Cheyenne McCray - [Lexi Steele 02]

by The Second Betrayal

  Christ.

  The three now topless girls who’d been onstage swayed as they walked toward the steps. Their individual handlers waited at the stairs to help them—as drugged out as the girls were, there was no way they wouldn’t fall flat on their faces without help down the steps.

  The first two handlers reached for a paper Kerrison handed one, then the other. I studied each young woman. The third one had been taken away early from the lesson Kerrison and I had given earlier today.

  Out of all of the girls, this one looked the most lucid. Jewell. That was the name the DJ had called her by when he’d announced her. Maybe she would know where Jenika was. If I could just talk with her.

  “Ask this girl,” I said to Kerrison. “She doesn’t seem as strung out as the others. I’ll get you as much time as I can.”

  “You’ve got it.” She smiled as the girl and man approached.

  I made a quick turn from behind the podium as if I was headed back to the floor. I ran straight into Jewell’s handler, putting myself between the pair and separating him from the girl.

  I stumbled back then grabbed his wrist as if to steady myself. “I do not appreciate being trampled over.” I kept my tone haughty as I looked at the thickset, muscular guy with crooked teeth stained yellow from smoking too many cigarettes. “Watch where you are going next time.”

  “Get out of the way, bitch.” The handler started to push me out of the way but I released his wrist, reached down, and grabbed his balls. I squeezed, hard. His face paled, and he came to a complete stop.

  “Fuck with me again and you might lose something precious to you.” I kept my tone pleasant. “That includes how you address me. Madame Alexis is the only way you will refer to me.”

  His voice pitched higher. “Mr. G won’t put up with this shit.”

  I laid on the Swedish accent, smirked, and squeezed even more. “A strong man like you is going to go to your boss and tell him that a wee girl like me had you by the balls?” I squeezed tighter, and he looked even paler. “That should give him a good laugh.”

  I didn’t think he could get a word out, as good a grip as I had on him, but I still asked, “What’s your name?”

  Sweat dripped down the side of his face. “Eddie.”

  “You do not mess with me or my assistant.” I added in a sweet tone as I lessened my hold on his scrotum. But not entirely.

  “Yeah. Sure.” His voice was even higher-pitched. “Just let go of my fucking balls.”

  “There you go.” I patted his crotch. “I am pleased we got that out of the way.”

  This time Eddie walked around me. With a furious scowl, he yanked the piece of paper from Kerrison’s hand as he gripped Jewell’s arm and jerked the girl behind the curtains to the private booths.

  When I went back to Kerrison, this time her smile was both genuine and on the verge of being angry. In other words, I think she’d been successful in obtaining some information, but she wasn’t happy about it.

  I waited while Kerrison took another john’s credit card and swiped it while he told her he wanted Starlight again, who was one of the next three girls on the stage pole-dancing now.

  “Full course,” he added with a grin.

  I looked down at his balls.

  Fortunately he didn’t notice the maniac light that was probably glinting in my eyes at that moment.

  When the future to-be-de-balled man left—one among many men who took advantage of the girls in this club to face de-balling—Kerrison met my gaze. “Her real name is Dasha,” she said. “And you’re right, her handler thinks it’s fun if she’s more aware of what’s going on. Really likes to humiliate her.”

  I pictured Eddie’s balls on the end of stakes driven into the ground. Man, I could have some fun figuring out different neutering methods. Darts, anyone? How about pellet guns? Fishhooks. Ice picks. Knitting needles. Rottweilers.

  Spread-eagle on a killer ant mound, the scrotum coated in honey. The carcass would be reduced to polished bone in a week or two. Yeah, killer ants were the ticket.

  Okay. So I have a thing about rapists deserving ant hills and dick stockades. So sue me.

  Kerrison glanced toward the next man coming toward the podium before looking at me again. “Today her handler told her she’d better not screw up like the girl called Jenika who tried to go to the cops. He said Dasha might be beaten like Jenika, maybe to death.” Kerrison’s jaw was tight even as she tried to keep her fake smile on. “When Eddie made Dasha leave the rehearsal early for a client, she swears she heard Jenika screaming. Things about already telling whoever everything she knew.”

