Funny enough, I didn’t think I’d ever need to use it with John.
It fucking stung when he lied to me, but I don’t know why I was so damn surprised. I’ve never been able to trust anyone. It was only a matter of time before he let me down, too.
As soon as he left, I choked back the bile of his betrayal and decided to find out what the hell he was up to. I took a two-minute shower, threw some clothes on, and sped after him on my bike. Ten minutes into the ride, his location stopped moving. At Croc’s warehouse.
I parked on the far side of the building where Croc wouldn’t see my bike, then strolled in with a friendly nod at the guards like I do any other day I conduct business here. I have clearance to come and go as I please, and the armed goons are used to seeing me on a semi-regular basis now that we’ve been picking up larger quantities of Dust from the warehouse as opposed to the shop.
Since I didn’t see John in the front anywhere, I figured he must be in Croc’s office. Acting as though I had a routine meeting with the boss, I approached the two guys standing guard at the door that leads to the administrative area in the back. I turned on my fake charm, greeted them by name, and bumped their fists. I’d made it a point to befriend the men of the security group Croc hired from the very beginning. Guys who are cool with each other, don’t suspect each other. I knew I’d need their blind trust eventually.
After a minute of bullshitting and laughing at a dirty joke, they let me pass without a second thought, assuming I had business with the boss. I made my way through the empty maze of halls until I reached the rooms in the far back of the building. I could hear John’s voice coming from the other side of Croc’s closed door, so I hid in one of the adjacent rooms and waited with the door cracked. It wasn’t long before they exited, and I watched Croc lead John in the opposite direction.
That was several minutes ago, and they still haven’t come back, so what the hell are they up to? The only things in that direction are a back exit and a staircase leading up to the second floor. They didn’t leave because John’s location is practically on top of me, which means they’re upstairs. I don’t know what’s up there—I never knew Croc used that space for anything—but I’m done waiting. I have a bad fucking feeling in my gut, and I need to confront John about what the hell he’s doing.
Making a decision, I dial the only person walking free I can depend on.
“Go for Smee,” the cheeky bastard says with a grin you can hear through the phone.
“I need you to call Croc and tell him someone smashed up the shop. Tell him it looks like someone was trying to get in, possibly a rival club.”
Smee’s tone is dead serious now. “He’ll come running to see the damage for sure. Are ye sayin’ what I think ye’re sayin’, Captain?”
“Trash the place. Make it look good and stay away from the cameras. But make the call now.”
“Aye, Captain. Consider it done.”
It’s not even a minute later when Croc is stalking in my direction. He makes a quick stop in his office then rushes back down the hall, looking like he’s ready to spit nails. As soon as I know I’m in the clear, I make my move and head for the staircase. When I reach the top of the landing, I hear John’s voice coming from an open room at the end of the hall.
“Come on, sweetheart, lay down on the bed.”
His deep voice is indulgent and cajoling, the way you’d coax a lover into your arms. Blood rushes in my ears as my boots thud on the concrete floor down the corridor. When I round the corner, I see red. John’s back is to the far wall and there’s a mostly naked woman is climbing him like a goddamn tree, her arms locked behind his broad shoulders and her legs wrapped around his waist where his dark jeans gape open from the weight of his undone belt.
“What in the fucking hell is going on?” I snarl.
John’s head snaps up. For a split second, a mix of shock, guilt, and panic flashes across his face. But then he sags in relief, like he’s happy to see me. When I’ve caught him with his pants down. Almost quite literally.
“Help get her off of me. She’s like a damn spider monkey.”
“You should’ve thought about that before offering your dick for her to—” The girl looks back over her shoulder at me, and the bitter retort dies on my lips. “Brandy?”
Her green eyes are glassy, her black hair limp and tangled, and her soft curves have been replaced by sharp angles. But it’s her. The last girl I sold Fairy Dust to at the Quarry. She looks strung out, reminding me even more of my mother than before. I don’t realize I’ve started walking toward them until she physically recoils with a whimper and redoubles her effort to merge her body with John’s.
