by Burke, Lynn
I retraced her steps from the café toward the station and wondered how the fuck she could have been snatched up without anyone noticing. She’d shrieked my name—someone had to have seen or heard something.
The first time I walked the route, a burned out teen hung on the corner of one road across the street, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his lips. On my second day in Vegas, my second walk of those three blocks, I caught sight of him again and detoured across the street.
“Hey, kid!” I forced a smile, not wanting to scare the shit out of him.
Brow furrowed, he flitted his gaze down over me. “The fuck you want?”
“Just some information.” I held up a twenty and a picture of Giada. “This woman disappeared two days ago at ten-seventeen right around this area. Happen to see anything?”
He took the picture rather than the cash. “She’s hot as fuck. She yours?”
I ground my molars together. “Have you seen her?”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
A shot of adrenaline raced through my heart.
“Dunno.” The kid eyed the cash in my hand, and I pulled another twenty from my pocket.
“Tell us what you know, kid.” Ryker stepped from behind me, and the youngster glanced at him and the cut he wore—the evidence of who I ran with in the event it turned people off from helping me.
“You guys Vipers?”
I nodded.
The kid swallowed and handed back the picture of Giada. “She had on big sunglasses. Walked with some blonde girl. Right over there.” He pointed across the street at the exact spot I figured she’d disappeared. “Van pulled up and stopped for all of three seconds. It pulled away and both women were gone.”
Fuck.
“Tell me everything you can remember,” I managed through gritted teeth.
Black Chevy cargo van, newer model, but he didn’t catch the license plate number.
Rather than head to the police station, I went back to the two businesses with my lead. The second showed a glimpse of a black cargo van making a turn—and a snapshot of a fuzzy plate.
Hope tickled my mind.
I sent the image to Devil, and until he cleaned it up and gave me the information I wanted, my stomach tied itself in knots again. Antacids became my best friend.
Ryker and I sat with Klingon and his VP when Devil’s call came through.
“Got it, brother.” His voice betrayed his thoughts on the asshole.
“Who?”
“Van is registered to a guy named Jose Santiago.” Devil spouted off the address, and I glanced at Klingon.
“I know that fucker.” Wariness filled his eyes. “Know the businesses he has his fists into—fucking shoulder deep.”
My goddamn stomach burned. “What?’ I pushed when he didn’t seem to want to elaborate.
“Skin.”
Fuck.
Ryker’s spewing curses muffled as kill mode settled down over me, shutting down emotions, all distractions. My calm façade slipped into place, leaving me hard as stone, exactly as my brothers had decided to call me.
“Find him,” I told Klingon. “Find where the fuck he is.”
Ryker eyed me with a hint of wariness in his gaze, a look I’d never seen him give anyone. “We’re gonna get her back,” he said, but his assurance didn’t bolster any hope inside me.
Shut down. Dead inside—and I’d remain that way unless Giada returned to me, whole, healthy, and fucking untouched.
For over an hour, Devil dug and Klingon sniffed around. The Chevy-driving fucker led us to a man named Volkov, the top dog in Vegas. If a rich fucker wanted to purchase a sex slave, he had what you wanted.
The following evening he’d planned a private sale at his estate in western Vegas overlooking conservation land. Hush, hush, but Klingon had known who to prod for the information. His dealings in the black market gave him the eyes and ears needed to dig up the goods.
“Whatcha wanna do?” Klingon asked, sitting back in his chair, his focus on my face.
“Go in and clean the place out.”
“If they’re buying from him, there’s going to be big names. Lots of money. Guards.”
“Hit it right the fuck now,” Ryker suggested.
I wanted to do the same more than draw my next breath, but I was going to hit the Volkov fucker so goddamn hard, he’d be shut down for good.
“We’re going to get eyes on that estate—get everyone entering and leaving on camera from now until tomorrow morning. Then we go in.” I stated a fact, not a suggestion.
Klingon eyed me for a few seconds. “You want to take down the ring.”
“Fucking right.”
A muscle twitched the wild black beard covering his jaw. “We’re in.”
I nodded once.
“Then let’s get started.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Giada
I refused to cry. Life had fucked me up the ass without a trace of lube since New Year’s, seemingly hell-bent on burying me.
Well, fuck that, and fuck the fuckers who plucked me off the street like a goddamn weed.
I’m a goddamn fucking rose.
That line whispered loudly in my head over and over, helping to steel my nerves against the situation I’d been tossed into.
When the van had first dropped me and the poor woman who’d agreed to walk me to the police station off in some underground parking area, I envisioned every horror film coming to life before my eyes.
Reality proved ten times worse.
We were led to a dungeon-like room where they finally snipped off the zip ties around our wrists. Cold, damp air chilled me through, my nose stinging from the stench of urine. Typical “I’m gonna die” vibes in every sense, feeding the anxiety clawing in my stomach.
Ten other women sat huddled in the dark. Two got carted off within an hour, five after my new French bestie, Aline, slept for a little while. With no cell, watch, or window, we’d been lost to time.
