself, shaken him down for information not long ago. He was a low level thug, now he was gone. The world kept on turning. But he could have still been useful to me, and to the LVPD. Who had killed him, and what kind of information did they want from him badly enough to break his bones? What did Jeremy tell them? In the end it didn’t matter. Now he wouldn't be telling anyone else anything.
My phone buzzed and I sntached it up, hoping it was Ella. It was someone else entirely - and it wasn’t a call I could ignore. I allowed them up and rushed to stand in front of the elevator. When the doors opened, I bowed my head in respect.
“Bishop,” I said as the older man walked into my foyer.
“Beckett Carter, home in the middle of the day as if he has nothing better to do. Don’t you have a company to run?”
I let a smile find my lips as my mentor approached me, placing his hand on my shoulder. I then looked at the kid beside him, young with a sneer on his face and anger in his eyes. Late teens, early twenties maybe? Some kind of troubled youth, I remembered that stage all too well. Bishop seemed to still be collecting damaged, broken boys. I wasn’t his first, and I wasn’t his last.
“I’m not in town long, I came to pick up this one,” Bishop told me as he pointed at the kid. “He’s been fighting in underground clubs for money. He was good enough that he came onto my radar. I offered to take him under my wing and after some convincing, he agreed.”
I laughed. I knew what Bishop meant by convincing.
“Bishop kicked your ass, didn’t he kid?”
The boy looked at me with fire in his eyes. He couldn’t have been older than nineteen.
“Don’t worry,” I added. “He beat me up too. The old man is a lot stronger than he looks.”
“Watch it with the ‘old man’ talk, Beckett. I figured before our flight I would stop by and introduce Shane here to one of my best students. Show him what is possible with hard work and discipline.”
The boy glanced in wonder around my penthouse, wide eyed and wary, like a nervous animal that had never known kindness. The poor kid probably had nothing, now he was being faced with extreme wealth. The world had not been fair to him. I may have money, but the world had not been fair to me either. Fairness. What a fucking concept, as if fate doled out pain and reward based on merit instead of chance. None of us are owed an easy life. Bishop had turned me from a bitter, angry and reckless child into a man with a set of rules and conviction. Still bitter, angry and reckless - but without Bishop, I would probably be dead by now. I owed the man a debt I could never repay.
“What do you think, Beckett? You have it in you to show Shane here what you can do? Or is your high-roller lifestyle making you soft?”
I shook my head, not rising to Bishop’s bait. “Come on Shane, I’ll show you the gym.”
We walked along the hallway, Shane’s eyes looking around my space in barely-concealed wonder.
“This all yours?” he asked when he finally spoke, trying and failing to sound nonchalant.
“It belonged to my parents. They’re dead, so yes, now this is all mine.”
“How did they die?”
My jaw clenched as we walked into my gym. Did this kid not have a filter?
“They were murdered in front of me when I was a child,” I said, turning to face him. “I watched them die.”
“I wish my parents were dead,” Shane mumbled. “They care more about crack than they care about me. I’ve been on my own since I was thirteen.”
My defensiveness seemed pointless right now. Shane wasn’t trying to upset me, he didn’t know better. Manners aren’t all that important when you grow up in survival mode. I felt bad for the kid, clearly he had a rough start in life. We had that in common.
“You’re lucky to get a chance to learn from Bishop. If you listen and work hard, he’ll help you make more of yourself than being just some basement brawler. Now, are you going to show me what you’ve got?”
I pulled my shirt over my head and dropped it on the floor, moving to the centre of the room. I waited as Shane looked from me to Bishop, who gave him a slight nod. He took off his shirt, then walked towards me, immediately taking on a fighter’s stance. He was muscular; here and there I could see the faint markings of scars on his skin. I didn’t ask how he got them. We both had scars; the ones you could see, and the ones we kept on the inside. They existed, but we didn’t talk about them. We just learned to live with them.
Suddenly Shane shot forward, throwing a fist at my side. I took the hit then whipped to the left, grabbing his arm. He twisted out of my grip then kicked the back of my leg. I rolled forward, turned then jumped back to my feet. He was incredibly quick, I gave him that. Shane charged again and I easily dodged him this time. The boy was all offense, no defense. As he rushed me I hit him square in the back and he crumpled to the floor.
While he pushed up from his hands and knees I walked around him, waiting for him to regain his footing. He was a confident fighter with a good amount of skill, but he held nothing back. That was his downfall.
Shane jumped forwards, reaching for my neck. I grabbed him and flipped his body over my shoulder, down hard against the thick mat. I heard the air leave his lungs in a rush, then I stepped back. Again, I gave him a chance to get back onto his feet while Bishop watched.
We went on like that for about twenty minutes. He would try an attack or tackle, occasionally landing a solid punch, but each time I eventually took him down. He was quick, his reflexes would serve him well eventually. He just needed to learn patience. There was a different rhythm to every fight, for every opponent, he just didn’t see that yet.
Bishop watched from the sidelines, evaluating us with his sharp eyes. He may be getting older but he was still the same strong, stern army sergeant that had shouted me awake for training at four in the morning. He expected perfection. He saw promise in Shane, and I saw it too. Now it was up to the boy to prove himself worthy of such an excellent teacher.
“Enough.” Bishop’s voice was a clipped order. Immediately I froze and stood at attention. Shane didn’t - his last punch caught me in the side and I grunted.
“Shane, I said stop.” Bishop’s voice was like thunder. Panting, the boy stood still reluctantly, shooting me a sideways glance. He had a lot of anger in him, clearly. I extended my hand, and after a moment’s hesitation, Shane took it.
“Good fight. You have skill, kid. Like I said - listen to Bishop and he’ll help turn your life around.”
“Do you have any water?” Shane reached down to pick up his shirt. My kind words and sportsmanship seemed to make him uncomfortable.
“Over in the kitchen, in the fridge. I could use a
drink myself.”
Bishop put his hand on my arm as I started to walk past him, stopping me.
“You go ahead, Shane. I need to have a quick word alone with Beckett.”
Shane nodded then left the gym. When he was gone, Bishop turned to face me.
“Still fast, still strong. I’m impressed.” He walked towards the window with his arms crossed behind his back. “What do you think about the boy?”
“There’s a lot of anger there, it makes him reckless. But if you ask me, he has a natural talent. If you can’t help him channel it he’ll probably end up in jail, or dead.”
“He reminds me a lot of you, when I first met you as a boy.” Bishop was still looking out the window.
“Is that why you really stopped by? To get my opinion on your new student?”
There was silence. Silence from Bishop always meant something.
“No,” he said, finally turning to face me. “I remember every single student I have ever trained. I’m proud of most of them. Like you, Beckett. I’ve always been proud of you, of what you’ve done here in Vegas.” He didn’t say any more, I knew what he meant. He knew I was the Vegas Phantom, just like I suspected he always had. Knowing both sides of me, where I lived and what I was capable of, it wasn’t hard for Bishop to put two and two together.
“Not every student has made me proud. And now, I’m faced with the moral dilemma of having created a monster.”
I was confused. “What do you mean?”
He sighed and walked towards me, glancing at the doorway to make sure we were alone.
“Do you remember Axel Rankin?”
I nodded. He was one of the handful of people Bishop had trained, along with myself. He was two years older than me and we competed furiously to be the best. He was stronger, faster, and pushed me to train harder. Axel was quiet, and even though he never had a kind word to say to me, he was never really a problem. He left while I was still in training, I thought he had become a mercenary or a bodyguard.
“You know I try to keep tabs on all my students,” Bishop continued. “I take on so few now, only one or two at a time. But I have heard very credible rumors about Axel and I needed to warn you.”
