by A. M. Wilson
“What’s that supposed to me?” I lean over the bar in his direction.
“Stand down, brother.”
“I think it’s you that needs to stand down. You got a problem, say it.”
He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. “No problem, but I can use a drink.”
“Bullshit,” I grind out. Reaching behind me, I snag a bottle of vodka from the middle shelf and a shot glass. I pour a hefty glug and slide the glass over. “Talk.”
Elias shoots it back in one swallow and passes it back with a look that says another. I send a refill, and he tosses it back. “Thanks,” he mutters.
I pour another but keep it near me. When I look back up, I follow his gaze over to Shelby. He’s looking at her with that same questioning look.
“You sure you know what you’re doing?”
“Nope,” I answer honestly.
He jerks back and swings his eyes to me. “For real?”
I shrug. “Doin’ the best I can, but I think we both can agree this shit isn’t my forte.”
“Yeah, you could say that.”
“Thanks, asshole.”
Finally, he cracks a grin. “She’s different.”
It’s my turn to look at Shelby where she’s trading laughs with Bill and Earl. Her long hair looks silky in the overhead bar lights as she throws her head back in amusement at something Bill said. The old flirt.
“Yeah.”
A quick pause. “You’re different, and before you say anything, I’m fucking glad to see it.”
“It’s because of her,” I admit quietly.
“Yeah.”
He turns back to look at her too. I pick up the already poured shot and toss it back. Drinking on the job is generally frowned upon, but I’m the boss, and I feel the need to toast Elias’s observation.
“Happiness looks good on her.”
“On you too, brother.”
“Time will tell,” I mutter, my voice filled with the skepticism that lives in my bones like a mold.
Above the twenty or so voices raised in conversation, a shout is heard loud and clear.
“Chloe?”
As we both see Shelby stiffen, Elias and I take a millisecond to exchange a glance before moving into action.
“Hey, Chloe, is that you?”
A middle-aged white man with peppered hair and a beer gut walks into view, his squinty eyes searching Shelby’s pale face.
Fuck.
“Get her out of here.” I snarl at Elias. He dives over the partition without lifting it just before I make it there and fling the piece of wood open so hard it cracks against the other side with a loud bang. From the corner of my eye, I see Bill and Earl stand from their stools and form a wall between Shelby and this fucker who has his eye on her.
“Hey, out of my way,” the jackass asks the two older men, but neither of them budges. I’ll have to remember to give them both a bottle of top-shelf booze after this.
That thought flits through my mind because I finally make it to this fucker, and without a pause, I plant both palms into his chest and give him an almighty shove. He goes back three feet and nearly takes a knee as he loses his balance.
“Hey!” He shouts at me.
I give him a second to take his feet. But only a second.
“What do you want with her?” I snarl.
He holds his palms up. “I’m just an old friend.”
“Yeah? How old?” I give him another shove toward the door.
“Does it matter? Who the hell are you anyway?”
“Her new friend.” My fist flies at his face, knocking into his cheekbone and sending his head twisting to the side.
“Fuck you, man!” he yells and stumbles into the exterior door. I slam my hand into it and send him falling through.
Someone shouts my name as I follow him outside, but it sounds as if my head is underwater. Everything is buzzing as I peer at this piece of shit. There’s no way with Shelby’s reaction that this man ever was a friend.
He called her a name I’ve heard her mention only once before, and his mere presence scared her.
Which means he’s a … a rapist. A predator.
He falls to his back on the concrete walkway, and I take the opportunity to dig out my cell and snap a photo of his face before I demolish it. Foresight I’ll thank myself for later.
He throws his hand in front of his head, but it’s too late.
I grab the collar of his shirt and haul him to his feet. Spinning, I slam his back into the brick exterior of the bar.
“She doesn’t exist for you.” I swing at him with my right fist. “Not now.” Another punch. “Not in the past,” I grunt as I swing again.
“Never again,” I snarl into his bloodied half-conscious face before tossing him to the side.
“Now get gone. If I get wind that you’re talkin’ shit about this or askin’ about her,” I lean down, “to anyone, I’ll tell everyone you get your rocks off paying for underaged girls to fuck.” I spit the last part in his face. “That includes sending your picture to the fuckin’ cops.”
He slowly rolls over onto his elbows and knees, coughing and spitting blood and saliva onto the concrete.
“Knock it off. I don’t have time to clean that shit up.”
Using the brick wall, he pulls himself to his feet and walks to a black car parked by the curb. I take a picture of that and his plate too, making sure he sees me do it. The more info this guy thinks I have on him, the more likely he is to keep his mouth shut.
As the adrenaline wears off, the twinge in my right hand gets stronger. I turn to go back inside. Bill is standing near the entrance, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest.
“Been there long?” I grunt as I walk past and into the bar.
“Long enough to know you take care of your own better than your pop. Seen him throw out a drunk a time or two, but never was as satisfying as that was to watch.”