And for Aline, it had been my fault. Regardless, she clung to me as if to say, “You got me into this shit, you’re getting me out of it”.
Three younger girls got dumped in with us later, and no one knew for sure what was going on—but some of us had read enough novels to speculate. My speaking the possibilities out loud sent most of the women into psychotic fits. One even passed out.
I decided that until I either stood seconds from meeting my maker—or owner as I expected—I would hold onto my shit, thank you very much.
Father hadn’t broken me.
The loss of my dear brother hadn’t.
I was strong as fuck—had bigger balls than Father, just like Logan had claimed. I would prove him right and hold my chin up until the very end. Even if it meant sexually servicing some fucker until I could sink a blade into his gullet and escape.
I am strong...
I swallowed against the fear while being led up two flights of stairs with Aline and one other woman. We’d been ordered to remain silent, and I would be that good little girl until the time came for shit to come down.
We came into a massive kitchen—commercial yet fancy as fuck in the morning light streaming through the windows overlooking gardens and the dry desert beyond—and up another flight of servant-like stairs before being shown into a windowless bedroom.
Two bunkbeds. Wooden floors. Connecting bathroom.
On order to strip and shower, I didn’t hesitate. Used to being in front of a camera without clothing made it easy, and I hopped in first to wash away the grime from the previous two days.
We’d been given sandwiches while in our prison, which I’d forced down, but the aroma that hit my face when I exited the bathroom wrapped in a towel turned my mouth’s water works on full force.
Fettuccini alfredo. Three big bowls with crusty bread—and a damn bottle of Chardonnay.
Okay...
I studied the guard by the door as Aline slipped into the bathroom behind me and the other woman huddled on one of the lower bunks.
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A table had been set in the middle of the room while I’d showered, fancy as shit with real silverware and all.
The guard ignored me, but I eyed the fork while sitting my ass down. If someone had wanted to poison me through food, they’d have done it through the damn sandwich, and I expected Buffalo Boy over by the door would only laugh in my face if I brandished a fork as a weapon. There’d been no razor in the bathroom, nothing to wield in self-defense. If it came to that, the fork would have to do.
A girl might get lucky.
Hunger and the knowledge I needed to keep up my energy trumped my anxious stomach. I dug in into my meal—and shouldn’t have moaned at the first buttery flavor to hit my tongue, but damn, whoever prepared that alfredo knew what the hell they were doing.
The other girl joined me within two minutes, probably waiting to see if I’d start foaming at the lips first before touching the food.
We ate in silence until I licked the bowl clean. Every. Damn. Smear. The Chardonnay slid down like water, smooth and expensive as hell, without doubt.
Someone wanted us ladies happy.
I could pretend to be so if it meant getting me answers.
A man entered without knocking as Aline came from the bathroom wrapped in a towel identical to mine. She paused in the doorway, and I swirled the wine in my glass as the man studied our faces.
I’d expected a hot as hell dominant male like in my fairytale romance books, some rich fucker who dabbled in sex slaves to pad his empire’s bank accounts.
The man before us was little. Squirrely. Clean shaven with a strong jawline and empty, dark eyes, but he didn’t scare me. Not one bit. Hell, I had at least three inches on him.
“So is this meant for our enjoyment, or yours?” I asked him, keeping my tone polite. Fake as fuck, exactly as I’d learned from my parents.
His lips twitched. “Giada Burtonelli.”
I touched the tip of my finger to my nose even though his men had taken my purse when they’d taken me, so of course he’d know my name. “And you are, sir?”
He chuckled. “Sir. I like that.” He turned his focus on the woman seated beside me.
She kept her head down, her shoulders quivering same as when I’d followed her up the stairs.
I glanced at Aline and beckoned her closer with my head. “Come sit, Aline.”
Her blonde hair plastered wet to her head shivered along with the rest of her body, but she listened and sat in the empty chair on my other side.
“Eat,” I told her quietly and turned my attention back on our captor.
“So.” I raised an eyebrow and waited.
He chuckled again. “Once you’ve eaten—and you’ve showered,” he told our unwashed companion, “someone will be in to help ready the three of you for this evening’s festivities.”
I could only imagine...
“Festivities.” I smiled, ignoring the hairs on my nape rising. “I love a good party.”
His dark eyes hardened, and he lowered his chin. I wanted to laugh at his display of badassery, but true fear ate beneath the façade of my face.
“He’s going to have fun breaking you,” our captor promised, his focus on my eyes.
The sudden urge to pee squeezed my thighs, and my breathing snagged short of a full inhale. I wanted to arch a brow and inquire as to whom he spoke of, but my tongue twisted against the stirring in my stomach.
I managed a smile—and he spun on his heel, leaving the three of us alone once more with Buffalo Boy.
The second the door snicked shut, I slouched, letting out a shuddered breath.
“You’re crazy,” Aline whispered—and our companion took up crying again.
She’d only eaten half her food, and twisted her hands in her lap, her dirty-blonde hair shielding her face.
“Go shower. Take those minutes of privacy, of freedom,” I told her. “You’ll feel a bit better. Trust me.”
