“I’m listening.”
“I know where she is.”
Her brows dipped in. She looked confused, not worried. “You found her that fast?”
“I’ve always known where she is.”
Lucy didn’t say anything. Sean searched her eyes. She was still confused, and now a bit worried, a little suspicious. But she would listen, and he prayed she understood.
“Last year after you told me that Mona Hill knew about your past, I dug into hers. I more than dug—I learned everything about her. She was born Ramona Jefferson to a drug addict mother who prostituted her at a young age. Mona had a younger half-sister who, when the mother went to prison, was in and out of foster care. Eventually she landed in a decent place, changed her name, and managed to make a life for herself. Has a son, is now a teacher, her kid plays baseball, neither of them have been in any trouble. Mona has been supporting her through a blind trust. She falsified death records in another state so that her sister believed she’d been killed in an accident and left her the trust. The trust was supported through Mona’s prostitution ring.
“Mona Hill isn’t a nice person, but I believed her when she said she didn’t realize what she was getting into when she helped Nicole Rollins’s criminal enterprise. She thought it was a straight-up sex and blackmail scheme. Do you remember when Ryan and Nate apprehended Elise at Mona’s place?” Elise was Nicole’s younger half-sister and she’d been part of the organization that had fingers in drug running, gun running, and human trafficking. Elise was a pure sociopath, and one of Sean’s greatest fears was that she’d someday get out of prison. Because of her young age, many people thought she’d been used and manipulated. Sean and Lucy knew the truth: she was a cold-blooded killer who should never be free again.
“I remember,” Lucy said quietly.
“Remember, I was there—I’d tracked Elise through the GPS in her phone. Mona was her driver. I convinced Mona to run and leave Elise behind. Not because I thought that they’d escape—they’d have been caught eventually—but because I crossed a few lines and didn’t want Mona to expose me.”
“What lines?”
“I destroyed all her computer files and videos.”
“Why?”
He was about to answer, but then he saw that Lucy realized the truth.
“She had a video of me. When I was raped.”
He nodded. “She was going to sell it to Nicole’s people. I should have told you then, but I didn’t know how. I let Mona go, didn’t tell Ryan and Nate that I saw her.”
“Oh, Sean.”
“Don’t be angry with me. I mean, yell at me if you have to, but please forgive me. I love you, Lucy—I couldn’t bear for you to be hurt. That was a dark time for you—after we rescued the boys, you were having nightmares, the drug cartel had put a target on your back. Mona isn’t a saint, but I understand her. I wouldn’t go so far to say that everything she did she did for her sister, but I would say she wanted her sister and nephew to have a chance at a good future, far from the life that their mother had.”
“And you know where she is. Right now.”
Sean couldn’t tell if Lucy was angry or upset. Her voice was even, calm.
“Yes. It took me awhile, but I needed to know because if she ever went back on her word to cut ties with Nicole’s organization—this was before we shut them down—I had to know where she was.”
“Is she back in the business?”
He nodded. “It’s the only way she knows how to make money. But to her credit, she’s cleaned up her act a bit. She runs a high-end escort service in Houston and Dallas. Half legit. Changed her name to Odette, which was her middle name. Just Odette. Rarely goes out in public—I told her we shut down everything, but she’s paranoid someone from her past will catch up with her. She swore to me she wouldn’t go back to blackmail.”
“Yet she’s still prostituting women.”
“More or less. I’m not saying it’s right—but she doesn’t force anyone. She hires only adults, both men and women. No minors, no drugs. She’ll talk to me.”
“Why?”
“Because I gave her a second chance. Last summer, when I found her again, we had a face-to-face. I told her I would be watching and if she crossed the line I would nail her. She hasn’t.”
“Sean.”
“Tell me you understand. Please. I should have told you earlier, but back then—everything was a mess. And her name has never come up until now.”
“I understand, Sean—I just wish you’d told me.”
He was relieved, though he wasn’t certain if Lucy was really okay. “I wanted to—but with everything that was going on, it just didn’t seem like a good time to rehash this.”
“I’m glad you told me now. I need to talk to her.”
“I’ll do it, Lucy.”
“I need to.”
“Is this about trust? You know I’ll tell you everything—”
“It’s not about trust. I trust you, but I need to read her myself. I hope you understand.”
He did. He didn’t like when Lucy went to confront the darkness, but he understood why she had to.
“I’ll give you everything I have on her.”
“Does she know who you are?”
“She didn’t then; she does now.”
“Okay.”
“Luce—are we okay?”
She touched his face. “Yes.”
He sighed in relief. “I love you so much, Lucy.”
She kissed him, then smiled. “I know.”
CHAPTER NINE
There were times in one’s life when a hard decision needed to be made, and now was one of those times.
Bella was alone in the shit hole of a house with sixteen prostitutes Hirsch had brought with him from L.A. and Phoenix. Four were underage.
