by Nina Park
His brows furrowed, giving his kind face a slight edge. “Who was there?”
I listed everyone I recognized. Every motorcycle club, every bodyguard. I did my best to recall the types and number of women each one bought.
“You saw Marco?” he asked.
I shook my head. “No, just a few of his goons.”
“And they bought someone?”
I nodded. “Yeah, they bought one of the women. The prettiest one there. Dark hair, great skin. I don’t know how she ended up on that stage.”
“Who knows how many of those girls find themselves in that position. It’s sad, but they get tangled up with the wrong crowd, and things go downhill from there. I’m more interested in what Marco plans to do with her.”
I didn’t tell Guts about seeing the girl at the nightclub. I knew I was right about her – she didn’t belong on that stage – but Guts wouldn’t care about that. As nice as he looked, he was all business. A good guy, for sure, but he would be much more interested in the illegal business activity Marco Santorelli would be taking part in rather than the fate of the woman he’d purchased.
“He has the strip clubs,” I said, more to myself than to Guts. I wanted to know what Marco’s plan for the woman was, as well.
“Yeah, but he doesn’t need to buy women to work the clubs. There are plenty of down on their luck women in this city to staff one of his sleazy joints,” Guts said, taking another drink and then folding his hands under his chin, looking up towards the ceiling. “Maybe business is bad.”
“Is that possible?”
Guts looked at me. “What do you mean?”
“Is business ever bad at strip clubs? The world could be ending, and men would still want to pay women to take their clothes off.”
Guts laughed. “That’s true. But I also know Marco lives an extravagant lifestyle, even for a boss. He wants the best of everything, and that comes at a price. Maybe the strip joints aren’t enough to fund his lifestyle anymore.”
“Trafficking is risky though. Do you think he’s really that desperate?”
“Desperate,” Guts said, shrugging. “Or that stupid. You know Marco as well as I do. The guy is crazy. He doesn’t care about anyone or anything, and neither do any of the men who work for him. He could be selling girls to make money, or he could be doing it because he’s bored. There’s no way to tell.”
“I could find out for you,” I suggested coolly, trying not to give away my eagerness.
Guts looked at me, eyebrow raised. “You think this concerns us?”
“What makes one motorcycle club look bad, makes us all look bad,” I said, repeating something Guts had said to me before. Law enforcement and the public barely put up with us as it was. At best, we were a public nuisance. At worst, a dangerous gang. “If word gets out that Marco is pimping trafficked women around the city, there is no telling what kind of fallback that could have for the Stone Devils. Especially at a time when we are trying to go legit. No one would trust us.”
I could tell this caught Guts’ attention. He was a focused businessman, through and through. He only cared about whether something would hurt his profits or not, so framing Marco’s purchasing of the woman like this was my best shot at getting Guts interested enough to okay me looking into it.
“Why don’t we wait on this?” he said, nodding, agreeing with his own idea. “Let’s see what comes of it, and if we need to shut him down, we will. We’ve done it before.”
It was true. The Stone Devils had helped turn Marco Santorelli away from some of his riskier business dealings, helping him to stay under the radar of the local law enforcement and the public, but this was different. The woman had asked me for help, and she needed it now, not in a few months.
Hell, I didn’t even know if she’d be alive in a few months.
“We could cut a deal with him,” I said. I could hear the desperation in my own voice, and I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself down.
“What kind of deal?”
That’s one thing I loved about Guts. Although he was the boss and he called the shots, he was always willing to listen. It made the Stone Devils feel more like a family and less like a crime ring.
“You still have those scrubbed guns, right?”
Guts nodded. “Yeah. It’s the last stash of illegal guns I hope to move. Once they are gone, we will open up the legit storefront. What about them?”
“We could sell them to Marco.”
He raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think Marco would be interested?”
I raised one back at him, a sarcastic smile pulling up the side of my mouth. “It’s Marco we’re talking about. The guy is always up for a few more guns’ sans serial numbers. Plus, the stash is too small to bother most of our usual buyers. Marco would be the perfect buyer.”
Guts wavered back and forth, unsure. “I’m sure we could find someone else.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” I agreed. “But we could make this deal with Marco now. With anyone else, it could be weeks. Months even. Do you want the guns gone or not?”
“Whoa,” Guts said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “What has gotten into you?”
I turned away, focusing on my fingers around my drink glass. “Nothing.” I shrugged. “I just think you’d be missing an opportunity to unload yourself of your last illegal shipment and keep tabs on Marco at the same time. It’s a win-win, but it’s obviously your decision to make.”
I could tell Guts was thinking, considering what I’d said, and after a few seconds, he took a deep breath and slapped his palms on the table. “What the hell. Sure, let’s do things your way. Since it was your idea and you seem so set on it, I’ll let you deal with Marco. Talk to him, see if he’s interested, and make him a deal. I’m not trying to make money on these guns; I just want them gone. So don’t spend too long on negotiations. And obviously, let me know if I need to be worried about his human shopping spree.”
