The Devil's Daughter

by Ophelia Bell

  But I couldn’t go through with it. I only got about halfway down the hall, not even as far as the door of the woman I’d been forced to pick. I became nauseous, I broke out in a cold sweat, and the next thing I knew I was bent over, retching against the wall.

  I ran out after that, told Dad he could mind his own damn business about my sex life. That I wasn’t a virgin anyway, and if he bothered to fucking talk to me, he’d have known.

  But I couldn’t get the memory of all those video screens out of my mind. Of all those imprisoned women. I confronted him about it and started to put the pieces together a little at a time. He claimed he’d “saved” them from worse lives in other countries, that he’d set it up for them to live in the US after a year of working off their debt to him. For a little while, I thought that made it okay. It was an exchange; they knew what they were getting into when they agreed to use our shipping company to flee their homes.

  But I couldn’t forget about it. Those few minutes in that room—in that building—changed me. I started watching cam-girl porn after that, but I always did a deep-dive check on the women to make sure they weren’t being coerced into doing what they did, that they could stop anytime, that they maybe even enjoyed it. And I paid them well.

  I can’t become intimate with a woman now without wanting to see her from behind a video screen. To somehow cleanse that memory by knowing she’d willingly allow herself to be watched.

  But it came back to haunt me when I started working for my dad after college. I caught wind of a rumor that the company was under investigation for involvement in human trafficking. A cargo container had been found at the docks with a dozen dead bodies inside it. I wasn’t about to let the company fold for the bad decisions my father made, but I couldn’t easily step in and take over. I knew the only way forward was to purge all the ugliness, all the depravity, from our books. I used my own trust fund and made a plan to rescue all those women, to set them up with small savings accounts and forged documents so they could go live their lives, and then I orchestrated the accident.

  This was where Arturo Flores came in. I remembered a meeting he’d had with my dad years earlier. I was just a kid, but it stuck with me because of how angry they both were and the fact that Flores had come to our house. I didn’t understand the context. All I knew was that Arturo Flores and my father were not friends by the end of that meeting and would never be again, a fact Dad periodically reinforced anytime news of Flores would cross his desk. I eventually came to learn who Flores really was and decided he was the man to help me with my purge.

  He helped with the logistics, facilitating things so that it would happen on a night when Dad was up in Carlsbad for his regular “therapy,” as he liked to call it when he’d visit the Kennel. We’d planned to get the girls out that night too, and keeping things under wraps until the right moment took some finesse. Dozens of clients had to be informed of a temporary closure without my dad finding out. He needed to be there. Alone. Everyone else was paid off, and the girl he went to see was let in on the ruse so she would help, which she happily agreed to do once she learned it would mean her freedom.

  She drugged him and evacuated with the rest once he was unconscious.

  Then we burned the whole fucking place to the ground with him inside.

  14

  Drake

  My voice is hoarse from talking by the time I take a breath. Their eyes are wide when I lay the last bit on them. Ben stands and disappears into the lounge, returning with the crystal decanter of Scotch and four glasses. He pours, and we all drink.

  “So, yeah. I murdered my dad to save a hundred women. To save whoever else might fall into his clutches later. The two members of the facility’s staff who were there were paid well enough that they agreed to corroborate the story Flores and I crafted, but there was no love lost on the bastard. They had no objection to agreeing that the fire started from one of the so-called storage units while the owner was visiting, and that he went in to try to stop it and never came back out. The fire marshal bought it, and we paid off whoever needed paying, but only three people knew he was there: the security guard, the receptionist, and the woman he went to see.”

  “And the drive filled with video files…” Baz says.

  “Insurance. There are faces in many of those videos who wouldn’t want it made public that they were involved in such an operation. Prominent men, associates of my dad. I didn’t watch them for pleasure, if that’s what you’re thinking. Only to see who the clients were. And I didn’t install the fucking cameras in my own apartment. I wouldn’t watch a woman unless I knew she wanted me to.”

  “If anyone took issue with you taking the helm of your father’s company, tried to frame you, for example, you’d have ammunition to throw back at them,” Baz says. “Like now.”

  “Is that what this is?” Ben challenges. “Someone trying to frame you somehow?”

  “Tell them,” Baz says.

  Elle and Ben both look at me expectantly, and I sigh. “I may have received a few threatening emails within the last couple weeks. They’re cryptic, though. I can’t tell who they’re from, or even what they know—only that they know something and they’re trying to blackmail me into stepping down. I think the cameras were a hint that they know about those videos.”

  Elle’s brow knits, and I wish I could ease her worries, but there’s nothing I can say that won’t sound like bullshit.

  “Was it only women?” Elle asks. “In those rooms?”

  “Mostly, but there were some… boys. The ages ranged from young teens to early twenties for most of them. Some of the women were a little older, but not many. I learned when I was setting up their new identities that several had small children who were taken from them when they arrived and were put into the foster system. I did what I could to help, but I’m still trying to track them all down.”

  Bile rises to burn my throat, and I chug another measure of Scotch to chase it back down.

  “Jesus,” Ben mutters. “You should have fucking told us a week ago. Didn’t you think this was relevant to us doing our jobs?”