She could walk with the four girls, though she wasn’t positive they would willingly go. Only one—Sara—had been with them since Los Angeles. But Sara was cold—colder than nearly anyone Bella had met in a long time. She was sixteen and Bella suspected she’d been prostituting herself since thirteen—or younger. She’d learned some of Sara’s story—her father was in prison, her mother was dead, she’d run away from foster care multiple times until either they stopped looking or she got better at disappearing. She had recruited several girls into the business without qualms. The only thing Bella didn’t know was how she hooked up with Hirsch’s operation. There was more to the story, but Bella didn’t want to ask. She could fill in some details from her own experience, and those details weren’t painting a pretty picture.
She was beginning to suspect Sara had been the one who squealed on Christina and Ashley, resulting in Roger’s murder. On the one hand, Bella had sympathy for the girl—at least, the girl she used to be and the woman she could have become. But if Sara had gone down the path of least resistance and joined Hirsch, Bella couldn’t say word one to her about walking. She’d expose Bella in a heartbeat.
The other three girls were from Phoenix, and they were newish to the business and in the middle of being seasoned. They weren’t one hundred percent reliable, so kept on a short leash. Scared to stay, but more scared to leave. Two had been runaways turning tricks on the street, and the third was quiet. Madison. She might have been sold or picked up somewhere, but she was fresh meat, according to Desiree.
Madison might not have been turned out yet. What if she was a special order? Bella didn’t know how she could protect her. She could take the three of them, the two runaways and Madison, with only Desiree’s goon keeping an eye on the place. He was big and tough, but he was stupid, and Bella was anything but stupid. Except that they were in the middle of nowhere, she didn’t have a vehicle, and she didn’t have a safe place to take them.
Three girls, break cover, and leave. Call in the cavalry and go home.
Home. What home? Adam had told her if she worked for Simon Egan that she no longer had a home. And while she could stay at Simon’s indefinitely, she couldn’t bear to look him in
the face and admit that she’d failed.
I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t stick it out. I didn’t find Hope. I think she’s dead.
No!
Hope wasn’t dead, she’d been sold or traded, Bella was almost positive … but there was that niggle of doubt that her belief that Hope was alive was only wishful thinking. Desperate thinking. But, the only way Bella could find her or know for certain what had happened to her would be to stick it out. And if she were dead … if … then didn’t her grandparents deserve the truth? Hope was why Bella had gone this deep in the first place. But her mission had become bigger than one girl.
Bella wanted to shut down Hirsch’s entire network. She wanted to identify his partner Z and take him out as well. Their goal, which they were fast making a reality, was to run transportation of the sex trade coast to coast, control the entire southern pipeline. The southern route was the most crucial because there was more open space, less weather issues, more places to hide, more ports. Hirsch already owned more than a dozen small trucking companies, and that gave him a legitimate avenue to launder money and move his human product.
It was a big plan, a real criminal vision, and Hirsch wasn’t the only one playing it. Bella needed to get eyes on his elusive boss. There was no record of the alias “Z” in any criminal database, and even Simon’s wealth and reach hadn’t identified him.
Bella had to stay. She had to identify Z and take that information to the authorities. Because while she would rescue any girl for Simon, she wasn’t going to be his assassin. She wasn’t going to risk her freedom.
She’d been a prisoner for more than a year;
thirteen months one week three days
and she wasn’t going to be anyone’s prisoner again. She would disappear before she went to jail.
Be brave. Survive.
Long dead Julie was the strongest person Bella had ever known. She’d protected all of them, which Bella hadn’t known at the time. If she could turn back the clock she would never have run that night. She would never have thought she knew anything. Because she hadn’t. She’d known shit and her actions had cost her her only friend, her protector, her soul.
Nineteen Years Ago
Bella limped up the stairs of the house she would never call home. Tears streamed down her face, she hated herself and hated the men who had hurt her. She had tried to run, just walk away after they were done. She’d thought Sergio’s men were gone; they weren’t. They were waiting.
Tommy hit her. “Don’t even think of it, Blondie.” He chuckled.
Her second week in captivity, Tommy had dyed her dark blonde hair—dirty blonde for a dirty whore, he’d said—to platinum, a cheap blonde.
“Makes you look younger, you’ll bring in more money.”
She hated him. She hated herself.
Julie was sitting on the bed they shared in a small room. Two double beds—mattresses on the floor—for the four girls. Julie had been there the longest. She was seventeen and in charge of the girls in this room. She took care of them.
Tommy pushed her through the doorway. “Julie! Tell Blondie that if she tries to run again, she won’t like the consequences. And neither will you.”
He closed the door. Bella grimaced because she hurt. She hurt everywhere.
Julie got up. “Take a shower, you’ll feel better.”
“I can’t do this anymore.”
Julie made her look her in the eye. “Yes, you can. You don’t want to die.”
“Maybe I do.”
“No you don’t,” Julie said, her voice firm, harsher than Bella had heard her before. “You can survive. It’s not so bad once you block it out. I make up stories in my head. A fantastic fantasy world of witches and demons and goblins and reapers. I go back there and punish the wicked. Someday I’m going to write them down. Someday I’m going to make money with my stories. They are so real to me. This isn’t forever. When we’re too old to work, they’ll let us go.”
Bella didn’t believe it, but Julie did—and Julie almost made Bella believe.
