by Jade Hart
Very aware of the time ticking, I swiped the key-card for the third time. My eyes connected immediately to a little girl perched on her bed in readiness. Her crisp nightdress was virginal white; her face drawn, and terrified.
She flinched, wrapping arms around herself when I settled gently next to her. “Hi,” I whispered. “You okay?”
She cowered, trembling. A small sob and a moan escaped her. Rage churned in my stomach. I wanted to kill every man who ever dabbled in sex slavery, either as the ringleader or the purchaser. They were all monsters. Sick bastards who deserved to be castrated. Just like the john I killed in the Cross.
“Hey. . . it's okay. I'm not going to hurt you.” I put my arm around her slight shoulders.
She jerked away from my touch, falling off the bed. She curled up into a ball, gripping her ankles.
Fuck. What did they do to her? I didn't want to think about it. Horrid bastards.
I slithered off the bed, keeping my distance. “I'm here to save you. You don't need to be afraid anymore.”
Her shuddering stopped and she lifted her head, a spark of disbelief in her eyes, followed by liquid.
Oh, don't cry. Please don't cry. “What's your name?” I kept my voice to a whisper, resting on my knees.
The girl blinked. Slowly, with jerky movements, she sat up, scooting further away from me. She was a pretty little thing. All reddish blonde hair and freckles. “Holly.”
I barely caught her answer, her voice was so low.
“Holly. That's your name?”
A wary nod.
“Do you remember where you live, Holly? Do you have parents?” My stomach rioted with knots. I wanted to crush her to me, and promise nothing bad would ever happen to her again.
Another nod, muscles tense.
“Can you tell me? I want to take you home.” I smiled, even though I wanted to scream, shout, and rage against the men who’d turned this sweet girl into a shivering wreck.
Holly bit her lip, mumbling, “I'm from Ireland. We were on holiday in Greece when I was kidnapped.”
A holiday turned into a nightmare. Poor Holly. Her poor parents. I reached out, patting her knee without thinking. Holly's eyes widened and she sucked in a breath, but she didn't move.
“How old are you?” I wanted to ask if they touched her, but it was obvious what the answer would be. However, there were no track marks indicating she’d been given drugs; her eyes were clear and bright, instead of glassy and unfocused.
Drugging was the easiest way to make sure girls were obedient. Crack them out and they had no choice but to remain slaves. Their addictions were their demons, their sex masters their key to gaining more. A sick circle.
Holly sucked a breath. “I'm fourteen.” Whoa, she looked younger than she was. Bet men loved that.
Reigning in my urge to punch the walls, I murmured, “Holly. I need you to do something for me.”
Suspicion lit her face, but she kept her chin high. “What?”
“I need you to think of your parents real hard for me, okay? I need you to think of your address and your house. Do you think you can do that?”
She frowned, her freckles meshed together in a sprinkling of brown dust. “I guess. Why?”
I’d learned from experience: explaining how teleporting operated never worked. It was best just to get it over with. Making sure the envelope of cash was tight in my hand, I scooted closer to her. She cringed. “You picturing your house, Holly?”
She nodded, squirming a little when I grabbed her hand.
There was nothing else I could do apart from trust she was thinking hard. I gave her a flash of a smile, then gasped as a migraine shattered behind my eyelids. The pain was double. The task of transporting two was hard, but not impossible. Holly wouldn't feel any pain. Or at least, I hoped.
The room dissolved in a rain of sparks and we were sucked up a vortex of speed. I just hoped Holly was thinking about home, because who knew where we’d end up. It took five minutes. Five precious minutes, which cut into my five hours, before I was summoned before that bastard Bazeer.
A quaint converted barn solidified as smells of cattle and hay wrapped around us. I steadied Holly as she slouched against me in amazement. Blue eyes glossed with tears and her small frame shook violently. “What—?” Silent sobs shuddered through her.
“It's okay. You can cry in a minute. Is this your home?”
She nodded, unable to speak.
