by Debra Kayn
The man stepped forward. "It's okay. I'm not here to hurt you."
She finally found her feet and moved back, pressing against the top drawer, and blindly searched for the handle. With only the minimum of necessities to her name, she only had clothes inside the dresser. But, she needed something to use as a weapon. Even a shirt might help her stay alive.
"Please." The man's deep voice softened. "I'm only here to talk to you."
"W-who are you?" she said, hating how weak her voice came out.
"My name's Carver." He ran his hand over his whiskered jaw. "Dawson Carver."
She inched backward, sweeping her hand along the top of the dresser and found the topless female figurine that came with the room. She snatched the object in her hand. A surge of energy burst through her fear at the added protection.
She lifted her chin. "I'll scream."
The tight security in the building, guarded by bikers and an alarm system, would protect her. The legal adult entertainment business, Silver Girls, downstairs in the Sterling Building remained locked during Red Light's working hours. If she yelled for help, someone upstairs would hear her.
"Please, don't." Dawson held his hand out in front of him.
Her gaze flickered between his hands and his tattoo. She'd seen most of the men who worked for Vince. They all had a sparrow head on their hand. Vince had flaunted his tattoo many times in her face and drilled the meaning into her head with his fist.
A sparrow represented fear, courage, loyalty, and strength.
"I only want to talk to you." Dawson pointed at the bed. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not going to touch you. I'm not going to make you leave the bordello."
She remained where she stood, not believing a word.
"It took me longer than I thought to find you." Dawson eyed her carefully. "I'm here to make sure you're okay. That you're safe."
"Please leave," she whispered.
"I will." His dark brows lowered. "When my time with you is up, I'll walk out of the room, and you'll stay here. You're not in trouble. What I have to tell you is only for your ears only."
Deep lines etched the corners of his eyes and mouth. Roni's fingers ached around the figurine at the death grip she maintained. She no longer believed the words of others.
A dark stubble of week-long whiskers shadowed Dawson's jawline. She lowered her gaze to his hand and stared at the black eye of the sparrow tattooed on his skin, glaring at her in contempt. The tattoo mocked her.
The organization Vince ran followed his orders without mishap. The dedication to one man, one boss, went beyond her understanding.
"What do you want from me?" she said, squelching the rise in her voice.
"Nothing." He exhaled slowly. "I've come here to tell you that Vince is dead."
No way.
Impossible.
She shook her head and refused to believe him. Nobody messed with Vince. Even those not belonging to Sparrows stayed out of his way. Nobody else would dare step in Vince's territory between James and Yesler Street, the underbelly of Seattle.
"He's been..." Dawson's mouth tightened. "He's been dead since August. I've been trying to find you for the last nine months."
The way he talked, he seemed to want her to relax and let down her guard. She wasn't stupid.
She looked down at the figurine in her hand. At one time, Vince had pretended to care about her. He'd swept in and put a roof over her head and gave her a bedroom to herself. Until he moved her into his bedroom, into his bed, a week later and refused to let her leave. Then, he'd supplied her with a new outfit. When she'd expressed her thanks, he proudly informed her he'd taken the clothes off a dead girl, not even eighteen years old, who police found in the alley. Raped. Strangled. Naked.
"I only have five more minutes before the madam will escort me out of the building." Dawson reached behind him.
She sucked in her breath and pressed against the dresser.
"It's okay." He held up a cell phone. "I only wanted to give you this."
Dawson tossed the phone on the bed. "My number is programmed in there. If you have any questions after I leave, call or text. If you need any help..."
She raised her chin in refusal. Her plans changed the more he spoke. She planned to leave the Network the moment everyone turned a blind eye to her. Her safety at Red Light compromised, she needed to run far away.
"There's information on the phone to back up the news I gave you, so you can relax knowing I'm telling you the truth." Dawson stepped toward the door and lowered his voice. "House rules let customers come back every other day. I'll check in with you on Thursday. If you need anything before then, text me."