She did as told without speaking a word or looking up from the floor.
I glanced over at Aline reading the fear in her eyes. “You know what this is.”
“I do,” she whispered.
I nodded, exhaled a heavy sigh once more, and finished my Chardonnay.
****
Someone came to ready us for the “festivities” alright. A man equipped with makeup bags, hair products, and one assistant.
What should have felt like a spa treatment did nothing for my nerves or the two women with me. Plucked and primped as though ready to face a camera, I should have been in my element.
The lack of clothing didn’t bother me as much as it did Aline and Dianna—she’d finally given us her name—but keeping my chin high and steps sure while following Buffalo Boy back down the stairs hours later proved one of the most difficult things I’d done in my life.
Through the kitchen, down a hallway—into a narrower hallway where another Buffalo Boy joined us.
A room opened ahead—a wall of dark glass ahead. One-way mirror.
Yup. Fucked.
I imagined the men on the other side of the glass, checking out the butt-naked wares for sale. My knees finally knocked, my hands fisting at my sides as the first guard ordered us to stand side by side in the center of the brightly lit room.
I studied my reflection in the darkened glass, noting how my chin stayed raised, my shoulders back as my companions cowered.
Bring it on, bitches, I silently told those fuckers inspecting us. Pay your fee and get me out of here so I can see what I’m up against.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Stone
I wished I’d thought to bring some of Warden’s high tech shit along, but Klingon had a boy in the black market hook us up with some good ass shit on short notice. High tech night vision goggles. Two-way radio earpieces we were able to patch Devil into. Fucking tracking devices to slip onto the cars of the fuckers who arrived to pay big cash for sex slaves in the event any managed to escape us.
We had no idea how many men would arrive at the estate. We knew the location and time. Had memorized a grid map of the neighborhood and lay of the conservation land sprawling behind the back of the estate—our best chance for sneaking in.
It meant making our way in the dark through terrain I wasn’t well-acquainted with, but I refused to be intimidated.
Dressed all in black, Ryker, Klingon, another of his guys who used to be a sniper in the Marines, and I snuck into the shadows from where his VP had dropped us off outside the neighborhood.
It took us an hour to swing around to the west of the house and get eyes on the location of where my woman was being held.
Devil had hacked into the mansion’s security system—I’d seen her in a room with two other women. I’d seen the guard, the man who’d come to chat with them. My Giada had held his gaze, her lips moving in response to his. She kept her chin up, only one tick of the corner of her lip revealing her distain for the fucker. Not an ounce of fear bled through the face she put on.
Balls of fucking steel. Grim determination, same as me.
If anyone could survive what threatened her, Giada would. If anyone could bust those women out and take down a mere pinkie of the skin trade’s body, the Vipers could.
We would.
Two guards, clear as day through our goggles, stood on the back terrace, another two atop the house. All four appeared empty-handed, but in a development with neighbors not too far off, such guns would call unwanted attention.
The place was lit up like Fourth of July, creating a black as midnight expanse beyond its reach—where we waited.
We would have to go in hard and fast, Devil knocking out the cameras the second we made a move. Even if we put the exterior guards down quickly, it wouldn’t be long before those inside knew something was up.
I expected they all wore ear pieces similar to ours, and a simple missed check-in over concern of the blown cameras would put the remaining guards on alert.
A handful of young women sat in a closed off, darkened room—perhaps the bas
ement, but it was assurance Giada sat in an upstairs room with two other women, seemingly unharmed and healthy, had me itching to get to her before the guests arrived.
We had a half-hour if the information we’d been fed proved true.
It would take us that long to get close enough to infiltrate the place—if we were lucky.
Klingon’s men would bottle up the front driveway on his command, keeping anyone who entered the estate from leaving once hell broke loose. The other road leading into the property was gated from a dirt road a few hundred yards to our south—and was our point of entry.
“Devil?” I spoke into my mic. “How’s the south road looking?”
“All clear,” his voice came through without a crackle of static.
“Let’s go,” I told the three men with me.
We made our way through the darkness. The night air felt balmy compared to what we’d left behind on the east coast, and sweat soaked my t-shirt. I swiped at my forehead, readjusting the goggles for a tighter fit and continued on sneaking through the desert landscape surrounding us, our footfalls near silent.
It took us a good twenty minutes to reach the road’s edge, and I pulled my loaner gun from its holder at my shoulder. The three men with me did the same, attaching their silencers.
While Ryker would have preferred to use his knife to silence our first target, the guard stood inside the gate, safe from hand-to-hand combat.
Devil informed me that Giada and the two women with her were being moved downstairs to the main floor. Into a mirrored room—where a few men stood beyond in an attached parlor, out of sight, two deep in shadow.
Checking out the goddamn wares.
“How’s the front looking?” Klingon asked through the earpiece.
A whispered “Third car entering the property now” reply came through seconds later.
We waited in silence for another fifteen minutes to make sure all the guests had arrived, and every second that passed seemed an hour—time enough for some fucker to get his hands on Giada.
“Devil?”