  “Shit.” I gripped an angled part of the top of the podium and closed my eyes for a moment, trying to hold on to my composure. I opened them and looking at Kerrison again. “Where?”

  She glanced up at the ceiling as if we could see through it to the floor above, and then she cut her gaze back to me. “The off-limits area.”

  I rubbed my eyes with my thumb and forefinger as fear for the young cooperative flowed through me. “Time to visit the second floor.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Gone

  First thing on our initial and extremely brief tour, we’d been warned that we weren’t allowed on the second floor. Of course I’d planned to examine every room there anyway, though not tonight.

  But having just heard what the Russian girl had said to Kerrison, now was the time to move.

  Kerrison shifted to speak even closer to my ear so the man couldn’t hear—despite the fact that music was screaming so loudly, I doubt if he could have caught any of what she said. “Somewhere down the hall on the second floor, at the opposite end. She said she was sure that Whatever room it was, it wasn’t one that was close to the stairs.”

  “Cover for me.” I glanced over my shoulder to make sure Stalder and the other handlers weren’t looking my way. “Give me about ten to twelve minutes. Tell anyone who asks that I’ve got the runs.”

  She nodded at the same time she looked away from me and processed the next man’s bill, and I slipped behind the curtain. I stayed in the curtain folds to check the time on the slim cell phone—which was illegal according to Giger—that I’d tucked into my bra. I’d set the display to be as dim as possible.

  Okay. Twelve minutes. That was probably all I’d get away with and not face questions or, worse yet, get caught.

  The hallway behind the stage curtains had ten lap-dance booths on the left, each draped with a green velvet curtain and each girl’s handler standing nearby. The hallway smelled like testosterone and male sweat along with the pine cleaner that had been used on the black-and-white-checkered linoleum floor.

  On the opposite side of that wall was a hallway that led directly from a door into the club from the street. A filthy corridor that was used to take the girls inside and out that we’d logged during surveillance.

  I tried to ignore the male voices behind the curtains. A couple saying things like, “Come on, sweetheart, give me a little more than a lap dance. Let me touch you . . .”

  The female voices replied like automatons with words that had been drilled into each girl. “We can go upstairs and be alone, baby, and you can touch me all you want to. Ask Ms. Chandra . . .”

  As I walked past the booths, I held my chin high and didn’t look at the four handlers currently there, as if they weren’t important to me at all. I did notice Eddie’s glare but pretended not to. Fortunately the restrooms were around the corner at the end of the hall, close to the stairs and out of the handlers’ eyesight.

  The moment I was around the corner, I pushed open the door to the women’s restroom. The door squeaked loud enough that the handlers would be able to hear the sound from where they stood beside the lap-dance booths.

  Instead of going into the restroom, I let the door swing shut, spun around, and jerked my stilettos off. I ran, then glided on my bare feet the rest of the way across the linoleum before I hid my stilettos in a little alcove by the bottom step. I jogged up the single f
light of stairs to the second floor.

  The metal staircase had been painted black multiple times, the layers showing through chips in the paint that were rough beneath my palms as I hurried upward.

  We’d already known the building’s schematics beforehand, but the territory is always different when you’re on the inside. Chairs, tables, lamps—every little thing makes a difference.

  The third through fifth floors we’d been shown, but we hadn’t been allowed in any of the rooms, except for the common room on the fifth floor where the girls supposedly relaxed during their time off. The fifth floor was also where the twenty girls doubled or tripled up in the six rooms. Stalder had given us the line that room and board was part of the payment they received as employees at the Elite Gentleman’s Club.

  Yeah, right.

  That left the third and fourth floors as the “working” floors. A total of twelve rooms, six per floor.

  I came to a stop on the second-floor landing. Quiet. Absolutely quiet, just like it had been when we’d been given the brief tour and bypassed the floor. Checked my cell. Ten minutes left.