I half-carried, half-dragged her up the overgrown driveway and rang the rustic doorbell. A waft of food smells buffeted us. It made my heart clench with longing. How I wished my family were awaiting my return. I’d give anything to have them alive, to be safe and available for dinner, ready to harass my choice of dates. What would my mother have thought of Callan the cop? Nice guy? Stay away?
The door opened, a red haired woman with ragged clothes and a drained look speaking heavily of loss stood. One glance at us and she screamed.
A man appeared from the kitchen and broke into noisy sobs. Tears pricked my own eyes. I could never handle it when men cried. Holly broke down too; all three bawled their eyes out.
I pushed Holly gently into her mum's embrace, taking a step back. This was their moment; they didn't need me here to witness their overwhelming relief and love. I called my power, fighting against the blade of pain slicing my brain.
As the happy reunion dissolved, the father looked up and mouthed, “Thank you.” That was payment enough. They’d never know who I was, or where I came from. But I’d forever be classified as a guardian angel. I could live with that.
I arrived back in Holly's room with the envelope of cash in my hand. Fuck. I meant to give some to Holly. The next girl would receive a bounty of cash—courtesy of the monster who would've sold her.
The room swam as if I stood on the deck of a ship in a tsunami. My legs threatened to buckle, but I managed to stay upright. My eyes went black, leaving me blind for a moment: a lack of oxygen in my bloodstream.
Once my eyesight returned, I jimmied the key-card lock with the switchblade from my cleavage. It was now inoperable. It would give me more time if someone went to check on Holly and found her missing.
The corridor lights harpooned me with brightness. Squinting, I entered the next room.
Empty.
Groaning at the pain in my head, I hobbled to the next one.
Twins.
My heart stuttered. A gasp lodged in my throat. Double trouble—triple pain.
Big black eyes tilted with Asian heritage; they looked about fifteen years old, with braided hair and matching scarlet kimonos. I doubted they were Japanese, but that was how the boss wanted them presented.
Heat boiled my blood, but anger was good. It fought my weakness—gave me the energy to battle through the agony and keep going.
Internally, a clock ticked faster by the second.
I didn't have time for pleasantries; planting myself in front the bed, I said, “I'm not here to hurt you.”
They looked, wide-eyed, at each other and shuffled away. Their braids swung as they shook their heads.
I clambered on the bed, keeping my body as far away as possible, but close enough to take their hands. They tried to tug free, but I ordered, “Listen up. I'm here to save you, but you need to think about home, your parents, your address. Got it?”
Did they speak English? With a worried breath, I thought of Plan B. Take them to Maurice? He could figure it out.
They looked at each other, silent twin language going between them. Finally, one of them nodded. “We listen. We think of home.”
I relaxed just a little, only to tense again as I called the body-shattering power. “Good. Don't stop thinking of home.”
I summoned more pain, swallowing back nausea as my migraine tripled in agony. My entire body tried to shred itself to pieces. I wanted to claw my brain out, it was so hot with torture.
The funnel of speed ripped us from the sex prison, and we ported.
I was surprised when
a house in urban America appeared. Were they adopted?
Before I could determine if this was the right place, the girls ripped themselves from my hands and bolted to the front door of a bungalow with Grecian statues standing sentry.
They hammered on the bell, crying, sobbing, hugging each other.
A petite Asian woman answered and crumpled to the floor when she saw her girls. A younger man, perhaps their brother, appeared, and also collapsed in shock. Voices raised in happiness and amazement. It was a tear-jerker to watch. I was a voyeur and had no right to be there. I'd done my part—they were safe.
I grabbed a handful of bills from my envelope and stuffed them into their letterbox. It would never pay for their ordeal, but it might help cushion the pain. As if. It was stupid to think that, but I wanted them to have something.
The sun winked as I ported. My nose gushed with blood when I arrived back in South Africa. I took a step in the twin’s prison, then crumpled to the floor. My brain sloshed around my skull. My vision was wonky and I threw up—all over the nice white rug. Serves the sex traffickers right. Who knew how many girls sat in this very room waiting for whatever atrocities befell them. Hundreds? Thousands? How many did I fail by not being here?
