Laurel was my downfall and it had to stop.
After her emotional breakdown at the sight of her parents, something came over me. Back in Indianapolis, I’d had an unfamiliar need to protect her. No...fuck. It started before that. It began the first time I saw her picture. And while at the time that instinct consumed me, urging me to learn more about this woman, it was nothing close to what came over me last night.
I would have killed for Laurel to bring her peace. The yearning to be close to her was like nothing I’d ever known. When she’d told me that she didn’t want to be alone, I almost responded with the truth. I had already decided she wouldn’t be.
Then after her midnight settling at my presence, when I woke beside her, the sun was just beginning to rise, casting reddened hues through the blinds we’d left open. I lay upon the bed and stared at the beautiful woman beside me, torn between wanting to wake her and fuck her to consciousness, or stay where I was, only to listen to the soft mews she made as she slept.
Watching her in the dawn’s early light, my rational mind returned.
In what alternative universe had I been last night?
Dr. Laurel Carlson had a life, family, and friends. Even thinking for a moment that ripping her away from her life would result in her finding contentment in a man like me was laughable. From the moment our eyes met on the screen, she saw me differently than others did. I wasn’t certain what that meant, only that for both of us, this charade had to end.
My decision to stop whatever it was that we shared was made as I eased out of her bed. It was time Laurel Carlson saw me for who I really was. I wouldn’t show her the monster under the colors—not literally. However, I’d make damn sure she saw me.
Now, as I gaze up at the screen, seeing her uneaten breakfast, her arms crossed defensively over her breasts with a blanket over her legs, and the set expression devoid of emotion, I believed I’d succeeded. She’d never again be relieved or comforted by my presence. She’d never reach out to me for security.
It was better this way.
It was.
Then why did I want to go upstairs and tell her to eat?
Why did I long to see her stand, leave the blanket behind, and join me in this office?
Why was there a metaphoric hole in the middle of my chest that wasn’t present before?
A ding came from one of my many computers.
Turning away from Laurel’s barely moving screen, I searched for the source of the alarm.
Fuck.
The national headline scrolled over the bottom of one screen.
UNIVERSITY IN INDIANAPOLIS, INDIANA, HALTS RESEARCH PROJECT AS FBI JOINS INVESTIGATION INTO MISSING RESEARCHERS.
“Laurel, your little sulking session needs to wait,” I said aloud though I knew she couldn’t hear. “You’re coming down here, now.” I walked to the door. Opening it, I peered down the hallway toward the living room and the stairs beyond. “It’s time to move on, Doc, walking or over my shoulder. I’ll decide whose choice that is when I get upstairs.”
Mason
Over seven years ago within a Chicago skyscraper
* * *
Sitting in Sparrow’s private office, I sighed as I leaned back, brought my elbow to the arm of the comfortable chair, and rested my chin upon my fist. The elation I’d been holding back at finally beating him at chess was mounting inside of me. My grin grew as I watched my opponent. Sparrow was bent at the waist, leaning forward to study the board as if it was a military strategy—in a way it was.
We’d been playing this particular game going on three days now. Sparrow’s lack of concentration was another clue that his winning streak was about to come to an end. My knight had his rook under attack. “Give it up,” I teased. “You’re not getting out of this.”
Sparrow looked up, his dark eyes narrowing. “You’ve never beat me. It’s not happening today.”
I looked down at my watch. The time was nearly midnight. “Probably right. It will be tomorrow.”
Without making a chess move he sat taller, stretching the muscles in his neck and back. “I knew it would be bloody, but fuck.”
He wasn’t talking about our game. He was talking about the takeover of the Sparrow organization.
I nodded.
It had been two weeks since Allister Sparrow had been found dead at a construction site. It had been a week since he was laid to rest.
Not all of the casualties occurred within the old guard. This hadn’t been a simple revolution. The senior Sparrow’s death and that of his right-hand man, Rudy Carlson, had been construed as an opening to take over dominance.
Every two-bit petty criminal in Chicago saw this change of leadership as an opportunity to assert control. Of course, there was the McFadden organization. Along with the Sparrows, the two had been the ultimate authorizers in this city.
Our new capos were scattered on many fronts. One of those fronts was working to bring the low-life, bottom-feeding dwellers in line. Gangs were attacking neighboring gangs. Self-proclaimed drug lords were knocking off runners and working to get a bigger piece of the pie. Until earlier this morning, all four of us, Sparrow, Reid, Patrick, and I had been out on the street—in the shadows. It was a huge risk.
Nothing could happen to Sparrow. If it did, the whole city would implode.
One of our biggest oppositions came from the participants in Allister’s sex-and-exploitation ring.
As his first decree, the new king, Sterling Sparrow, shut the ring down.
Period.
Lights out.
Closed for business.
It was a bomb drop—an ATBIP, the father of all bombs.
The destruction wasn’t limited to those participants in Chicago. Repercussions were occurring throughout the world. It would take a strong stand to stay diligent. We all knew that.