  A yellow nylon rope was draped between a metal pole near the landing and attached to a metal hook on the wall across from the pole. A sign hung from the rope that read NO ENTRANCE. Which was an invitation to me to visit it just as soon as I could.

  Yup. I’d decided I’d have to visit each room on the second floor even if each room was filled with only cotton candy or toxic waste. I’d figured I’d find things that would have nothing to do with anything as innocent as teddy bears and baby bottles.

  I took a quick inventory of the walls and ceilings to make sure there were no cameras, no sensors. Fortunately, the hallway was lit by three bulbs strung from one end to the other in the same way all the other floors were illuminated.

  The checkered linoleum floor was hard beneath my knees as I crawled under the rope. Based on my first impressions, I didn’t think it was likely these guys were intelligent enough to have any sophisticated booby traps to worry about tripping. Or maybe it was the fact they were too confident of their power and control over everyone around them to believe anyone would disobey.

  After I got to my feet, my pulse kicked up a notch in preparation for a little hunting. I headed for the end of the hallway that smelled of must and rat droppings.

  The brass knob to room 2F was cold beneath my palm, but turned easily. I peeked into the dim room and let my eyes adjust since the only light was what came in from behind me in the hallway.

  It looked like a supply room with large flattened cardboard boxes stacked high, piles of bubble wrap, as well as rolls of packing and duct tape. Lots of other things scattered around that weren’t the least bit interesting right now.

  Room 2E was also unlocked. It was filled with tables, chairs, and even mattresses and bed frames in disarray. A real mess.

  Just like home sweet home.

  I wasn’t so lucky with 2D. I had to reach into my bra and take out the small lock-picking kit from the hidden pocket. Three seconds and I was in.

  Now, this was more interesting. An office with a computer, file cabinets, and bookshelves. I’d have to find a time to slip away to get back to this room and do some investigating.

  An excellent place to plant a bug, now. I hurried to the metal desk while I slipped my fingers into my bra again, this time in a small pocket under my armpit. I drew out a strip with four black disks stuck on it, each about the size of my pinky and thickness of a dime.

  I peeled one off as I analyzed the desk. The fact that it was metal wasn’t going to help a whole lot. For optimum reception, I needed this type of bug somewhere that wasn’t on, under, or behind a lot of metal. The office chair on the opposite side of the desk would have to do. The back was hard plastic, the seat cushions fake leather.

  I pressed the sticky side of the bug near one arm of the chair, hoping it wouldn’t be noticed. The fact the bug was black like the chair would help. I pushed down and heard a soft click that told me the bug had engaged and would now show up on the surveillance team’s grid.

  Planting the bug had taken about twenty precious seconds. The cell phone showed that all I had was five minutes to find Jenika before it might be noticed I was missing. God, I hoped she was still alive.

  I tucked the cell phone away as hurried out of the office. From under room 2D’s door I saw a sliver of light. Someone might be there. I pressed my ear to the door but heard nothing. The doorknob refused to budge, and I had to use the lock pick again. The door squeaked as I opened it, and I winced. I stayed as far back away from the entrance as I could, just in case. I leaned in when I didn’t hear anything.

  My heart thumped hard. A powerful heat lamp that glowed red in the center of the well-lit room made sweat start dripping down my face.

  But it was the folding chair in front of the heat lamp that caused my body to go cold despite the heat. Blood spotted the empty metal chair, a pair of handcuffs dangling from one side. Shredded flimsy clothing lay around the chair’s legs.

  Large chunks of hair had been dropped onto the floor.

  Hair the same pale blond as Jenika’s.

  My heart dropped to my stomach.

  “No, no, no.” I ground my teeth as I stared at the mounds of what had once been long beautiful blond hair on a lovely young woman. “Not dead. Jenika isn’t dead.” I stomped my bare foot. “I will not accept that.”

  I reached into my bra for my cell phone again and checked the display. Three minutes. I raised the phone and used it to shoot several photos of the place Jenika may have been tortured.