“Shhh, it’s okay, come on,” John coos softly, stroking her bare back and down her knotted hair. “He’s not here to hurt you, either, I promise.” When she calms down in his arms again, he locks eyes with me. “You know her?”
I shake my head but then stop myself and nod. “I sold her some Dust the night your guys picked me up. Why the fuck is she here, man?”
He doesn’t say anything, not with his mouth. But there’s a message in his eyes I’m not decoding. It’s like I can see all the puzzle pieces of what he’s trying to tell me, but they’re upside down and I don’t know which pieces go where in order to solve it.
Yes, you do. You just don’t want to look at it.
Clenching my fists to stop their slight trembling, I ease my way to where John’s still trying to comfort the girl.
“Brandy, do you remember me?” She picks up her head from his shoulder and stares at me as though I’m not here. To John, I ask sharply, “Is she rolling?”
“Croc swiped it on before he left me with her. I don’t know how long he’ll be gone. You need to get out of here.”
“He’ll be busy for a while,” I say. Then I get an idea. Taking off my skull ring, I hold it up for her to see. “Brandy, remember this? You said you loved it that night at the club.” A hint of recognition lights in her gaze. She reaches for it, but I pull it back. “I’ll give it to you if you get off of JD.”
She doesn’t move for several seconds, but then she finally lowers her legs and scrambles down to the threadbare mattress. As John zips up his pants, he opens his mouth to say something, but I stop him. “Not now,” I grate. “We gotta get her out of here.”
I turn, ready to scoop her up and carry her out the back to my bike. I’ll give her my shirt and—
John’s hand grabs my bicep. “We can’t. Not yet.”
Shaking out of his grip, I get right in his face. “What do you mean, we can’t? I’ll tell you what we can’t do; we can’t fucking leave her here.”
“I’m sorry, Hook, but we have to.” He’s keeping his voice soft, but his tone is anything but. This isn’t Johnathan who kneels at my feet and calls me Captain. This is task force officer John Darling, a man running point in a federal investigation to take down a dangerous criminal. He might bend to my will inside the walls of my loft, but out here, he’s in charge, and I have a feeling he’ll knock me unconscious to drag me home and ask for forgiveness later if I don’t go along with his plan.
“John…” I shake my head, unable to voice the chaos banging around in my mind right now.
“We’re going to save her.” He palms the back of my neck with one big hand and presses his forehead to mine. “I promise you, we will.”
I’m still pissed at him for lying and meeting with Croc about fuck knows what and putting himself in danger, but I know his heart and John isn’t making idol promises. He won’t rest until we rescue her from this place. I nod stiffly, then break away from him to crouch down to where Brandy is curled onto her side. Her body is restless from the Dust rolling through her system, and I wonder how much of the drug she’s been given since I last saw her. Almost every inch of her exposed skin is streaked with glitter.
“Jesus,” I rasp. “She’s covered in the shit.”
“They all are.” John’s words are spoken softly, carefully. In saying so little,
he’s told me so fucking much. He’s flipped those puzzle pieces over, forcing me to look at the picture I didn’t want to see.
Girls. Croc is dealing in girls. I didn’t pay attention as I passed the rooms on this floor a few minutes ago, but I now know that every one of them has a different version of Brandy in it. Alone. Naked. Drugged. Raped.
Rage, indignation, and weaker things I don’t want to feel prick the backs of my eyes and constrict around my neck like a giant python cutting off my air. I blink hard a few times and clear my throat as I look down at the skull ring in my hand. The badass piece of jewelry that for over a decade has been the symbol of my mission to end Croc and his entire operation.
Now it will be a symbol of my promise to Brandy.
Placing the ring in her palm, I curl her fingers around the warm metal and hold her gaze, willing her to see the conviction in my eyes. “I have to go right now, but I’ll be back. I’m gonna get you out of here, Brandy, I fucking swear. You hold on to this for me until I do, okay?”
Tearful green eyes gaze up at me, and her chin quivers. “I’m scared,” she whispers.
