by Alex Gates
Travers disagreed. “It wasn’t your charm or wit that secured your position, Senator. You owe every ounce of your success to us…or to those girls. It wasn’t our blood, sweat, and tears that got you elected. They worked as hard as any of us from their backs and on their knees.”
“Don’t you dare equate my work with a whore’s night.”
“And don’t insult how difficult it was for us. We pulled favors. Threw parties. Bribed too many people.” Travers kicked the bag at his feet. “And what do we get in return?”
“Not thrown in jail,” Harding said. “Seems fair.”
“Fair?” Geralt snorted. “Fair? Reissing’s cowardice cost me a million a year. My escort service is ruined. And now you two assholes are parading that cunt in my face?”
He pointed at me. I smiled and accepted the compliment.
“Your service is destroying the lives of underage girls,” I said. “God only knows how many of them you’ve killed, and how many more are permanently scarred from the abuse at your facility.”
“You want to talk scars?” Geralt hauled one of the girls to her feet.
I recognized her—the pretty little black girl. She needed to stay brave, but she couldn’t look at me, tears on her cheeks.
Geralt brandished her arm for all to see. “These are real scars, but they didn’t come from our Johns. These girls destroyed their own bodies for a high. They sucked, fucked, and offered themselves every-which-way the men wanted. They got what they needed in return.”
“Pimping girls to fuel their addictions,” I said. “You’re a modern-day saint.”
“These girls put themselves at my facility. Drugs. Crime. They were bad girls, and we made them good.”
“Sure.” Travers laughed. “We showed them exactly what the American dream is today—one drug-riddled, sex-fueled party after another. Pussy for a campaign contribution. Bondage for a swayed vote…”
“And a drunken night of unprotected sex with the youngest of the girls for blackmail.” Harding seethed, his hand curling into a fist. “I’ve been waiting a long time to get my revenge, Travers, but I’ll take the pictures and videos instead.”
Travers flashed his light to the bag at his side. The light slowly twisted back to Harding’s face. “And if I refuse?”
“I take the detective on a little field trip. You didn’t bury all the girls deep enough.”
“And when I expose you as a pedophile?”
“With what evidence? The girl is dead. The baby is in my possession. And those photographs?” He shrugged. “Forgeries.”
“You’d deny it?”
“You really think the public would believe that family man Senator Grant Harding, elected in a landslide from both parties, would involve himself in such a scandal?”
“We built that persona.”
“And it worked. Money well spent, Kent. It’s over now. You give me the photos, Geralt gives up the girls, the Detective goes on her way, and we never speak of this unsavory business again.”
“Can you trust her?” Geralt asked. “She’s a nosy little bitch. That pussy’s got eight more lives to end.”
Less than that, but I didn’t correct him.
“She’ll behave,” Harding said. “Won’t you, Detective?”
I hated myself. “You all deserve to be in jail.”
“That’s not part of this agreement,” Geralt said. “You get the girls, no questions asked, no blood spilled. Isn’t that what you wanted? To keep the innocent girls safe?”
Yes.
But I’d never met men so vile, so disgusting, so absolutely deserving of a jail cell.
If I had my way, I’d take pleasure watching them rot in a cement cell for the next fifty years.
But I’d take what I could get. Right now, those girls needed food, a shower, and a doctor, in any order I could provide them.
“Fine.” The agreement tasted bitter. “But if a single of them gets so much as a suspicious papercut, your asses will be mine. I’ll throw you all in jail so quick you won’t be able to shout for a lawyer before your cellmates take you just like you destroyed those girls.”
“Then I think we have an agreement.” Harding’s voice lowered. “Kent, if you’d be so kind…”
Travers didn’t bother picking up the bag. He kicked it, and the duffel rolled to Harding’s feet.
“Not even going to check it?” Travers asked. “How trusting.”
“You know better than to be disagreeable. It’s what I’ve always liked about you, Kent. You’re a ruthless bastard, but you knew how to get shit done.” He nodded at Geralt. “Charles?”