  “Your job is to protect Elle. Not me.”

  “No, our job is to protect everyone in that building. You appointed us the heads of your security department. We manage everything, and we watch Elle. And now we’re watching you too. Someone knows your secret. Who’s to say they won’t hit harder next time? Tell me you have some clue who it might be.”

  I shake my head and sit back, heaving a sigh as I swipe both hands through my hair. “I don’t know who all the players were in Dad’s scheme. I figured the beast would die if I cut off its head. They couldn’t traffic more people if I didn’t allow it or give them a way to profit from it on this end.”

  Elle sits back with a laugh. “Your company is called Typhon, Drake. Was your dad really the only one at the top?”

  I frown at her for a moment before realizing the joke. Typhon was a mythical Greek beast with a hundred heads. My grandfather chose the aspirational name hoping that one day the company would have offices worldwide, which it eventually did. We have almost two thousand operating facilities across the globe now.

  “If Typhon’s the company, my dad was Zeus, so yes. No one else called the shots. That doesn’t mean the VPs of any of our subsidiaries weren’t involved somehow. If any knew about the trafficking and were in on it, they’d be upset by the lost income stream. But there aren’t many who were familiar enough with the family or HQ to know my secret. Plus it’s been a few years. Why would they come after me now?”

  “It’s a place to start, at least,” Baz says. “I’ll do some more digging. In the meantime, we’re staying put until I find a lead on who put that shit in.”

  “Staying put might be a problem,” I say. “The renewable energy gala is this weekend. It’s too late to postpone, and since I’m the host, I pretty much have to be there. Also … I may have put all of you and your families on the guest list.”

  Baz gives me an exasperated look, bu
t Elle’s eyes brighten, which was the reaction I was hoping to get from her.

  “Not an option for us,” Baz says.

  “Aww, why not?” Elle complains. “It won’t be any riskier than being at work.”

  “Which you haven’t done for two weeks,” Baz says.

  “Aren’t you overseeing security for the event? You can make sure it’s safe.” She squeezes Baz’s arm and his defenses visibly crumble, but he puts on a stern face.

  “I don’t want to risk your safety.”

  “Drake’s safety’s at risk more than mine now, though. Shouldn’t you be there to protect him? And you can’t exactly leave me alone.”

  Baz shoots Ben a helpless look, but his brother just laughs. “She’s the brains between us, hermano. She has a point.”

  “That only gives us the week to investigate who might be after you. If we find a lead, then maybe. If not, we’ll just have to split up. Ben can stay with Drake, I’ll stay with Elle.”

  “We’re talking bigwigs in the industry, right?” Ben asks me. “Because if someone has it out for you and they’re linked to your company, there’s a chance they’ll be there. How many of these VPs are coming?”

  “I’ll have my secretary email a guest list to you,” I say, pulling out my phone to text Lindsey.

  “Let me help look,” Elle says. “I hope you brought my laptop with you.”

  Baz nods. “I did, and that’s a good idea. I could use all the help I can get.”

  He returns to his belongings and retrieves two laptops. He hands one to me and one to Elle, who immediately logs in, scooting closer to Baz. They tip their heads together and confer over their course of action.

  “You guys are welcome to work anywhere on the boat. There are power outlets inside, and the Wi-Fi is probably stronger in there,” I offer.

  They agree to move to the dining room and gather their things. Ben returns to the buffet and loads up another plate. I join him, since I didn’t get a chance to eat before Baz attacked me earlier. I’d just arrived and was whispering to Elle about Ben’s plans to keep the whole three-way with her under wraps for the time being, that he’d take the blame for being with her and deflect Baz’s reaction.

  When we sit down at the breakfast table again, I say, “So, how much does your brother know about last night?”

  “Enough. I think he bought my story until he saw you and Elle all cozied up. His twinstincts are pretty strong. Better than mine. He probably suspects something happened between you and me too, and it’s not hard to connect the dots.”

  “No,” I sigh, glancing inside at the dining table beyond a decorative screen of partially frosted glass. Its abstract nautical designs separate the lounge from the dining room, where I can make out the pair’s silhouettes bent over their work.

  Elle is equally comfortable and affectionate with Baz as with Ben. Nothing appears to have changed, except now I catch Baz occasionally pausing to shoot long looks at her. Ben watches with me for a moment, then nods.

  “He’s probably more wrecked over her than I ever was. I’m crazy about her, of course, but they’ve always had a deeper connection. When we were in junior high, they bonded over a school science project. The pair of them programmed a mini-light show using LEDs that looked like a couple dancing the Tango. They got her mom to help, used those motion-capture suits they use for animations and did the dance together, then recreated the movements using the lights. It was pretty sweet.”

  “I admit it’s tough to imagine you two in school. Baz, maybe… but you come across like your formative years were … harder.” I mentally backpedal at the look he gives me—weary and long-suffering.

  “You think because we look like a pair of gangbangers that we were forged in blood and bullets, or some shit? We were, but that doesn’t mean we didn’t have a mostly normal life otherwise. Our mom tried hard to keep us out of it, but we’re a pair of bull-headed boys. It didn’t help that our hero was one of Arturo Flores’ lieutenants.