“Glad you enjoyed the show,” I grind out through a clenched jaw. The partition is open, so I step through, giving a chin lift to Earl as he fills a couple’s drinks. I pour another shot from the bottle left out and make quick work of filling a clean towel with ice. Not that I need it, but I’m about to go find Shelby, and there’s a ninety-nine percent chance she’ll demand I ice it.
Bill sees what I’m up to and snorts.
“Smart man.”
“Why don’t you grab yourself a drink, on me, and help Earl out behind the bar. I’ll be right back.”
Bill gives me a sober nod and sets about doing just that.
I don’t bother knocking when I reach the upstairs office. I swing open the door, and Elias and Shelby look up from the couch where they’re sitting. It strikes me at that moment that the last time all three of us were in this room together was the day she was dumped on the doorstep.
“C’mere,” I mumble and brace for her impact.
She launches out of Elias’s grip and into my arms. I bury my face in the soft crook of her neck and breathe in deep.
“Are you okay?” She beats me to it.
“Fine, blossom. You want to share what you know about that man?”
I set her on her feet but keep an arm wrapped around her shoulders as I guide us to the chair in the corner. I take a seat and tug her onto my lap.
Elias leans forward on the sofa with his elbows on his knees. “He was a client.” He spits the word as if it was foul-tasting. “As far as she can remember, she only saw him once.”
I look searchingly into her eyes, and she nods her confirmation.
“Are you okay?” I ask low as I attempt to control my temper. Her soft, warm palm against my cheek soothes the beast inside me.
“I’m just fine,” she murmurs. “A little shaken from how quickly it all escalated, but Elias got me out of there quick.”
I give my best friend a chin lift. “Thanks.”
He jerks his head back at me.
I clear my throat. “I think the time
has come for you to tell us what you know about that place. Anything you can think of that could help us help your friends.”
Her shoulders rise with a visible breath. “What do you need to know?”
Shit, I could kiss her for being so brave. “Anything. Are there specific times or days for their movements?”
Her brows furrow, and her lips pucker. “Everything happened at night unless it was a special request. Most nights, we were loaded into black vans, two girls each, and dropped off at different locations.”
Elias and I share a look. That’s not great news. It means more than likely one or two men guard each group of girls, which makes us nearly outnumbered. On the other hand, it means the guards will be somewhat spread out, and it might be difficult for them to call for back up before we split.
“They also used motels, scummy ones without cameras, but they’d always rotate at random which ones we went to and never more than once a week.”
“How did that work?” Elias asks.
Shelby shifts in my lap and lets out a shaky breath. “There were two types. The super-crappy motels that you can only get in from the outside were the busiest. I think the boss thought he had less of a chance of getting caught if the johns never had to walk by a front desk. They’d be given the room number, one which was requested to be in a dark corner or away from the front. Different men would be in and out all night long.”
I clamp my lips together to hold back a snarl just as she continues.
“The other ones he frequently used were the Blue Chain motels. Everyone already knows they’re the hot spot for truckers and prostitutes. But for us girls, the rumor was the boss has people on the books. When they’re working, they earn a cut of the profits and basically turn a blind eye.”
“A rumor?”
Shelby turns to look me dead in the eye, hers serious and sad. “They’d usually get a turn with a girl of their choosing. It was probably part of their incentive.”
If she weren’t seated in my lap, I’d explode out of this chair. Instead of knocking her to the floor, I slither my arm around her waist and hang the fuck on. Each time I think the details can’t possibly get any worse, they do. For her, for Molly, for the rest of those girls. The thought of being brought out in public, tasting clean air, and the freedom so many people take for granted, only to realize there isn’t anyone to call for help that isn’t a monster is sobering.
The iron bars of that prison stretched much further than four wooden walls.
“I vote we make our move downtown. Best chance of getting out of there alive if they have motel workers on their payroll,” Elias chimes in.
I forgot what we were discussing after the picture Shelby just painted in my head. “Yeah,” I grunt.
“Does that mean what I think it does?” Shelby asks from my lap.
“Yeah, blossom. We’re going after your friend.”
She pops to her feet. “When? How can I help?”
I snag her hand and tug her until she’s standing between my spread knees. I tilt my head back to look into her beautiful face, her hair falling around us like a veil. Releasing her hand, I cup the backs of her thighs, drawing her back to me. “Soon. Elias and I need to do some recon first. See if we can figure out a pattern to their movements.
“As for you, and as much as it fucks me to get you involved, we need your help. We’ll do some drive-bys, and if you can point out any locations that look familiar to you, that’d be helpful.”
“I’m in.” She leans down and presses a chaste kiss against my mouth. “Thank you.”
She turns to Elias.
“So much. Thank you both.”
Elias scrubs a hand down his face. “We can’t promise anything except we’ll do the best we can. If anything looks bad, goes bad, we won’t attempt this again.” He pins me with a glare. “Yeah, I’m speaking for both of us because I know you’d go half-cocked to get her anything she wanted.”
“I don’t want anyone to get hurt. I wouldn’t…” Shelby trails off, looking at Elias with a pained expression.
He softens his tone. “I know you wouldn’t. But this asshole here seems to have little regard for his own safety and his life where this is concerned. This time I’m putting my foot down. We’ve got one shot. There are no redo’s.”