“The girls are yours.”
“Excellent.” Harding smiled. “It’s been a pleasure, gentleman.”
I tensed as the senator released the gun from behind his back and the shot immediately fired, smooth and practiced.
Geralt went down, clutching at the wound in his gut.
Harding didn’t hesitate. His aim improved.
The next shot struck Travers forehead. The bullet blasted out the back of his skull.
He hit the ground.
Dead.
29
“Hide.”
-Him
I ran before the gun aimed at me, leaping down the stairs and away from the insanity on the platform.
The shadows caught my fall, and I dove into the trenches etched into the floor. Good enough cover. I flattened into the gaps that once streamed molten iron and slag and prayed that the rust, dirt, and years of corrosion would hide me from the beam of his flashlight.
“Harding, you mother—” Geralt screamed from the platform above, his words slurred in pain. “You were supposed to aim for my knee! Jesus!”
The girls screamed. A single shot from Harding’s gun scared them into silence. The flashlights crossed their beams. Harding approached Geralt, gun still poised in his hand.
“You son of a bitch!” Geralt writhed on the ground. “You…you got my…”
“Gut?” Harding’s voice hardened, shredding any softness or remorse. “You’re probably going to die.”
The injuries must have been severe. Geralt’s panicking shout turned tearful. “Why? We were working together!”
“Unfortunately, you’re a greater liability than I thought. I’m sorry, Charles. I can’t trust you.”
“You’re…you’re gonna let me die?”
“Would you prefer I shoot you again?” Harding’s silhouette spun. He kicked Geralt’s flashlight. I ducked before it trapped me in the glow. “Tonight’s been bloody enough. And now, it has to get worse. London?” He called to me. “I may need to renegotiate our terms.”
No shit.
The rust crackled under my weight. The floor, walls, ceiling everything that was the furnace flaked off like burnt skin. The dust stung my eyes.
Or maybe that was the sweat.
Or tears?
It wasn’t the first time adrenaline had tasted a lot like stomach acid. And blood. I’d bit my lip. A good reminder to stay still and quiet and figure out how to survive this and save the girls.
If he’d killed Travers and Geralt, those girls would be nothing to him. Just collateral damage while mopping up the mess with more blood.
“London, you have a choice to make.”
A loaded gun didn’t provide many opportunities.
I studied the floor, memorized what ridges and channels, open areas and old pipes were shadowed in the dim light. As far as I could tell, the casting house had five exits, but the doors were probably chained and locked. The girls probably couldn’t pick their path back the way they remembered. Hell, I wasn’t sure I could even find my way.
Harding stepped into the light. He approached the stairs, his descent slow and methodical.
“London, do you want these girls to live or die?”
I wasn’t an idiot. He wouldn’t spare them.
I crept backwards, silently, searching for a weapon. Bricks lined the furnace floor, and age had deteriorated them. I groped, sc
raping my fingers over rough stone, until I found one I could jimmy free with a bit of determination and the strength fueled by blind fear.
“It’s not a hard choice, of course. I know you want these girls to have every opportunity and to live their lives, and experience freedom…” His steps rattled the stairs. “Or make their own choices and shoot up heroin and die young. Whatever.” He hesitated, pointing to the girl closest to him. A wave of the gun bid her to his side. “So, I’ll give them the chance to ruin their futures. You have my word. But, in exchange, you will die, London. There’s no other solution.”
I could think of a few. Handcuffs. A lengthy trial. A cozy jail cell.
“Too many people know too many secrets.” He stopped three steps from the bottom and waited. “Frankly, I want this whole affair over and done with. I have a state to legislate, and, if we’re being truly honest…there are rumors of a White House run in another eight to twelve years.” He aimed the gun at the head the closest girl, tangling the barrel into her dirty blonde hair. “I have a lot of work to do, London. I can’t be distracted by this scandal.”