God-fucking-damnit. Apparently it’s possible for my black heart to break after all. I swallow the lump in my throat and ignore the way my hand shakes as I brush the hair off her face and gently tuck it behind her ear. “I know you are.” Fuck, do I know. “But every time you get scared or feel like there’s no hope, I want you to squeeze this in your hand and remember that I’m coming back for you. Can you do that for me?”
She nods, and it’ll have to be enough because I have to get out of here before I lose my goddamn mind. Pushing to my feet, I turn on my heel and hightail it out of that room. I keep my head down in the hallway, and I don’t stop. Not when I hear John close Brandy’s door, locking her back into her own personal hell. Not when his boots eat up the space behind me as he follows me down the back stairwell. Not even when he calls my name as I take off on my bike and try to outrun my demons.
Chapter Thirty-One
Hook
Then
Age 17
* * *
Out-of-body experiences. Some people don’t believe in them. They don’t believe the mind can leave the body behind and look on as though you’re another person casually observing the scene, or place itself somewhere else entirely.
They’re wrong. I do it all the time. Every time Croc’s hands touch me, grip me, manipulate me. My body clicks over to autopilot, and my brain goes into triage mode.
Most of the time, it transports me to the beach at the height of a new moon, when the water is just as inky as the night sky. That’s when I like it best; when the world is a black void of nothingness, a giant blank slate, and the only signs of life are the sound of the waves crashing in my ears, the salt spray coating my lips, and the ocean breeze ruffling my hair.
Other times, I force myself to watch from across the room. I tilt my head and focus on random details with a cool detachment. The greasy hair that flops against his forehead with every thrust. The dirt caked under his nails that leave marks on my skin whenever he flexes his meaty fingers. The way he grits his teeth with exertion behind the sadistic smile of a wolf toying with his meal. I watch, I memorize, and then I renew my vow that one day I will have my revenge.
And then there are the rare times. Times like now, when I actually fight back. When I don’t hold still, and I don’t make it easy, and I don’t keep my goddamn mouth shut. I know the outcome will still be the same—not because I’m too weak to win, but because I have no other choice than to lose—but every once in a while, I need to fight and gain that single shred of my dignity back, before losing it again the next time I comply.
But today, I have another reason for fighting back, one much bigger than regaining my dignity. There can be no mental trips to the beach at night, no detached observation. Right now I have to be present and in the moment, no matter what happens.
I keep that thought in the front of my mind as I twist my body up from where it was shoved over a dirt-covered desk (there’s always a fucking desk) a few seconds ago. I keep it in mind when he hammer-fists me in the face to knock me back down and the explosion on my cheekbone radiates through my head with such force it feels like the top of my scalp blows open.
When he braces a thick forearm across my shoulders and leans his weight into me, I clench my jaw and remember my vow for revenge. When he captures my flailing arms and pins them against my lower back so hard I feel the bones in my wrists bend, I tuck that vow into a deep, dark place no one will ever find it.
And when my body jerks in time with his thrusts, in time with the ticking of that fucking watch as though he’s a fucking musician keeping time with a fucking metronome, I feed that vow every drop of my hate, every ounce of my pain, and every wince of my shame. Then I watch it grow and grow and grow, until it’s every bit the vile monster he is.
I growl like a rabid animal caught in a trap as he laughs in my ear between his grunts. “You’re full of piss and vinegar today, aren’t ya, boy?”
The swelling in my cheek has reached my right eye already, so I can’t see him hovering over me. Thank Christ for small favors. “Fuck. You. You. Piece. Of. Shit.”
I thought he’d appreciate me spitting out my words in time with everything else. But the quick right hook to my teeth indicates otherwise. I almost laugh as the copper tang of blood fills my mouth and spills out the corner of my lips, but I’m still aware enough of what I’m doing to control my reactions. Stick to the plan. Control the situation.
“Hope you enjoyed the last four years of forcing your dick in me, old man,” I manage to choke out, blood spattering the desk when I speak. “I’m almost outta here; then your fun will be over.”