The madam's knock came and echoed in the room. Roni shoved the figurine she still clutched behind her back to hide it from Tiff.
Dawson removed cash from his pocket, dropped it on the shelf by the door, nodded at Roni, and followed Tiff out of the room.
The door closed.
Caught in her current troubles, she remained standing. Where would she go? How was she going to get somewhere far away?
Having never been in Federal, Idaho before, she had no idea how to seek transportation out of here. She'd arrived by plane and landed in Washington via California. A private car brought her and the other three ladies from the Network to Red Light. From her view out the window, she'd be surprised if the town offered any public transportation to the residents. Federal looked no bigger than three blocks wide and sat snug between mountain peaks covered in snow.
A knock startled her out of her plans. She set the figurine back on the dresser, tightened her robe, and hurried to the door. Her hand shook on the handle.
Tiff stood in the hallway. "I wanted to check in with you before you go have dinner. The last customer, Dawson, has prepaid for three visits this week. Considering he's a new customer, please keep me informed if you have trouble with him following rules. While our business thrives on regulars, we also want to make sure you're comfortable. We also try not to let the men get attached to you during your stay."
Perspiration broke out on Roni's forehead, and warmth flooded her face. She nodded.
"You're a shy one." Tiff laid her hand on Roni's arm. "Relax. We really are easy to work for once you learn the rules."
"O-okay." Roni smiled, the muscles in her cheeks ticked. "Thank you."
"Go ahead and get dressed for dinner. The other ladies are already at the table." Tiff stepped into the hallway. "It's fish and chips night."
"Sounds good." Roni waited until Tiff walked away before she shut the door.
Until she figured out how to get out of the Sterling Building and away from Federal, she'd need to go along with the schedule and act as if everything was fine. She hurried over to the bed and picked up the phone. It took her a few minutes to figure out how to turn it on. When the screen stopped flashing, she found her name underneath a yellow square and tapped the screen.
A picture of a newspaper article appeared. She scanned the headline.
Vincent Pladonta died from three gunshot wounds to the chest inside his house on Yesler Street. The leader of the Yesler Street Gang was found...
Her legs gave out, and she caught herself on the bed, speed reading the rest of the article.
Seven women in his employment were arrested.
One female, Jane Doe, white, approximating twenty-six years old, found dead in City Hall Park and believed to have ties to the Yesler Street Gang AKA Sparrows.
She raised her hand and cupped her throat.
One woman, name unknown, missing.
She turned the phone over, unable to read more. Vince kept nine women. Considering she wasn't arrested or dead, the missing woman was her. Were the police looking for her?
Which one of the girls was found dead? She'd only known one of Vince's girls personally.
Sadness clogged her throat, and she inhaled through her tight chest. Jackie nursed her back from every injury Vince laid on her, always telling her everything would be okay. She'd
clung to the only friend she had and yet refused to acknowledge her friendship in front of Vince to protect Jackie.
Vince favored Roni and kept her in the house, while he sent out the other girls to work the street. She hoped Jackie was one of the women arrested, and maybe her dear friend would get to start over someday and not live in fear.
Not wanting anyone to find the phone, she shoved the cell between the box springs and the top mattress of the bed. She got dressed and walked to the kitchen.
If the article was true, and Vince was dead, why would a member of Sparrows come looking for her? She sat down at the table, deaf to the conversation going on around her.
Unless, Dawson Carver planned to pick up Vince's business and take her back to Seattle.
"Roni?" Shana tapped on the table.
She lifted her gaze from her plate. "Yes?"
"We're all going into Ella's room to watch Netflix." Shana dipped her French fry into the pile of tartar sauce on her plate.
The youngest out of the group of prostitutes, Shana let nothing stop her. From day one, she stepped forward and took the position of leader amongst the ladies, despite her age and barely one-hundred-pound body. Shana stood a head shorter than Roni and blew her long caramel colored hair out on the sides and top, so the only thing you noticed was massive, beautiful hair.