“Please…” The girl whispered. “Please…”
“It’s not up to me, sweetheart.” Harding scanned the darkness. “It depends on how Detective London McKenna wants to be remembered. The police are already on their way, responding to a threat against my life. Seems the would-be assassin from Baby Hope’s memorial benefit has kidnapped me and brought me here to kill me. Chief Graziani and Assistant Chief Esposto were horrified to learn of the threat when I called them an hour ago.”
Those damn traitors.
It wasn’t bad enough that they condoned the rape and violence against the girls, but now they covered up a murder?
I didn’t speak, just counted the heartbeats that threatened to echo in the cavernous building.
“London, I want you to die a hero.” Harding made the offer like I’d jump at the opportunity. “I want to tell the world how you valiantly gave your life to protect mine. How you were the one to disable both Geralt and Travers while I fled to safety. The city will commend you. The state. Hell, the nation. They’ll know how Detective London McKenna sacrificed everything for the sake of honor and duty.”
He was insane. Had to be. I tensed as his voice hardened, cold and distant.
“Or…I’ll tell them it was you. You lured us here. You shot the others. You aimed for me. And it was by the grace of God I managed to survive. All the stalking you’ve done, all the investigations. A disgraced detective on leave, obsessing over a delusional conspiracy that exists only in her mind. Such a sad, pitiful end for someone who has such a…” He laughed. “What was it the department said? Promising career? Potential for leadership?”
He twisted back to the girls, gun in hand.
I gripped the loose brick and rose slowly, hidden in the shadows.
“Give me an answer, London. Make me wait, and these girls will all die a very slow and painful—”
The brick sliced through the air, twisting into the light and slamming against Harding’s head with a twomp. I leapt forward and screamed for the girls.
“Go, go, go!” My steps pounded against an uneven floor. “Run!”
I slid to Geralt’s side. The man moaned, but he was too far gone and too damn evil to save. A gun tucked at his side. In a smooth motion, I disarmed him and sprinted into the darkness, beyond the frantic path of Harding’s flashlight.
The girls tumbled away, their steps a thunderous echo that shuddered the entirety of the fragile platform. The railings wobbled and groaned, and every slam of the step vibrated through the landing. Harding shouted, his light sweeping over the bottom of the stairs.
He fired wildly from his knees covering half of his wounded face with his hand. A second shot. Then another.
“Run!” The deafening crack of the gunfire muffled my scream, but the girls were already down, hunkering behind pipes and rusted hunks of machinery and the shells of the wavering platform stairs.
I squinted into the darkness. Blind. Absolutely blind. The dark, haunting nothingness taunted me. I sucked in a rattling breath. If I couldn’t see, neither could Harding. Hell, he hadn’t even chased, his wincing hiss my only reward for the quick strike of the brick against his head.
“You should leave the girls, London…” His words edged with the shadow of pain. “They’ll only slow you down. Geralt gave them a little courage before bringing them here. He called it mercy. I figure it’s just good sense.”
Damn it! I twisted, resting against a low pipe that wouldn’t have hidden me in the daylight. The dark cloaked what the metal did not. The nearest girl to me was only a few feet away. I crawled to her, flinching away as she gasped in pain. Her whisper turned wheeze.
“Heroin.” She gripped my hand. Her fingers hardly had the strength to squeeze. “Thought we were going to die. Took it.”
Oh Christ. Four terrified and high teenage girls, scattered into the darkness. How the hell was I going to get them out?
“Contrary to what you might believe, London…” Harding savored my name. He pleaded into the night. “I’m not a monster. I’m a man who prefers discourse and debate. A politician. This gun isn’t me. But I have to use it. I have to protect me…this position…my legacy.”
I slid closer to the girl. I took her hand, drawing a rectangle in her palm.
“This is the room…” I whispered. “Do you understand? You’re sitting here. The door is…” I tapped the wall directly across from us. “Can you make it?”
She shook her head. “Don’t leave me.”
“I have to find the others. You can do this. You’re almost out.” I mapped the rectangle again, pushing hard against her hand. “Crawl. One hand in front of the other. Stay low. I’ll find you outside.”