“Nah. Your ass isn’t the only one in town, James. I’ll just get some nice, fresh meat. You’re getting too old for my tastes, anyway.”
Over my dead fucking body, asshole.
Again, I want to lash out, to use the strength I’ve worked hard for, and overthrow him, to pummel his face until not even the demon who spawned him can recognize him. Even my mind fights against my hold. It wants to leave, to go somewhere else until it’s safe to return.
But I can’t do any of that. I have to stay the course; I have to ride this out. And that means doing just enough to keep Croc pissed and on his toes, so that’s what I do.
Too busy doing a half-ass job of struggling, I don’t notice the door behind us opening until the last voice I want to hear right now shouts, “Hook!”
Before I can tell Pan to get the fuck out of here, the thunk sound of something heavy hitting something solid rings out. A second later, Croc falls away from me and slumps onto the concrete floor, his pants and underwear still bunched around his thighs with his ugly dick dragging a line through the filth as it deflates like a grotesque retreating snake.
Pan stares down at the bastard, his eyes wide and filled with confusion. I use his distracted state to put myself—and my clothes—back in order. There’s no fixing my busted face right now, so I just drag my sleeve across my mouth to sop up the excess blood. That’s when I realize there’s a fire extinguisher in Peter’s hand, and it dawns on me what he did. I swing my gaze back to Croc, hoping for a miracle… Nope. Still breathing. I guess an accidental death was too much to ask of the universe.
“What the hell, Hook?” Pan says, finally darting his gaze back and forth between me and Croc. Jealousy stabs me in the gut at the glaring innocence he still has at almost sixteen. Even though I’m the one who afforded him that luxury, it doesn’t make me resent him any less for it.
“Why—” he tries again and then stops.
I see the exact moment it clicks. The moment he realizes that what he does with Wendy can be done other ways, and that it doesn’t have to be consensual. The moment he realizes that my “training” hasn’t been about learning the business after all. He actually turns five shades of green as his brain clicks through all the revelations, which I’m willing to allow. But the second he dr
ops the extinguisher and looks like he’s going to be sick, I pounce.
Jacking him up by his shirt, I slam him against the wall. “Don’t you fucking puke, Pan. You keep that shit locked down, you understand? Lock. It. Down.”
“Yeah.” He nods and swallows hard. “Okay, but—”
“But nothing. You forget what you saw and get the hell out of here. You breathe a word of this to anyone—ever—and I’ll fucking kill you.”
His blue eyes go soft as his brows knit together. “Dude, I would never do that. Like it or not, we’re family. Why do you think I crushed Croc’s skull? He was hurting you somehow—that much I knew—and I couldn’t let him do that.” He shakes his head and steels his jaw. “I never would’ve let him do that. I’m sorry, Hook. I didn’t know.”
“You weren’t supposed to,” I say as I release him and push away.
Pan shoves a hand through his hair and looks down at Croc again. “You’ve been protecting us from this—from him—the whole time, haven’t you?”
Great. The last thing I need is for him to place me on a pedestal I don’t want to be on. “I didn’t do shit, Pan. Don’t go thinking I’m one of the heroes in your stupid fairytales, because that’s not what real life is. I don’t know how his demented mind works, and I don’t fucking care, all right?”
“Yeah, all right.” He blows out a breath. “Shit, he’s gonna kill us for this one.”
“He’s not gonna do a damn thing.”
Pan shoots me an incredulous look. “You think the guy who beats us for fun is going to let me get away with denting his skull?”
“I got it under control. He won’t lay a finger on either of us. Just get the fuck out of here already and forget this ever happened.” When he hesitates as though unsure about leaving me alone with the guy who was violating me five minutes ago, I point to the door. “Go!”
Finally, he listens. As soon as he closes the door behind him, I step over Croc and retrieve the small video recorder from the shelf across from the desk. I stop the recording, check to make sure it captured what I need, then take my first full breath since walking into this storeroom earlier. My insurance policy is intact.
Hook (Neverland Novels Book 2) Page 20
