by Naomi Martin
I laugh. “Anytime.”
Through the doorway, I am plunged into the darkness of the short hallway. This is it. After I open the door in front of me, there’s no turning back – I am going to be inextricably caught up in whatever happens. If it’s just Owen cheating on me, that’s one thing. But given the fact that he was with Chrissy Melton just before she disappeared, that possibility is looking more and more unlikely to me.
I stand still for a moment, debating with myself whether or not I really want to step through that door. Whether or not I want to get involved in this. But I want to know what happened to Chrissy Melton, and the only way to get answers is to open the door in front of me.
Chapter Twenty-One
I find myself back in the hallway, creeping along like before. Up ahead, around the corner, I hear a girl’s high-pitched giggling followed by the slamming of a door. Presumably, it’s the door I went through last time.
Giving myself one last chance to back out, I shake my head and hurry down the hallway, straining my ears, listening for the slightest sound of footsteps. All I hear is that God-awful music and the grunting, slapping, and moaning of the people getting their rocks off in the rooms all around me.
I make it to the door at the end of the hall and press my ear to it. When I don’t hear anybody immediately on the other side, I slowly open it and ease it closed behind me. I step to the vinyl panels and gently pull one aside, pressing my eye to it quickly. The warehouse is clear, as far as I can see, so I slip through and immediately feel my foot thump against something on the ground. I look down to see that it’s the girl’s bag.
Without thinking about it, I snatch her bag up and carry it with me as I make my way from shadow to shadow, quickly finding my hiding spot from last time. Buried among the detritus collected in this warehouse, I’m all but invisible – but I have the best seat in the house. Hunching down, I look out at the loading dock and clap my hand over my mouth, stifling the scream that nearly bursts from my throat at what I see.
“Dude, hold her still,” Asher growls.
“I’m trying,” replies Owen, sounding frustrated. “She’s stronger than she looks.”
He’s holding the brunette around the waist with one arm, his other hand clamped over her mouth. The girl’s eyes are wide and her screams are muffled behind Owen’s hand. She thrashes and struggles wildly in his grasp. Asher is standing in front of them with a hypodermic needle in his hand. He’s trying to get a clear shot at her neck, but she writhes in Owen’s arms and he’s having trouble controlling her.
“Owen. Dude. Come on,” Asher yells. “We need to put her out before the truck gets here.”
“Then maybe you should hold her and I’ll stick her.”
The slamming of the door I’d come through a few moments before echoes through the warehouse and my stomach lurches with fear when I see that it’s not Samuel who joins Asher and Owen. It’s Donovan Salvino. He’s in his usual three-piece suit, looking as dapper as ever.
“Jesus Christ, boys.” His voice booms. “Why is this so difficult?”
“She’s squirming like hell,” Owen says.
“I can’t get a clear shot with the needle,” adds Asher.
Donovan sighs, a look of disappointment crossing his face. “Really,” he says. “Why in the hell do I keep you boys around? It doesn’t seem you’re capable of doing anything without me.”
Without warning, he delivers a vicious backhand to the brunette. Her head rocks to the side and she goes limp in Owen’s arms. Her eyes are wide and there’s a dazed look on her face, as if she can’t believe he just slapped her. I can guarantee being slapped is the least of your problems right now, girl.
Asher steps forward and stick the needle in the girl’s neck, injecting her with something. I’m guessing, given the circumstances, that it’s a sedative of some sort that’s going to keep her knocked out long enough for them to do – whatever it is they intend to do to her. And, thinking back to the delivery truck I saw at the loading dock last time, I know it’s not going to be good.
A moment later, I hear the rumble of an engine and the beeping of a truck in reverse. The same delivery truck backs to the edge of the loading dock. Asher steps forward and opens the rear doors, then goes inside and comes out again pushing what looks like a hospital gurney. He wheels it over to Owen, who gently lays the brunette down on top of it. Working together, they tie her down at the wrists, ankles, and midsection, cinching the ties down tight.
Owen pushes the gurney into the truck and spends several minutes inside. I assume he’s locking the gurney into place so it doesn’t roll around during transportation. It’s a thought that sends a cold chill alone every nerve ending in my body. He reappears after completing his task and closes the rear doors of the delivery truck. Once he’s locked them into place, he bangs on the door three times to let the driver know it’s safe to take off.
“Very good, boys,” Donovan says. “You finally got something right.”
Asher and Owen, usually so forceful and in command, both look like sheepish schoolboys in front of Donovan. They stand with their heads down, inscrutable expressions on their faces. In that moment, they look like whipped dogs.
Donovan reaches into his coat’s interior pocket and pulls out two thick manila envelopes. He hands one to Asher and one to Owen. The boys take them with murmured words of gratitude, slipping the envelopes into their back pockets as the truck rumbles off, carrying its human cargo into the night.
“Next week, we’ve got a large order to fill,” Donovan tells them. “I’m going to need all three of you boys here – and on your A-games. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” They say in unison.
Donovan walks off, leaving Asher and Owen standing there watching him go. When the door slams shut, the both seem to let out a breath they’d been holding. But then they laugh together and give each other a high five, and I feel sick to my stomach. My mind is whirling. I just watched them sell a human being – and then celebrate it after the fact.