"Not tonight. I need to catch up on my laundry." Roni moved the breaded fish around on her plate. If she found a chance to take off without anyone noticing, she wanted to be ready.
"You can still hang with us." Ella wiped her fingers on the napkin beside her plate, careful of the long nails that she bragged about having professionally painted with no chips, worn edges, or smudges. "I don't care if we pause the show. You can do laundry, and while you're busy folding clothes or whatever, we can pop popcorn or something while we wait for you."
Roni put her hands on her lap under the table, hiding the torn and chewed fingernails. A nervous habit that had only intensified under Vince's care until she made them bleed.
Lynn pushed her plate away from her. "I can't do it."
"Do what?" asked Marci, the madam's assistant who ruled the upstairs when Tiff wasn't around.
"Eat fish." Lynn leaned back in her chair. "It's not my favorite thing in the world. It's at the top of my list of things to avoid, like sushi."
"But when we went over the menu, you said you liked fish." Marci tilted her head and smiled. "Should I change the menu while you're here."
"No. No. You don't have to do that." Lynn's cheeks reddened, and she mumbled. "Sorry. I can eat it if I have to."
Marci's gaze softened. "Nonsense. We can order you chicken and fries next time."
Roni looked away, her appetite gone. Lynn's need to please everyone backfired on her. Somewhere in Lynn's past, someone pressured her to accept everything thrown at her without question. Roni picked up her plate and carried it to the sink. Not that she had room to talk. She understood the need to do whatever made someone else happy, even if it killed her.
She dumped her food in the garbage, rinsed her plate, and loaded the dish in the dishwasher. Shortly, the music would start downstairs for the Silver Girls dancers and the ladies in Red Light would be left to entertain themselves until two o'clock in the morning.
The free time upstairs came with a cost. Roni couldn't leave the building, except to go up on the roof where Tiff had set up an entertainment area where the women could get outside without being seen by the public or to step out on the small balcony outside her room.
Once Silver Girls closed, and there were fewer people around, Red Light's security alarm came on, and her chance to escape without everyone noticing would be impossible.
While the others talked, she slipped out of the kitchen and grabbed her dirty clothes out of her room. Carrying the basket to the end of the hallway, she pushed through the last door with her hip and entered the small laundry room. Inside, she dumped her dirty clothes in the washer. Nothing she owned needed separated into similar colors or washed on the delicate cycle. What little belongings she owned had come from the homeless shelter or one of Vince's girls. The colors no longer ran together, but muted into a bland, washed out blah of their original color.
The washer began to fill with water. She shut the lid and returned to her room. No longer able to ignore Dawson's visit, she removed the phone and reread the article on Vince.
Then she read it again.
Instead of relief that the man who'd held her prisoner, abused her, treated her like a whore, and gave her mouth away free to Sparrows members whenever he snapped his fingers was dead, she only dreaded what would come next.
Dawson would be back, and her safe haven with the Network was over.
Chapter Two
The sheriff's car turned the corner and disappeared out of sight. Dawson adjusted the rearview mirror in his car and rolled down the window letting the biting cold inside keep him alert. The farthest he'd gone away from the Sterling Building in the last two days was the gas station at the end of town to fill up the tank and buy enough junk food to keep him moving.
During the day, he slept in the backseat and every night he stayed awake in the driver's seat. He wasn't going to take a chance of Roni escaping without letting him help her go somewhere safe.
The alarm he'd set vibrated on his phone.
In fifteen minutes, he'd walk up the staircase to the second floor of the Sterling Building and knock once. The madam, who belonged to Jeremy Aldridge, an acquaintance from his short one-year stay in the Idaho State Penitentiary when Washington State Prison transferred him during a takeover and before they bussed him back to his home state to finish the rest of his four-year sentence, would let him in to spend fifteen minutes with Roni.