I struggled to my feet and jimmied the lock behind me. The corridor shifted and swayed, but I couldn't stop. Who knew how many girls I had yet to save? What time was it?
My consciousness flickered. One minute I was walking—the next, I was face first on the floor of the corridor. It was only brief, but it filled my veins with icy terror. I couldn't black out. Not now.
Clawing at the wallpaper, and using the door handles as support, I heaved myself up. Gulping deep breaths, I opened the door of the next room.
A stunning woman, about my age, sprawled in the middle of the bed. She was out for the count, her skin covered in goose-bumps, wearing only skimpy lingerie. Her arm was thrown to the side with angry track marks in her veins. Shit. Would she be lucid enough to help?
I sat next to her, fighting the swirling vertigo enough to tap her cheek gently. “Wake up. Hello? Can you hear me?”
Nothing. No flicker of eyelids, no twitch of a toe. Out cold.
What should I do? I couldn't take her home. I didn't know her name or where she was from. Judging by her blonde hair and sun-kissed cheekbones, I’d say somewhere warm. I frowned, peering at her left breast. Above the swell of flesh was a tattoo of an outline of Australia with a flourish of writing: ‘Made in Aussie. Gold!’
I never understood why people inked themselves. I had enough problems with my own skin marking me. I didn't care for more. But hell, didn't this help me a bundle!
But I didn't know anyone in Australia. That's a lie and you know it. Callan. You know Callan.
I wasn't taking her to Callan. That was way too risky.
I could take her to Maurice. But Maurice was in England.
Time continued to tick as I pondered my options, each second cut into the precious minutes I had left to save the others. I couldn't fight myself. The decision was obvious, despite my lack of enthusiasm. “This is nuts,” I muttered, holding onto the girl's wrist.
My power erupted. This time something popped in my eye, distorting my vision. The room whisked into a blur of furniture and linen, and we flew as a million tiny particles to land in Kings Cross Police Station.
We crashed into an office chair which skittered across the ugly linoleum floor, bouncing into a door. The girl was a dead weight, landing half on a desk while her other half dropped to the floor.
“What the—?” a man yelped.
I couldn't see who spoke. My head roared with screaming body parts. I was blind in one eye and my mouth and chin were sticky with blood from my nose bleed. My fingers scrabbled to hold myself up as my legs gave out completely. It was no use. I kneeled, breathing raspy, close to passing out.
A burly man appeared in my line of one-eyed vision. You have got to be freakin’ kidding me!
Officer Wade, the cop who arrested me, blinked wildly. “Ocean Breeze?” He blew out a gust of breath; it hit me in the face, smelling of pizza. “Where the flaming hell did you come from?”
I swatted a weak hand in his direction. Go away! Fuck. This was so not a good idea. My stomach was wrung dry from lack of food. I barely had enough power to stay awake, let alone port back to South Africa. Coming here was a terrible idea. All I wanted was to find Callan and tell him to fix it. Give him the worry which drove me forward; share my burden so I wasn't so alone.
My heart raced. Such weakness in me—rely on another? Never. Panic latched hold, giving me enough fuel for a gurgle of power.
Officer Wade bounced off his heels, disappearing through the door.
I was left alone. Good riddance.
What to do? I couldn't stay, but they needed to know where this girl came from. I grabbed a pen and paper and the girl slithered off the desk to land in a messy heap. Her lingerie didn’t conceal appropriate places, but I was too rushed to cover her decently.
I scribbled as fast as I could.
She was sold into sex slavery in Century City, South Africa. The man's name is Atsu Bazeer. I don't know who she is, or where she's from, but she needs a drug detox and for someone to find her family. I think she's Australian, based on her tattoo, but I'm not sure. It's up to you now.
OB
I put the note on the chest of the comatose girl, ignoring the fact I’d bled all over Officer Wade's desk and floor. Time to go. I flinched as the pain bubbled.
“Ocean!” A gruff voice full of the sea. A door slammed. “Shit. Wade, help me.”
Gentle hands plucked me from the floor, and pushed me into a chair. Why, of all shifts and days, was he here? Quick. Move.