A weight lifted off my chest, only to be replaced by one even larger. Guts had given me permission to help the woman, but now I had to figure out how to do that.
“I won’t let you down,” I said, directing the words to Guts, but speaking them to the mystery woman from earlier.
Guts laughed and shook his head. “You’re a funny son of a bitch, Cade Dickinson.”
Chapter Eight
Falyn
I smelt the ocean in the air before I saw it. We were near the docks, which checked out because we’d been driving for way too long to be anywhere near the center of the city. I’d tried to look out the window, get an idea for where exactly we were headed, but the doughy man kept shoving my face down, directing me to stare at the floorboard.
“You won’t be leaving anytime soon, so you don’t need to know where we’re going.” He snarled.
So, I obeyed. I stared at the floor and tried to ignore the pangs of motion sickness in my stomach. It felt strange to experience something as mundane as motion sickness in the midst of such a surreal situation. It was, however, also a comfort to know my body was still able to function normally. Something about my life remained unchanged – riding in the back seat of a car left me nauseous.
As we approached the ocean, my captor either grew lazy or distracted, and I was able to sneak a few peeks through the window. I saw a squat, shabby building silhouetted by the moonlit water. Streetlights dotted the street, but they had been made dim and ineffective by years of smog and grime. It felt as though I’d been driven into a ghost town. We were on the edge of the world, entirely alone. For the first time, I began to tremble.
The car pulled to a stop, the beaks squeaking, and the doughy man next to me lumbered out of the car and then leaned down, extending a hand to me. It felt like an oddly gentlemanlike thing to do considering the circumstances. I didn’t move. I felt incapable of it. My future had turned into a terrifying mystery, and I wasn’t ready to uncover the next chapter. I wasn’t ready to see what would happen once I left the relative safety of the car and
disappeared inside the rundown building.
Would I ever walk free again? How long would I live? Fear kept me pinned to my seat.
The man’s play at kindness fell away immediately, his soft face angling into a mask of anger and annoyance. “Get out of the damn car.”
No. I couldn’t tell whether I’d responded out loud or only in my head, but my answer was clear either way. I didn’t move a muscle.
The man leaned into the car, his knee squealing against the leather seats as he crawled towards me and grabbed my elbow. I yanked my arm out of his grip, slamming myself back so hard I hit my head on the window. The door handle bit into my spine, but I didn’t care. I didn’t want the man to touch me. I didn’t want to leave the car. I didn’t want to go inside the mysterious building.
Surprisingly, the man sighed and slid out of the car. He shut his door, which shut off the cabin light, plunging me into darkness. My breathing was harsh and filled the suddenly stuffy car. Had I won? Was he going to leave me in the car?
Then, the world turned upside down.
I fell backward out of the car, my head slamming into the ground, and I looked up into the face of the driver. He must have opened his own door while I was in the silent standoff with my captor and slipped around the side of the car to open my door.
The driver wrapped his large hand around my arm and hauled me to my feet, nearly pulling my elbow out of the socket.
“No, no, no,” I said, repeating the word over and over again.
The metallic click of metal caught my attention. Then, a blade bit into my cheek.
“Enough,” the doughy man said, pressing his knife even harder against my skin. “If you don’t shut up and follow me inside, I’ll carve you into pieces and chuck you in this water. Because you certainly aren’t worth the trouble you’re causing.”
I whimpered, then did my best to swallow it back.
The man nodded in approval, then led me up a cracked pathway to a side door of the building.
The interior of the building genuinely surprised. Unlike the abandoned building where the auction had taken place, this building was clearly in use. However, it was clear the décor was originally from the 70s. Everything was art deco and in putrid shades of green and orange.
The man moved me towards a set of worn wooden stairs that squeaked with each step.
The second-floor landing stood in sharp contrast to the floor below. It was all modern – crisp lines, neutral color palette, and well-lit. Diamond-shaped sconces dotted the long hallway, projecting a wedge of light up the wall and onto the ceiling.
We moved down the hallway until the man grabbed my arm, jerking me to a stop in front of a dark wooden door with a distorted glass rectangle set into it. He rapped his knuckles against the wood three times.
“Come in,” a deep voice called from the other side.
The man wasted no time in opening the door and pushing me inside. A large wooden desk took up most of the space. The rest of the room consisted of two matching armchairs, a small bookcase, and a safe. I barely had time to notice the décor, though, because a young, handsome man was sitting behind the desk, talking to a second man in one of the armchairs.
The man in the armchair looked like every picture of an escaped prisoner I’d ever seen. His face was pockmarked and red like he’d just finished a difficult workout. His eyes were in a constant state of squinting, and his lips constantly twitched as though they were anxious for something to gnaw on.
