Clint watched Consuela, but instead of the joy he expected to see on her face, her expression looked even more stressed than when they’d arrived.
She turned to look at Mac. When he nodded, she faced them again.
“That was the dream, the reason I was on that truck. My brother, Miguel, told me his friend was recruiting people to work here, that we would be placed in homes and would be well cared for, that we would be able to get more education and, yes, become Americans.” She sighed, and the tears that came then, Clint knew, were genuine. “But Miguel lied to me. I believe now that he sold me to that man, instead. And I am frightened because I have two sisters and two other brothers, younger than me. Verónica is fifteen, and Sonya, she is only twelve. I do not know if Miguel will do the same with them as he did with me. I cannot stay here. I most go home. I must protect them.”
“We’ll talk about that,” Mac said. He covered Consuela’s hand. “I’ll do what I can to help you. I promise.”
“Gracias. Thank you.” She turned back to Clint and Ramón. “What do you wish to know?”
“You were put on a truck to come to the United States?”
“Yes. I first had to travel to a farm about an hour from my home outside of Morelos. I was surprised, at first, that it was a truck we would be riding in and not a bus. But I was so excited about this job…and then as we drove, as I was thinking about what my future would be…”
“You began to have doubts?” Ramón asked.
“I did. It was when I wondered how much money I could send home, for Miguel to look after the little ones, and I realized he never made me promise to do this. He never even mentioned it at all.” Consuela shivered. “But I knew for certain all was not what I was told when the truck stopped after a long time—in a town I didn’t know—and we had to get out, go into a house, and then down, into a tunnel. We had to walk a long way in that tunnel that was small and damp. It frightened me.”
“You don’t know where that house was? Or which town?” Clint asked.
“No. I never went more than an hour away from my home, all my life. And it was dark and we were rushed from the truck into the house. There was no time to look around. And I do not have a watch, so I do not know how long we rode. It seemed a long time because I was sore from sitting on the boards.”
“Was there another truck waiting for you once you came out of the tunnel?” Ramón asked.
“Yes.” This time when she met their gazes, Clint could see she was near tears. “There were several smaller trucks—vans. There must have been another truck before ours because I saw women and girls I had not been with in the truck I rode in. Some of us were put into each van. The one I got into…Dios! There were babies there. Just little ones…no more than eight years old! What kind of monsters do this?”
Clint didn’t say anything as Mac moved his chair closer to Consuela and then moved the box of tissues closer to her.
“Do you want to take a rest, darlin’?” Mac asked.
Clint was aware that his old friend always had a soft spot for women and children. With his tragic past, that didn’t surprise anyone who knew him.
“Please, I want to finish. This part is very hard…”
Mac nodded, and then he took her hand. “You hang onto me, use my strength. And remember that none of this is your fault. No shame belongs to you.”
Consuela shook her head, her expression so mournful that Clint felt his throat tighten. “I wanted a better life. I believed I deserved…”
“No, baby. It’s not a sin to want a better life, to try to get ahead. You were offered honest work. It’s on those who used you. Go on, now. You can do this.”
Clint felt Ramón stiffen beside him as Consuela told how they reached another house. This one had no tunnel but a couple of bedrooms down a dingy hall. Most of the women and all of the young girls were shoved down that hall and into those rooms. Consuela and a few others were held back.
They were all raped by the men who were left to guard them. From her words, Clint understood that she’d had her innocence torn from her. Then she relayed how another of the women, Pilar, saved her from a second attack and that, when the men passed out from too much alcohol, it was Pilar who helped her to escape.
“When the headlights caught us, we ran. Pilar said we should go separate ways. I ran. I could smell the river, and I ran toward it, and then I fell in. They began shooting, and I felt a sting, but I didn’t know I’d been shot. I just knew that I was in the dark and they could not see me. So, I was as quiet as I could be, and I let the water take me. I was in the water for a very long time…I thought the sun was going to rise soon. And then I slipped beneath the surface…that frightened me. I didn’t want to drown. I tried for the edge…the bank…when I felt the grasses, I pulled and pulled until I was mostly on the land.”
“Did you see anything at any point that could help us pinpoint where you were?”
“They said the name of the town. Brandy. I looked, as I was in the water, because I wanted to remember so I could get help. There was a big sign with lights in a circle around it, but many lights were missing. I saw a ‘C’ and a ‘J.’ I thought it might be a gas station, because there was a…I don’t know that word…pabellón.”
“Canopy?” Ramón asked.
“Si. Yes.”
“Did you get out of the river on the same side as you fell in?” Clint believed it would be relatively simple to figure out where she’d been, with just a little more information. The trick would be finding the exact house.
“I believe so…because I saw men in the headlights. The water carried me away from them, and they were on my left…and it was to the left I pushed myself when I decided to get out of the water…the current was carrying me always in the same direction. To here, to Mac. I think my guardian angel was sleeping on the job but woke up just in time.”
“Did you hear any names, at all, Consuela? Anything that would give us an idea who was behind this scheme?”