He hoped to convince her to let him help her.
A loud hum of a motorcycle grew into a roar. Dawson looked out the windshield and watched Jeremy pull to the curb behind the building. With the chance of talking privately to Jeremy, he exited the car and strode to the back of the building.
Jeremy's head came up, and his long hair came off his face. Dawson lifted his chin.
"You can come through the downstairs." Jeremy removed his gloves and stuck his hand out.
Dawson shook his hand. "It's better if I keep up the appearance of being a customer."
"Suit yourself." Jeremy widened his stance. "How'd the first appointment with the girl go?"
Dawson rubbed the knuckles of his right hand. "She's scared shitless."
"She's smart. Don't underestimate her." Jeremy paused. "Tiff empowers the women that work for her. The longer she's here, the stronger she'll become."
"Yeah." Dawson gazed up to the second story. "And, the longer she's here, the more men will use her body."
In Roni's best interest, she needed to stay for the three months of her contract with Red Light. She needed the confidence to move past Vince, Sparrows, and the head games that permanently scarred her thinking.
"I owe you for letting me have this time with her," he said, knowing if it weren't for Jeremy's return phone call confirming Roni's presence in Federal, Dawson would still be out there looking for her.
Jeremy tugged on his beard, straightening the errant whiskers from his ride. "I'll call on you when I need your help."
"When?" Dawson asked, preferring to have everything out in the open.
"When the time is right." Jeremy's gaze intensified. "Not now. Got a baby coming and need to close the bordello first."
"Are things heating up here?"
Jeremy shook his head. "Sheriff's retiring in six months, and he's our person on the inside. Tiff's got the idea to turn the upstairs into a place to raise a family. She'd like to leave the illegal side of her business in the past, make it right for the kid."
"What about you?" Dawson had never met a more dangerous man than the president of Moroad Motorcycle Club. Not inside or outside the prison fence, unless you counted Jeremy's father. The stories from the old days kept many men awake inside the prison, s
taring at the mold on the cinder block ceiling, wondering if they'd see tomorrow's one-hour yard break and survive Cam Farrell's attention, including him.
"I'm going to keep on keeping on," said Jeremy. "I'm a Moroad."
Dawson looked at the phone in his hand and shoved the cell in his back pocket. "I need to go upstairs."
"Luck, man."
"Yeah, I'm going to need it," he mumbled, stepping away. Changing his mind, he stopped and turned back around. "Hey, I'm going to need a place to stay once I know Roni won't run. The fucking sheriff isn't going to overlook a car parked on the street much longer before he checks it out."
"There's no reason to stay close. Moroad has the building covered." Jeremy pulled out a can of chew and put a pinch of tobacco between his lip and gum. "Stay at the Ryan Hotel across the street and up two blocks. You'll see the doctor's office on the first floor. There's a locked door with a phone number posted. Call it, and they'll open up for you. If you have any problems, tell the lady there that I sent you."
"Will do," he said.
"The ladies go see the doctor once a week. You can watch Roni if you get one of the suites at the front of the building facing the street."
"Thanks." He walked to the stairs, taking two steps at a time up to the back door on the second story.
He knocked once.
Tiff opened the door. He dipped his chin in greeting and followed the madam down the hallway. She never acknowledged his relationship with Jeremy, and he never questioned her if she knew his reasons for coming to Red Light. How Jeremy handled his business was of no concern to him.
"You'll be visiting Roni in the yellow room." Tiff stopped and opened the canary yellow door. "You have fifteen minutes."
"Thanks," he said, stepping inside, his gaze swept the room for Roni.
He found her standing in front of the bathroom door, robe tied around her slim waist, her hands behind her back. She had the face of an angel, one men would glance at and go back for a second look and decide never to walk away. Her short brown hair accented a bare neck that bowed forward in fear.
The door closed.
Alone with Roni, Dawson stayed on the other side of the bed. "How are you?"