  “I’m talking about Manny Reyes, not Gustavo Delgado. We had some healthy respect for Delgado too, but we both had a good idea of what a messed-up motherfucker he was, deep down. But we looked for any opportunity to shadow Manny and Leo. When Leo rose to claim the top-dog spot, we came up with him, which was safer in some ways, but a lot more work–mostly because Flores insisted we finish high school and train every afternoon for the job he wanted us to do.”

  “That explains the contradiction. You guys are both smart, and every bit as dedicated to your job as Curt Hagler was.”

  Ben narrows his eyes. “You never did tell us why he left. And why you didn’t give the job to Karl Thomas. He’s solid so we’d have had no trouble answering to him if we had to. Or just contracting to guard Elle.”

  “I didn’t actually talk to Curt before he left. I just came in one day to a letter of resignation claiming he needed to focus on some personal issues. I let it go because he’d more than earned the break. And as much as I appreciate Karl’s skills, he was one of the few holdouts from my dad’s reign who managed to stick around after he died. He’s got the most seniority among my staff.

  “He was skeptical about the two of you, but let me off the hook by claiming he didn’t want the stress that comes along with the position. I think he might have been hoping you two would fuck up eventually and I’d have to give him the job anyway. But I can’t dispute your training made you and Baz more than capable. What was Flores like as a mentor, anyway?”

  “What do you think? He’s a hard-ass. But nobody works harder to impress him than Celeste. She’ll take over one day, and between you and me, I’d rather answer to him. He’s savvy. He knew what our strengths were and pushed us each in the right direction. That’s why Baz is so damn good at the computer stuff, and I’m better at almost everything else.”

  “You make a good team, I’ll give you that. This isn’t going to drive a wedge between you, will it?”

  He pops the last bite of bagel in his mouth and chews while he ponders the answer, his gaze fixed on the other two through the glass. Then he shakes his head and turns back to me.

  “Man, I know this is the wrong thing to suggest. I already broke the rules by sleeping with Elle. But I don’t think we’ll be able to do our jobs if he doesn’t have a night with her too. I’m not saying I want to volunteer her for sex—she has to want it, and he has to be willing to compromise his principles for the sake of … I don’t know… balance? Because if the way he keeps looking at her is any indication, he’ll implode before too long. He’s not fun to be around when he’s a mess.”

  “Okay, so how do we get him to agree?”

  “We might not have to. I have a feeling Elle will handle things all on her own.”

  He nods to the dining room, and I turn again. Elle’s no longer seated, but now stands behind Baz’s chair. She’s gripping his shoulders, massaging while he taps on the keyboard. He pauses and hangs his head in pleasure.

  I frown at the sharp pang of envy that slices through me. But as much as I’d love to be the object of her attention, that darker part of me wants just as much to watch things unfold between them.

  I feel Ben’s gaze on me and swivel to meet it. He narrows his eyes and tilts his chin. “This is your kink, isn’t it? Watching. Whatever happened when you were a kid, it did that to you.”

  My neck prickles with shame, but I nod. “I can’t let myself watch strangers, or watch women who don’t know I’m watching, but I can’t purge myself of the need to watch.”

  “Well, I think we all need to keep it in our pants for the rest of the week. Too much is at stake for us to let down our guard, so watching is all you’ll get to do.”

  15

  Baz

  Concentrating on my work is a chore with Elle so close. I didn’t want to tell her not to help—she’s brilliant when it comes to research like this—but I’m about to crawl out of my skin with the need to touch her. Chances are I’d have been no better off working alone though, my thoughts where they are,
so I keep at it, half my brain fixated on what Ben might’ve experienced last night, the other half doing a deep-dive through digital footprints of all the names on Drake’s guest list.

  After about the fifth time I pause to look at her, she pushes her chair back, saying, “Okay, you need to loosen up. Whatever’s going through your head isn’t as bad as you think.”

  She moves behind me and starts digging her thumbs into my lats, and for the moment I can’t even speak, it feels so fucking good. She massages for a minute, and when her hands reach my neck, I hang my head and sigh.

  “What’s going through my head isn’t what I’d call bad, Elle. But it can’t happen. You’re technically a client. What Ben did shouldn’t have happened either.”

  “Ben didn’t do anything. He had a bad dream, that’s all.” When I narrow my eyes at her, she huffs and shakes her head. “Fine. I’ll leave it alone and let you guys do your jobs. But I’m not apologizing for last night.”

  “Thank you.”

  We manage to maintain some level of professionalism for the rest of the day, though it becomes clear that night that Ben is suffering from keeping his distance. He wakes up all three of us with his night terrors. Drake and Elle come running, and it only takes Ben’s look of desperation when he sees them to put together what probably happened last night when I wasn’t here.

  He wants them both, yet he sends them away, rising instead to head up to the galley as the pair shut themselves back in their rooms. I don’t miss a silent look that passes between them, but the only thing I read is genuine concern.

  I join Ben in the galley, digging around in the cabinets until I find some herbal tea bags. The place is equipped with a commercial coffee maker that has a hot water dispenser built in, so I make us both cups and set them on the counter to steep.