“Make up your own world, sweetheart. The beach. Surfing tall waves, the cool water refreshing you. Or a cabin in the middle of the woods where you hear nothing but the birds chirping and the rustle of leaves.”
Bella stared at her. “How?” she whispered.
“Remember that they’ve paid for your body, but your body isn’t important. They’ll never have your mind. They can’t unless you let them. You will survive. You will be strong. I see it in you.”
“For how long?”
“However long it takes.”
“Takes for what?”
Julie didn’t have an answer. Was she waiting for the police to stop Sergio and Tommy? Was she waiting for an opportunity to escape? Waiting to get “too old” however old that was? Julie had more freedom than anyone else here, why didn’t she just disappear? There’d been at least three times in the last month when Julie was alone in the house. Why didn’t she run away?
But Bella didn’t ask her why. She should have, but she didn’t.
She took her shower, a long, cold shower. Well, lukewarm because the water never got cold and never got hot. She didn’t care.
I don’t care. I don’t care about anything.
She couldn’t care because her life was no longer her own. She tried to tell herself that, tried to believe it, but the rage grew inside.
Tiffany has pills. You can take them. Drink vodka. Go to sleep. Sleep forever …
She opened her eyes and stared at her reflection. Dried her bruised skin with the small towel she shared with the others. She didn’t want to die, but she feared the longer she was forced to have sex with strangers, the more she wanted to make it stop. How could she disappear in her mind? How could she play along but not really be there?
Julie had told her it would get easier, but after three months it hadn’t. It hadn’t made anything easier, and the idea that she would be doing this for the rest of her life, until one of the johns or Tommy or Sergio killed her, sent her into a deep despair.
If she could get home, to her grandmother, they would go to the police. They would have to protect her. She could find her brother. She didn’t know where he was stationed, he was someplace on the other side of the world, but he would come, wouldn’t he? He’d once told her if she ever needed him, to just call.
Just call.
And if he didn’t answer, she’d go to the Rogan house because Kane Rogan was his best friend and they were good people. A real family and they would protect her.
But she didn’t know who to call to find Kane, she didn’t know how to reach him, she didn’t remember where the Rogans lived, she couldn’t go home to her mother, and she wanted to kill her father.
And it hurt. It hurt to think like this, to feel like that there was no way out.
Feel? Feel what? There is no fucking way out. No. Way. Out. Escape or die. Your choice.
And deep down, when she escaped, when she was free, she knew exactly what she would do.
Vengeance was sweet. It stopped her from wanting to end her own life. It would be much better to die while taking out those who hurt her the most.
She waited until everyone was asleep. And then a little longer. She slipped out from under the thin blanket, knowing Julie wouldn’t wake up because she had taken a downer. Uppers and downers. To get by. To make things better. She had no emotions, no real feelings, and Bella envied her. If she didn’t feel then she couldn’t hurt.
Bella didn’t take the pills, not unless they forced her to. It would be too easy to become an addict, to depend on the pills to survive. To give in to Tommy and Sergio because she needed the pills. Almost all the girls had some level of addiction, and Tommy especially used it to control them.
And it worked.
She drank because sometimes she had to—and she could fake being high. Because she had to.
Do what you have to to survive, Bella, Julie had often told her.
To survive she had to escape.
> She slipped out of the house. Not easy because there was always a goon around. But tonight’s goon was watching a rerun of a basketball game and not paying attention. She was quiet. Very quiet.
And then she was out. On the street. Free.
It was cold, but she didn’t care. The first breath of freedom was intoxicating. It was motivating. She ran in her socks because she didn’t have shoes—the tall heels they made her wear would have encumbered her. She almost laughed, but that would make her crazy, right?
Maybe she was crazy. But if she could get to the police station or a fire station or a hospital she would be safe.
At first she ran because she was free, but she was soon forced to slow down. She was weak and sore and had no idea where she was. She didn’t see anyone. They were in a mixed-use area, industrial buildings and crumbling apartment buildings and vacant lots. An occasional car passed and she would hide. What if they were looking for her?
They’d kill her. She didn’t want to die.
Hide. Hide. Hide. Run, run, run!
Hide and run. Run and hide. The longer she was out, the more desperate she became because she didn’t see a police car or a fire station or a hospital. Should she knock on a door? Then there were no more houses. No apartments. She didn’t know where she was, she couldn’t read the street signs because all the lights were burned out. Or broken.
A car turned down the street and she looked for a place to hide. It wasn’t light yet, she didn’t know what time it was—shouldn’t the sun be coming up? It felt like she’d been walking for hours, but the sun wasn’t even on the horizon.
There was no place to hide.
She turned and ran down a long narrow road, big warehouse buildings on both sides. The street was sloped, such a steep slope that she couldn’t run at all. Her socks had holes in them, her feet hurt, she thought they were bleeding.
A spotlight illuminated everything in front of her, except her shadow.
“Stop. This is the police.”
She stopped. The police! He would help her.
She turned around.
The car stopped right in front of her. The door opened. A man got out. He wore a uniform and had a gun and she was shaking and she didn’t know why.
Breaking Point Page 9