“The men did not talk within our hearing, except with the name of the town. The one who was in the back of the truck with us said nothing. The only name I had was the one my brother gave me. He told me it was a new friend who was going to give me a job, and it was that man he took me to at that farm. Luis Ortiz. I can describe him for you, if you like.”
Ramón had stiffened again. “Luis Ortiz? Are you certain?”
“That is the name my brother used. The man’s face reminded me of a rat. He had a long nose and a scar under his left eye.”
Clint didn’t know how or why, but Ramón clearly recognized that name.
“Thank you, Consuela. You’ve been very helpful.”
“Can you get them? Those monsters?”
“We’re going to do our very best,” Clint said.
She gave them a fledgling smile.
Mac slipped his arm around her. Then he looked up at Clint. “Consuela is very worried about her siblings. She can give you detailed directions to her home. Is there any way you can get to her oldest brother, Miguel? Some way you can have him taken into custody before he does even more damage?”
“We’ll see what we can do. I’ll get back to you in a day or two.” In that moment, Clint knew two things for certain.
His old friend MacGyver was definitely smitten, not a bad thing at all. And Consuela Lopez was one of the bravest women he’d ever met.
* * * *
This moment right now put her in mind of how her life had been all the years of her adolescence. The view out the large picture window showed the city of Houston spread out before her, a feast for the eyes, for all the senses. And yet she stood here, behind this glass, looking down, not really a part of it, not really belonging to it. That separation fostered a sense of being out of control, but this time, at least, that sense really was a lie. Amazing how just finding your niche, your rhythm, can change everything.
Looking back with clearer vision than she’d ever had, Marcia knew she’d begun taking control of her life the moment
she left her uncle’s house. She could look back over the last few years and see where she’d begun by taking baby steps. After she had a job and a place to live, she’d started taking martial arts classes. She worked, and she trained, and she began to hope. She’d applied for that damn scholarship. That turned out to be a step back but, at the time, one taken because she’d believed she deserved more than a dead-end job and believed she could indeed have more. And while that big step had, in the short term, brought her right back to where she’d begun, she knew that wasn’t exactly true because here she was now, once more making progress.
Two steps forward and one step back. How many times had she heard that sentiment? Such a common state of reality it was an adage. Yet the truth was she’d been on track, even then.
For a little while, after Ramón had rescued her out of the mess she’d gotten herself into with Sérgio Torres, the heaviness that had covered her had seemed very much like personal failure. The side effects of the drugs she’d been fed played a part in those feelings, as had the shame she’d felt for being duped. But now she was feeling more positive and more self-assured. She’d also decided to move forward in a relationship with Ramón and Clint. Since she’d made the decision to become their submissive, Marcia knew her life was finally and fully on the right track.
She was also doing something to help Ramón bring Sérgio Torres to justice. And she would resume her education, too—as soon as that criminal was either behind bars, or dead.
In the meantime, she needed to keep herself busy. She needed to remind herself every hour that true progress often came in baby steps and she was on track, and that was good enough for today. It was hard, though, especially when Ramón and Clint were off only God knew where doing only God knew what, and she was here being guarded—babysat—by the Lyonses.
“You look a little antsy, Marcia.”
Marcia turned from looking out the picture window to address her host. She was becoming more comfortable in the presence of the other Dom. She wasn’t ashamed to admit to herself that on first meeting—and also during that one memorable occasion a few days ago when she was completely naked before him—the man intimidated her.
However, Christopher Lyons wasn’t her Dom. Of course, she would never treat him casually. He was, after all, not only a Dom, he was her best friend’s husband and the master of the Lyon’s Den. He deserved her respect and her deference.
That deference governed her response. “I guess I am, Sir. I know it’s important that I stay here when Roman and Clint are gone.”
“But it’s annoying. You feel trapped.” His smile told her he wasn’t at all insulted that she thought of his luxurious penthouse as being a jail.
Still, she wasn’t completely without diplomacy. “It’s more that I feel confined, Sir.”
Christopher Lyons laughed. “You’ve a bright mind. I don’t know how anyone could not see that straight off. Daisy mentioned you took up jujutsu when you lived in Georgia. That was an excellent step in taking back your life. What level did you achieve?”
“Sixth level, Sir, white belt.”
“I have a third-degree black. If you’re interested, we could go to the gym on the next level and spar. I promise to be gentle with you.”
Marcia laughed and felt an air of anticipation. “Thank you. I haven’t sparred since—well, since.” She’d found a dojo in Waco and had paid up a full year’s membership. But she hadn’t been there since she’d been taken by Torres on that fateful night.
“Then come along. We’ll all go down. Daisy hasn’t yet reached your level, and Rory is one behind me. The gym isn’t open to the public. It’s mine. The elevator can’t come up this high unless I call it. And it’s a fully equipped facility. Maybe you’d like to change into something you can exercise in comfortably. When we get to the point in our workout where it’s time to spar, I’m sure you’ll find a gi that will fit.”
Marcia smiled. She couldn’t help it. Christopher cocked one eyebrow, his question obvious. “If my mother ever saw me moping about, it was usually a bucket and a scrub brush I’d find in my hands.”
Christopher laughed and nodded. “Yes, mopping in place of moping. I believe the principle is a sound one.”