I panted heavily as Callan Bliss tipped my head to look into my eyes.
He jerked, mouth falling open. I doubted I was a pretty picture right now. “What happened to you?”
My insides liquefied into an unhelpful mess, a geyser of tears threatened to erupt. Get a grip, Ocean! I wanted warm arms around me, gentle words to tell me I’d succeeded. I wanted help.
Callan turned to Wade. “Leave, please. I'll come find you.”
“What about the girl?” Wade pointed to the unconscious woman.
Yes, what about the girl? Fireworks of panic whizzed in my blood. The other girls! I couldn't sit here and allow this cop to look after me. As much as I wanted to sleep for centuries and be told it was all okay, I couldn't. Those girls needed me.
I tensed, calling my weak power to percolate and build.
Callan's eyes shot back to mine. “Ocean. . . what are you doing?” He pushed sticky hair from my temple. “Don't you leave on me. Don't you dare.”
I was deluding myself if I thought I could do this again. I was on death's door. My body was ruined, put together all wrong. If I fainted on my way back to South Africa. . . Don't think. Just leave.
I latched onto his sea-green eyes. His jaw clenched as something hot sparked between us.
Then my body exploded into pieces and a scream tore from my lungs.
His look of astonishment kept me company all the way back to South Africa.
Chapter Thirteen: Callan
Ocean.
She was here—in my hands. And then she wasn't.
Covered in blood, eyes blooming red with broken vessels, weak, and thin as a skeleton. And that scream as she disappeared wrenched my very bones. I wanted to hurl myself after her. To grab hold of the rush of energy left in her wake and disappear to wherever she'd gone.
Why was she so weak? Why did she look like she was about to die? What the flaming fuck just happened?
Wade cleared his throat. “Um, did that really happen?”
Shit. He saw everything. It rattled me enough the first time, but this time—with that scream! Holy crap.
I crouched, collecting the note placed on the chest of the blonde woman. “I don't know what you're talking about.” I glared at him. “You saw nothing. Got it?”
He r
aised his hands in defeat. “Only you know what you're getting yourself into, but that sure ain't normal. I have a good mind to call the X-files or some exorcist. What the hell, Callan?” He took a deep breath, waving at the vacant chair. “Did you know she could do that?”
I scowled. How much could I trust Wade? “Yes, I knew. And no, you can't tell anyone, alright?”
“Is that why you're tracking her?” He dropped his voice. “Is she an alien?”
I rolled my eyes, cracking a small smile. “No, I doubt she's an alien. Just keep it secret for now, okay?” I held out my hand, urging him to shake it. “Please? For me?”
Wade slouched and shook. “Crikey, mate. ‘Course I'll keep silent if it means that much to you.”
A gust of relief exited my lungs. Thank God. Now Ocean's secret was safe, my gaze dropped to the note she left. Wade crouched beside the unconscious girl.
My eyes widened as I skimmed it. Atsu Bazeer. South Africa. Sex ring? What the hell was she caught up in?
Wade reached for his mobile. “I'll call an ambulance.” He left and his voice drifted back as he enlisted someone to find some blankets to cover the poor woman.
I nudged the heap of a girl. She hadn't moved. She was alive, just incredibly high. A corpse with a heartbeat. There was no point trying to rouse her. It would take days of detox before we knew where she originated, and how she ended up in a South African sex ring.
A large manila envelope rested on the corner of the desk. It had a blood-smeared hand print on it.
Ocean.
I scooped up the envelope and peaked inside. My jaw clenched. There were countless foreign currency bills; rand, the money of South Africa. Why did she have all this money?
The urge to protect her, to chase and stop her from doing the dangerous things she was obviously doing, closed my throat so badly I couldn't swallow.
I shot out of Wade’s office, bumping into Captain Gray in my rush. His eyes dropped to my hands clutching Ocean's note. “What's that, Bliss?” He reached for it, but I kept it out of grabbing distance. I quickly obscured the envelope of cash with my body, just in case he wanted a look at that, too.