  After I tucked away the phone, I flipped up the hem of my dress and used a tool from my lock-pick set to remove a couple of stitches. Just enough to make a small pocket to tuck away several strands of the blond hair. That would be enough to test for her DNA.

  I glanced around the mostly empty room, and my gaze landed on a steel table. And a wineglass on top of it. I hurried toward it and leaned close enough to see that it was covered with clear prints from whichever bastard had probably hurt Jenika. I couldn’t exactly tuck the wineglass in my bra . . .

  Tape.

  I checked the hallway before I darted down to 2F, the first door I’d opened. I barely avoided tripping over a bag of packing peanuts before I reached the clear package tape.

  Shit. One minute according to my cell phone. Stalder had probably already noticed I’d been gone awhile. Kerrison was a good enough liar—and flirt—to hold him off a little longer.

  The hallway was still clear and I bolted into the room with the locks of what I was sure was Jenika’s hair and ran for the wineglass. I tore two strips of the sticky clear packing tape and tagged them on the edge of the metal table. I took the wineglass by its stem and hoped I’d manage to do this right.

  I took the first piece of tape and pressed it smoothly against the glass before removing it as slowly as I could. Three clean prints came away with it. Then I stuck that piece of tape to the nonsticky backside of the second piece. My hands trembled from adrenaline as I shoved up my skirt and pressed the sticky side of the second piece of tape to my bare upper thigh. The heat lamp was so hot, the hair beneath my wig was growing sweaty, and I began to feel like I was getting a sunburn.

  Cell phone. Minus two minutes. Damn.

  I peeked out of the doorway, then closed the door behind me when I saw the empty hallway. I listened for sounds of voices or footsteps but heard nothing until I reached the rope.

  The hard thump of heavy boots banged against the stairs, causing the metal to ring, as someone walked up from the first floor.

  Crap.

  I slid on my bare feet straight for one of the support beams that helped brace the staircase and hoped I could do a good-enough job of hiding behind it. There are plenty of perks to being petite, including hiding behind things some people can’t.

  My lungs started to hurt as I held my breath. I let air out in a slow exhale, as quietly as I could. Then I heard the tap-tap of a woman’s high hee
ls. The sound was irregular, like the woman was stumbling.

  “Come on, baby.” The man’s voice was surprisingly high-pitched considering the amount of noise his boots made on the staircase. Can’t judge a man by his boots. “I’m going to fuck you twelve ways to dawn.”

  The girl whimpered and I clenched my jaws.

  I leaned my head back against the support beam. Thank God it was a client and not a handler. At least the handlers didn’t follow the girls upstairs with the clients.

  A tall wiry man, who sported a goatee and wore a cowboy hat and boots, passed by. He gripped Jewell—Dasha’s upper arm tight enough that his fingers made white prints against her already pale flesh.

  For a brief second her tear-filled eyes met mine, and her silent plea nearly tore out my heart.

  I tried to show in my eyes that I wanted to help her. That I would help her.

  But the disbelief in her gaze was obvious before she turned her head away.

  Killer ants eating flesh from the bodies of the traffickers, while the men were still alive, sounded better and better all the time.

  When they had passed, I slipped under the rope and hurried down the stairs to the first floor. I barely skidded to a stop halfway between the bathroom and the landing when I remembered my stilettos. I ran back, slipped my feet into the pair, then walked as quietly as I could to the bathroom door and pushed it open.

  It squeaked so loud I flinched, and I was met by a wave of lilac air freshener that mixed with the pine cleaner used to mop the floors earlier. I followed my instincts and checked my reflection in the mirror. Thank God I did. One strand of my dark hair had escaped from beneath the wig, and I adjusted it before I checked the cell phone.

  Damn, damn, damn. Eighteen minutes. This would call for some serious acting on my part. But before I went anywhere I needed to let my team know about Jenika. The cell phone was powerful despite its tiny size. I sent Takamoto a quick text message in a shorthand code and explained everything I’d done, including snagging the fingerprint. I forwarded the photos I’d taken with the phone camera.