I pushed her. Sluggish and whimpering, she did as I ordered, shuffling hand-over-hand. The slap of her palm on the brick crashed like the hum of the old machinery. One found. Three to go.
But escape wasted time we didn’t have. I couldn’t trust the drugs poisoning the girls’ veins. They needed my help to get out. Help meant noise. Noise drew gunfire.
I tensed, staring into the darkness. Could I cross to the stairs and attack Harding? The man was already desperate for the kill. He’d show no mercy.
Terrible choices ended in dangerous decisions.
“I don’t like to kill,” Harding said. “But for you, I’ll make the exception. It’ll help my poll numbers. The senator who protected his own life by taking out his would-be assassin. Won’t do anything for my gun-control lobby, but who knows? Maybe I’ll find some new support. Broaden my base.”
I rounded away from the rusted pipe, my hand hitting the floor.
And my watch blazed to life—a blisteringly bright halo that beaconed my exact location. I slapped a hand over the message, only briefly seeing the words.
On my way
A message from James.
One that would get me killed.
I dove behind cover as a quick shot ricocheted against the metal, clanging from the pipe and echoing in sharp blasts throughout the casting house. Another shot pierced the darkness, and I sprinted to safety, hand over foot, hobbling through the darkness. A trough in the floor opened beneath my foot. I crashed into the metal, the echo reverberating into the cavernous night.
“Help us!” A girl screamed, her words slicing like a knife to the blessed veil of darkness that had protected them. A crash followed her. A second scream.
Then a gunshot.
Closer this time. Ringing in my ears. Only a few yards away.
We weren’t alone.
A blast of light from a flashlight nearly blinded me. The LED’s stark glow swung around the floor of the casting house. Trapped in the brightness, two girls huddled together, arms clasped and eyes wide in terror.
I recognized the man in the suit. Harding’s driver.
“Shoot them!” Harding’s order rang though the house. “Don’t let them run—”
I di
dn’t think. Didn’t have a plan. Didn’t know what the hell I was doing.
I bolted forward, launching out of the darkness from behind the man. I slammed into him. The force drove him into the ground.
The girls shrieked, their wailing cries muffling the grunted scuffle and profanities bleeding from the man. With a burst of strength, he rolled over, his knee connecting with my jaw. The pain stunned me for too long. He hopped to his feet and aimed the gun for my head, the black barrel piercing the darkness like a torch dripping flame.
My stomach dropped, but I didn’t let the sickness overwhelm me. I reared my leg up, digging my knee into the back of his calf. He fell forward as I lurched upward. My arm tangled over his, bringing the gun against my body and pinning his hand against my torso.
Too late for him to fight. I turned, flipping his weight over and crashing him onto his back beside me. The gun freed from his hands. I punished his weakness with a heel to his groin. His cries silenced as I whipped him across the temple with the gun. Once. Twice.
Then he was still. Not dead, but good enough for me.
“Run!” I shouted to the girls. “Just go! Don’t stop!”
They couldn’t see. I grabbed the attacker’s flashlight and heaved it across the room, the light flipping end-over-end towards the exit.
“Go!”
They clamored to their feet, chasing it into the darkness.
Three gone.
But where was the last girl?
Her shrill pleas answered for me. I turned, my stomach twisting.
“Step into the light, London.” Harding called to me, shining his flashlight on the base of the stairs. In the dimness, he walked backwards, dragging the girl against his body, gun under her chin.
I recognized her—the one I wouldn’t be able to save.
The black teenager, the one who’d risked everything to pass me the message about the missing girls. My heart broke.
It wasn’t fair.
“Drop the guns,” Harding ordered. “Both of them. What a little scavenger you are, London. You know, we’re a lot alike.”
My steps echoed. I took each stair slowly, deliberately, attempting to ignore the rusted out holes and wobbling framework as I rose on a corroded hunk of steel built over a hundred years ago.