In direct opposition to his harshness, the man behind the desk had smooth, pitch-black hair that made his pale skin seem impossibly white. His body was entirely made of long, lean lines. He looked like a dapper marble statue. He belonged in some kind of museum where the world could appreciate his beauty.
The pockmarked man turned in the chair and ran his eyes over me. I wondered when I’d grow accustomed to the hungry gazes of men.
He raised an eyebrow and let out a long, low whistle. “Shit, Marco. You got yourself a good piece of ass tonight.”
The man behind the desk didn’t move except for his eyes, which flicked over to me quickly and then away, as if he couldn’t be bothered to waste his time looking at me.
He gave the man a quick nod. “Not bad.”
“Not bad?” The other man seemed offended for me. “Usually these kinds of last-minute auctions are only good for meth heads and washed up hookers, but this girl looks healthy.”
Marco’s jaw flexed. “Do you think I’d waste my money on bad merchandise?”
The man looked away from me, his eyes on Marco, wide and nervous. “Oh, no… definitely not… that isn’t what I meant at—”
“I want the best, and I deserve the best. I do not settle for less,” Marco said.
The man opened his mouth to say something else, but Marco waved him away. Immediately, he rose out of the chair and ducked through the door, not even bothering to give me a second look. Marco waved again, and I thought, for a second, it was directed at me, but then I heard the shuffling of the driver and my captor behind me.
They followed the first man through the door and then pulled it closed with a definitive thud. I was all alone with Marco.
Since he’d been the one to lead me from the stage and drive me to the building, I’d thought the doughy man was my buyer, but standing in front of Marco, it was clear he was the boss. The doughy man was little more than a lackey, a go-fetch guy. Marco had all the confidence you’d expect from a man in charge. In charge of what though? That was my question.
“Do you know why you’re here?” he asked, waving a hand to direct me to one of the armchairs across from him.
I didn’t want to accept anything from this man before I understood what was happening, but my legs felt like jelly, and I wasn’t sure how much longer I could stand on my own. So, I accepted the seat, sinking down into the plush cushion.
He repeated his question. “Do you know why you are here?”
I shook my head, and Marco raised his eyebrows expectantly, then he tipped his head forward, looking up at me from beneath his lashes in a way I recognized from my childhood. It was a correction.
“No,” I replied, my voice hoarse and dry. “I don’t know why I’m here.”
He leaned back in his chair, elbows on each of the armrests, and crossed his hands over his chest. “I have purchased you.”
I wanted to snap at him that I’d been able to glean at least that small bit of information. It is difficult to be put up for auction, sold, and driven to the location of the highest bidder without understanding what is going on. Still, I did not understand why I had been purchased. I said none of this though. I felt too weak for a snappy comeback and too scared to anger a man I didn’t yet understand. Instead, I simply nodded to let him know I understood.
At that, Marco rose from his chair in one fluid motion and came around the side of his desk to stand in front of me. The armchair I was in had the ability to swivel, and Marco grabbed the back of my chair and turned me towards him, so he was standing just in front of my knees. He looked down his perfectly straight nose at me, allowing himself to study me in a way he hadn’t while the other men were in the room.
His eyes made burning trails across my face and my chest. He studied my arms, even grabbing my hands to turn them over, inspect them for blemishes. Fear gnawed at my chest and made me compliant. Now that he was standing in front of me, I could see how large Marco was. He wasn’t thick or wide, but rather tall. He towered over me, and I suspected he towered over most people.
He had to be closer to seven feet than he was to six, and despite everything going on, I felt the urge to ask him how tall he was. I resisted though.
His fingers grabbed the delicate skin beneath my chin and tilted my face up. He used his thumb and forefinger to control my head, turning me towards the lamp on the corner of his desk. Then, he dropped my face and hitched his thumb over his shoulder.
“Stand up.”
It was a command, but a lazy one. Clearly, he expected m
e to obey him without question, and for the time being, I decided I would. I lifted myself out of the chair, standing shakily on my high heels, and let Marco circle me like a buzzard around a dying animal.
He moved behind me and my neck tingled with fear and anticipation. I couldn’t see what he was doing, but I felt his presence behind me. I felt his breath on the skin exposed by my backless dress.
Then, he slapped my ass.
Brett had ripped my underwear off during his attack on me in the alley, so Marco’s hand cracked across the thin fabric that separated him from my ass. It felt like a whip, and I winced.
Marco laughed and clapped his hands, clearly pleased.
“You’re well-built,” he said, rubbing the sore spot where he’d just slapped me and then allowing his hand to trail around to my waist and up my side. He stopped just below my breast, his thumb drawing small circles on the swell of flesh there. “Beautiful, in fact.”