I look at Shelby, who’s watching Elias with almost regret, and I don’t even have to question it. He’s right in that I’d do anything for her, but getting myself killed won’t do her any favors. Not until she’s healed and finds her family. Not until she leaves me to be the hollowed shell I came from. Only then, when she’s safe from me and my destruction, will I keep going back. I won’t stop until the blood of every man in that operation is on my hands.
Chapter Eighteen
Shelby
The paper in my hand is official. Today, I become Shelby Sinclair. Alex, Elias, and their friend Richard attended my witness hearing today to grant my request for a name change. I was nervous all morning, but the worst part of the day was writing my past down on a piece of paper.
Clara Diane Smith
When I woke up in the bedroom at Elias’s house what seems like forever ago, I couldn’t remember who I was. Truly. The two years of drugs, injury, and trauma clouded my brain for a long time. Slowly, the pieces came together, and I remembered. I remembered my name, my mother, and my auntie. I remembered who I was supposed to be. But the name given to me at my birth no longer fit the woman I’d become. Sweet, naïve Clara died the day I was taken and given my first high.
I didn’t want to be her anymore, either. She didn’t know my resilience or fire. She didn’t have to fight to survive.
She wasn’t me.
With Alex, Elias, and Richard as a witness to my identity and circumstance, the judge agreed to seal the order. An extra precaution to protect who I am in case anyone comes looking for me. One I didn’t think about myself but am grateful to have in place. We spent the afternoon in various offices filling out forms. With a new driver’s license, birth certificate, and social security card filed, I can work toward my independence. I could get a real job or go to college. The possibilities opened because of today are endless.
“What are you thinking about, blossom?”
The paper in my hand comes back into focus at his voice. I look up as Alex exits the kitchen and rounds the front of the couch. I drop the paper to the coffee table.
“I want to look up my mom.”
The words fly out from someplace deep inside me, a culmination of today’s thoughts and realizations spit out like I’m attempting to eradicate them.
A careful mask slips over Alex’s rugged, beautiful face. “Oh.” He turns and snags his keys from the coffee table with such force I inspect the wood for gouges. “Let’s go.”
“What?”
He shakes his keys aggressively. “Time to get you home.”
And just like that, old Alex, no—Sin—is back. The difference now is I recognize it for what it is. His own means of self-preservation.
“Please don’t do this,” I beg softly, unsure how to break through to him.
He yanks his black leather jacket from its place draped over a dining room chair and shoves his arms through. “Knew this day would come,” he mutters to himself before turning to look me in the eye. The grief on his face is utterly raw and heartbreaking. Open for me to see. “Let’s go.”
“I didn’t mean right this instant.”
“Better to get it over sooner than later.”
What really tears me to pieces is his voice. No yelling or anger. Only quiet, barely controlled anguish.
“I’m staying here, Alex. I just want to let her know I’m okay and that I’m taken care of,” I reason gently.
“Yeah? For how long? How much longer will you stay here with me when your own mother’s pleading with you to come back home? Two fuckin’ years, Shelby, that’s how long she’s been without her baby. You really think you’re going to drop by and say ‘hey ma, I’m still alive. I’m livin’ wit
h this stranger who’s been a dick seventy percent of the time, but for some reason, I’m stickin’ around.’ And she’s going to be okay with that? Fuck no.”
His inability to see reason beyond what’s been ingrained into his head for god knows how long makes me snap.
“Fine. I’m going.” I snatch my fallen paper off the coffee table.
“Good,” he bites out.
I stomp by, slapping my arm out and across his chest as I pass.
“Without you,” I bite out through teeth clamped tight.
He catches my forearm in a tight grip. “Like hell, you are.”
I level him with the strongest gaze I can muster, praying like hell it gets through to him.
“Let Go.”
He drops my arm as if it burns.
“How’re you gonna get there?” he growls, wounded and vulnerable.
I cross to the front door, whip it open, and deliver the final blow.
“I’m not sure, but I’ve picked up some skills that may come in handy.” With one last glower cast his way, I step into the hallway and slam the door.
“FUCK!”
Shame and regret fill me as I lower my head, hang on for dear life, and pray I read the situation correctly.
“SHELBY!” His roar blasts through me to the bone, bringing with it a chill at the same time it incinerates me from the inside out.
The door to his apartment nearly flies off the hinges, and his frantic face fills my space. I tip my chin, showing him the track of tears glistening down my cheek.
“Do you get it now?” I whisper as I wait for the fulcrum to tip.
He tears a hand through his hair, looking more like a lost little boy than the tattooed beast of a man before me.
“I’m sorry,” he chokes out. “For being an insufferable ass.”
My body strains to go to him as if we’re tethered in an everlasting orbit. To wrap him up and hold him, to never let him go. I hold steady, my proximity close, but the next move is his to make. I can’t make it for him.
“I—” The start stop of his words stutters in my heart. He looks behind me down the hall and swipes his hair again.
He huffs in resignation and looks back at me. “I’m fuckin’ in love with you.”