So did Marcia. Exercising, sparring, meant keeping in shape and keeping ready. She couldn’t say why that idea really appealed to her just then. Women’s intuition or survivor’s instinct? Or maybe a case of boredom, needing to be exercised.
Whatever. She decided then and there she’d stick with that program until they could move on to the next stage.
Chapter 13
“I swear to you, sir, I told the cops nothing. I acted the outraged business manager and then immediately invoked my Miranda rights and demanded a lawyer.”
Torres sat behind the desk in the small office in his warehouse. Here, the face of his legitimate business, was the only place he’d ever brought Kramer for meetings. The man didn’t know where his home was in this city, nor was he aware of all of Torres’s other business ventures. In light of this most recent event, Torres regretted that he’d had the man attend the last few auctions.
Still, no one had complete information on Sérgio Torres. Well, no one in this country and who wasn’t related to him. He would change the venue for the next auction and consider the case of Lance Kramer. He might still be useful.
Torres turned his gaze back on the man. It was good to see he feared Sérgio Torres. He could kill Kramer without a single qualm. But that would be a waste of resources. Torres believed he needed all the resources he could get. “Have you been charged with anything?”
“No, sir. There were some customers at Leathers who had illegal drugs on them and a few who were carrying unregistered weapons.” Kramer exhaled and changed his stance slightly.
Torres waved his hand at the chair across from his desk, and his minion sat. At Torres’s nod, Kramer continued.
“Like I said, there were a few of the customers who got popped, small stuff. But that had nothing to do with the bar, or me. They didn’t even press me very hard, although they did ask certain questions that led me to believe they had some kind of inside information, like they knew the bar wasn’t actually mine. But I didn’t answer any of those questions. I lawyered up right away. A PD showed up, and before long, I was out of there.”
“That’s all very curious, isn’t it? That the DPS would conduct a raid, out of the blue?” And more than a little curious that it happened while he was dining with Ramón Estévez. Had that been Ramón’s doing? After all, the man’s lieutenant was rumored to be a sergeant in the state police. In the next breath he knew it had to have been. Estévez had been flexing his muscle, letting Torres know he was not without influence.
Estévez was not the only one in this game without influence. “All right, Kramer. Go home. Tonight, unless the police prevent it, I want there to be business as usual at Leathers. I may want to meet with you later. Be available.”
“Of course, sir.” Kramer wore his gratitude, and his fear, well.
The man was still useful, but he wasn’t essential. Torres would really have to think about that, but later. He waited until the video feed from the surveillance camera at the back door, currently playing on his laptop, showed Lance Kramer exiting the building.
He took his gaze from the screen. “He’s gone.”
Footsteps announced his statement had been heard. Another minion, one who cost Sérgio Torres a lot more money than Kramer, made his way into the room. Unlike Kramer, this man didn’t show his emotions. He sat, without being invited, in the same chair Kramer had so recently vacated. Leaning back, he crossed his right leg over his left. The man looked more comfortable than Torres believed he had a right to be.
“I hope you have an explanation as to why I was not notified ahead of time about this raid, Carter. What am I paying you for, if not for that kind of service? That was our deal.”
Chance Carter spread his hands. “It wasn’t an HPD raid. It was conducted by the state cops, with t
he help of the force at the last minute. I wasn’t a part of the op—and I only heard about it just before your man called to verify it had, indeed, happened.”
“The state police? What were they looking for?”
“I’m not sure, but I think I have a bit of information that will be very useful to you. I sniffed around—discreetly—because I knew you’d be pissed. The operation took place under the direction of a DPS sergeant by the name of Clint Parrish.”
“And this information would be useful to me…how?” Torres hadn’t given Carter very much detail about his plans with Estévez, and he certainly hadn’t mentioned the man’s connection to Parrish.
Carter grinned. “Parrish happens to be a member of the Lyon’s Den. Has been, I understand, for a couple of years.” Then Carter tilted his head to the side. “There was an interesting scene with Parrish the other night, involving a fairly new member of the club, and a woman I thought at the time was a new sub to Lyons himself—but I was mistaken.”
“The games played at the Lyon’s Den may be interesting, but I don’t know how this could be of use to me.”
“Well, Parrish was sharing this sub with a guy by the name of Ramón Estévez.”
Torres sat up. “Are you certain about this?”
“Sure as I am that pretty brunette knew what she was doing, was even eager for it. I caught her name—Marcia. She knelt before both Parrish and Estévez, which in the D/s world means she gave herself to them both. Apparently with the blessings of the master of the Lyon’s Den himself. I just thought that it seemed kind of interesting that the man who called for the raid on your bar is also a man who has partnered himself with Ramón Estévez—the man you’re thinking of going into business with.”
It was more than interesting. Until he could have it proven otherwise, this new information made Ramón Estévez very suspect. He’d thought the state cop was a minion, his lieutenant, at best. One didn’t publicly share a woman with an employee. Was he partnered with this Parrish for more than just fun and games at a BDSM club? Was he an active member of that partnership that might extend beyond sex, or was he just being played by this Sergeant Parrish?
Avenging Angel [Tales from the Lyon's Den 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 12