“Let’s get out of here,” Asher says. “I need to get home.”
“Right behind you, man.”
As they disappear around the stack of crates that will lead them back to the hallway, I can still hear them talking. I don’t dare move, lest I make a sound and be discovered.
“Hey, where’s her purse?” I hear Asher ask. “She dropped it right around here.”
“Hell if I know. Maybe Donovan grabbed it,” Owen offers. “Gotta get rid of the evidence, and all.”
“Yeah, probably.”
A couple of moments later, I hear the door slam, leaving me alone in the warehouse. My body trembles and all of a sudden I just feel… numb. It spreads throughout me like a rolling bank of fog, enveloping me completely. I just don’t have it in me right now to feel anything other than disbelief over what I saw and heard. That Owen – somebody I let myself care for – is involved in something this horrible devastates me in ways him simply cheating on me never could.
Slowly, I get to my feet and make my way to the door that will take me back into the club, sure that I’ve given them enough time. Clutching the girl’s bag tightly to me, I open the door and step through. Listening carefully for the sound of somebody approaching, I ease the door shut again. Once it’s closed, I make my way back down the hallways, heading for the door.
I just need to get out of here. I need to process everything I’ve seen and heard and figure out what in the hell I’m going to do about it. There are so many thoughts and feelings swirling around in my head right now, I can’t make heads or tails of anything. When I open the door, I’m greeted by a pungent cloud of pot smoke. Waving it away from my face, I step through the door and into the club.
“How was it?”
I turn to see the bouncer staring at me, a suggestive smile on his lips. “Confusing. Terrifying.”
His smirk fades, but I make a beeline across the club before he can ask any more questions, heading for the front door. I’m jus
t a few steps away from it when the sound of somebody calling my name stops me in my tracks. I feel the icy finger of fear sliding up my spine and I shudder. Turning around, I see Samuel emerging from a small cluster of people, a wide smile on his face.
“Hey, what’s up?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I return, trying to seem as normal and natural as ever – and failing at it. “Just heading out, actually.”
He looks at me and purses his lips. “Who are you here with?” he presses. “I just saw Owen and Asher leave.”
“Oh, I was supposed to meet Olivia here, but she no-showed,” I explain.
He nods as if he understands. “Yeah, that sounds like her. She’s not the most reliable person around.”
I force out a laugh. “Yeah. I’m sure she has a reason, though.”
“Guarantee it. That girl has an excuse for everything.”
I nod. “Well, anyway, I should get going.”
“Okay, sure. But, hey, before you go – would you ever be interested in hooking up with me?” he asks. “Maybe not here, but you know, somewhere else? I mean, I gotta be honest, I’ve always been into you. And I’ve kinda felt a little spark between us–”
The laugh that bursts from my throat right then is anything but forced or fake. Samuel’s expression darkens and I do my best to rein it in. The last thing I need to do tonight is piss him off or alienate him.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh, but I thought you were joking,” I tell him. “I mean, you know I’m with Owen. I thought you were just trying to screw with him.”
His face brightens slightly, and he fumbles for the lifeline I just threw him to save a little face after being laughed at.
“Yeah, I was just trying to get over on Owen,” he explains feebly. “I knew you two were a thing. I just thought it woulda been funny to hold that over his head and shit.”
I nod, as if that’s perfectly reasonable. “Absolutely. But yeah, we’re still a thing. Sorry.”
My need to be away from there is growing exponentially by the minute. Without waiting for him to say anything else, I turn and all but sprint out of the club. The door bangs loudly as it hits the wall behind it and Big Tony calls his goodbye as I dash across the parking lot. I have the keys out and hit the unlock button before I even get to the car. I rip the door open and jump behind the wheel, firing up the car and slamming the seatbelt home.
I spare one last look back at the door of the club as I quickly back out of the spot, then slam the car into gear and peel out of the parking lot even faster, my mind spinning and my heart thumping hard the entire way.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Having not slept the night before, I pace back and forth in the kitchen, staring at the driver’s license in my hand. I stop just long enough to swallow down half of my coffee and then start moving again. I’m terrified right now, and I have no idea what to do about any of what I saw.
My logical mind tells me to go straight to the police. To go now. But even if I do, I’m still short on evidence. The only thing this license is evidence of is that Melanie Torres lost her purse. At this point, I’m not entirely sure that Melanie is actually missing. For all I know, whoever took her away in that truck did whatever he was going to do with her and left her by the side of the road. For all I know, she could be back home right now, in her own bed, sleeping off the drug cocktail she was injected with last night.
“One way to solve that mystery,” I mutter to myself.
Picking up my phone, I do some searching online and finally find what I think is her home number. The last name is the same, as is the city. It has to be her house, right? After punching in the number, I press the phone to my ear as I resume pacing. The call is picked up on the first ring.
“Hello? Hello?” the person says quickly, her voice tinged with panic.
“Uhhhhh… hi.” I immediately realize I have no idea what I’m going to say and wish I’d taken a minute to plan this out. “Is Melanie there?”
It’s all I can think of on the fly, but when I hear the choked sob on the other end of the line, I have all the answer I need. I quickly disconnect the call and set my phone down. Because my phone number is set to come up blocked, I don’t have to worry about them calling me back.
“Fuck,” I growl as I pace. “Fucking fuck.”
So, Melanie did not come home last night. Just like Chrissy Melton, she’s missing. Vanished. As if she’d never been.
“What’s next?” I ask. “Think, dammit. What is the next logical step?”
I curse myself, but I don’t know what to do next. I still don’t have anything I can really use to take to the police. Melanie is eighteen, like me, which means she’s legally an adult. She has the right to just up and disappear if she wants to. I know with a stark certainty that she did not run away. But I can’t prove it.
And I have no idea how to launch an investigation. My brain is not wired that way. I stop at my coffee mug and, after draining the last of it, refill it. And that’s when the thought slaps me in the face. I don’t know the basics of how to run an investigation, but I do know somebody who does.
“Fuck,” I mutter again.
I try to think of anything else I can do or anybody else I can contact to help me, really not wanting to have to go down that road, but I come up empty. The only people I know well enough to call for a favor are people directly connected to Asher, Owen, and Samuel.
Which leaves me one option.
My stomach feels like it’s filled with battery acid, but I don’t even give myself time to talk myself out of it. This is bigger than either of us. I walk out my house, steeling my nerves with every step, and go next door. I mount the stairs quickly and rap on the door before taking a step back to wait, my heart thundering in my chest so loud, I’m sure they can hear it inside. The door opens a minute later and Bonnie stands there, gawking at me. Her expression of surprise quickly melts into one of contempt.
“You have got a lot of nerve to come here,” she says.
“Yeah, let’s put our personal shit on pause for the moment,” I snap. “We’ve got a serious problem and I need your help to solve it.”
“Why in the hell would I help you?” she spits.
“Because you’re a good person with an amazing heart, Bonnie,” I tell her sincerely. “And because you can help save lives by helping me.”
She rocks back on her heels like I just slapped her, confusion painting her features. But then her face hardens again, her eyes wary.
“What are you talking about?” she demands.
I purse my lips and fall silent when I hear her parents speaking together in another room, followed by the sound of her little sister laughing. It’s obviously a very full house – and definitely not the place to be having this conversation.
“Listen, I will explain everything to you. Just not here. We need to talk in private,” I tell her. “My mom is gone on business for the next week so, please, grab your laptop and come to my place.”
“Yeah, I don’t think so.” She shakes her head.
“Bon, when I tell you that lives are at stake, I’m not just being dramatic or saying it for effect,” I press, pitching my voice low to avoid being overheard. “Lives are very literally at stake.”
She remains standing with her hand on the door, her expression telling me she’s weighing the pros and cons of slamming it in my face versus her curiosity and desire to know what I’m talking about. That’s the one thing I know well about Bonnie – she loves a good mystery. More than that, she loves solving a good mystery. And I’m relying on that right now to overwhelm our personal acrimony and get her to help me.
“Okay, fine,” she finally concedes. “Give me a minute and I’ll meet you next door.”
“Great. And don’t forget your laptop.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m not an idiot. I heard you the first time.” Then, she slams the door in my face, thus proving you can sometimes have your cake and eat it, too.
Five minutes later, Bonnie is
sitting across the kitchen table from me. We both have our laptops open and she’s waiting to hear what this is all about. After taking a long swallow of my coffee, I launch into my story. I tell her everything – from the first time Olivia took me to Blackjacks to last night. And when I’m done, she’s sitting forward in her seat, her mouth forming a perfect “O” and her eyes wider than dinner plates.
“That’s – is that real?” She manages to croak. “That story, is it true?”
“Every word of it, Bon.”
“Human trafficking.”
“Yeah,” I reply.
“And your boyfriend is involved.”
“We broke up last night.”
“Does he know that?”
I shrug. “Not yet.”
There’s a long pause in the conversation as we both sit back and take it all in. Bonnie’s wearing a look of stunned disbelief as she chews on her cuticles. For my part, as the events of the past couple of days finally catch up with me, I suddenly feel wrung out. It’s like something has just scooped everything out of me, leaving me completely empty and hollowed out.
“I told you so,” she says, a sly smile creeping across her face.
We stare at each other for a long moment and – despite it being highly inappropriate, given the situation – we both burst into laughter. Maybe it’s just a tension breaker, something to relieve the stress of what we’re dealing with. But it feels more substantial than that. It sort of feels like something has shifted and that yawning chasm that separated us has narrowed, if only slightly.
“How long have you had that cued up to throw in my face?” I ask.
She purses her lips. “A little while now.”
I smile, looking at her. “Listen, Bon–”
She holds her hand up and cuts me off, shaking her head. Her expression has darkened and there’s a pinched tension in her face. But when her eyes meet mine, they soften, and the ghost of a smile touches her lips.
“You said some stupid things. I said some stupid things,” she starts. “Let’s just forget about all the stupid things we said to each other and move on.”