It hadn’t just been the customers who were angered by the sudden change. There was a long line of supply and demand, traffickers who wanted payment for their shipments, as well as the sellers. There were two different levels of sellers, those that delivered the kids to the organization and those whose job it was to sell the kids who were no longer profitable to the ring. Once a kid had been deemed less useful—used up—Allister and his men wouldn’t release or even kill them. They couldn’t take the chance of discovery that could have come with either option.
Instead, there was a secondary market for permanent sales. The best way to guarantee that the merchandise would not alert anyone to their fate was to sell them off overseas. My expertise in linguistics aided in finding many of the prominent buyers. Of course, the kids weren’t sold directly to individuals, but to other organizations.
Every stop on the supply chain was pissed about Sparrow’s stand.
The shock waves were rumbling around the world. India was one of the biggest markets with multiple sales routes. It wasn’t alone. The oil-rich countries of Saudi Arabia, Yemen, and Kuwait paid handsomely for girls, especially if they were too young to menstruate. South America contained other prominent selling opportunities in countries such as Venezuela.
According to some of the shit we found in Allister’s office, for the right price his men would bypass the local sites, keep some of the kids away from the local ring, and sell directly overseas upon acquisition.
We’d hoped there would be names, a system to follow to learn who each individual was and determine that child’s destination. Patrick had gathered a lot of data from the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children.
So far, we’d come up empty.
The shitstains in Allister’s operation numbered the children. The ledgers we found were sick as fuck, reminding me of what had been done in concentration camps during World War II.
To the Sparrow organization’s credit—not that the old guard deserved any—at least they didn’t tattoo the numbers on the kids’ wrists.
For me, this quest began when I was eleven years old and my sister Missy disappeared. Though we’d made enormous strides, it
seemed clear that there was little to no hope of learning her fate.
Had she been one of Sparrow’s acquisitions?
All I knew was that one day she was part of us, the next she was gone.
While Missy began my desire to end this atrocity, with each new discovery, my desire grew deeper. Viewing the sheer quantity of numbers and knowing that each one was a life, I often wished I could have been the one to take Allister down, literally.
Sparrow flexed his right hand, the golden crest ring sparkling under the lights of his private office. “I’m going out again tonight.”
My head shook back and forth. “You can’t. Word’s out there. You were seen last night.”
He stood and walked to the large desk and back.
That gigantic wooden antique monstrosity stuck out in this office like a sore thumb.
Sparrow didn’t care. It was the principle of the matter.
Similar to the ring on his finger, the desk had belonged to Sparrow’s father. Sterling’s mantra that he wanted repeated on the streets of Chicago was that everything that had been Allister’s was now controlled by Sterling Sparrow.
Everything.
There were no exceptions.
“It’s my fight,” he said.
I stood, meeting him nose to nose. “It’s all of ours. We aren’t doing this for you. We’re one hundred percent behind this operation for the organization. It’s your name. Let us take care of the heat.”
“The capos—” he began.
“We vetted our men,” I interrupted. “But they need to see us and they will. They need to see that we represent the new king. Reid, Patrick, and I represent you. Let us do that. If you’re out there, we have another back to watch.”
“I can watch my own back.”
“But you won’t. You’ll be watching ours.”
“Maybe that’s what I want to do.”
“No, man. Give it another twenty-four hours.”
Sparrow shook his head. “I’m heading down to 2 to find out what’s happening.”
Our control center was on 2. Reid and Patrick were likely there or on 1 with the capos. Either way, we would get reports from the street before we stepped into the Chicago shadows.
I nodded toward the chessboard. “Calling uncle?”
“Fuck no,” Sparrow said. “You’re not going to win while my mind is on other things.”
“Doesn’t matter where your mind is, I’m going to win.”
“In your dreams, Mason. Hasn’t happened yet. Not happening.”
Leaving his office on the first floor of Sparrow’s apartment, we walked to the internal elevator. Once inside, Sparrow hit the number 2 and I hit the A. It was the level with the other apartments.
His dark gaze gave me a sideways glance.
“I’m going to check on her. Then I’ll be down.”
“We don’t need distractions.”
Inhaling, I let the breath out slowly. “She’s my sister, not a distraction.”
The flattening of his lips silently reiterated his displeasure about my bringing my sister here. Strict rules had been established regarding the privacy and safety of our living arrangements. Visitors weren’t part of the equation.
The thing was that my sister was fucking tough. Growing up as we had, she had to be. That didn’t mean that I wanted her out in the world while this war was occurring. I’d lost one sister. I wasn’t losing another.
The elevator stopped at A.
“Only be a few,” I said.
Though Sparrow’s expression had darkened and neck drawn taut, he didn’t say another word about my reason for being delayed. Instead, he said, “Hurry. We need you.”
As the doors to the elevator closed, I entered the common area between the three apartments. It was a large hallway space and looked like a fucking hotel with sofas and shit. The area, stupid and wasted space, was bigger than the apartments where I grew up. Patrick, Reid, and I each had our own apartments with living rooms, bedrooms, and kitchens—apartment shit. If we wanted to hang out, we went into each other’s space, or we all went up to Sparrow’s. This little gathering space was for show, hidden in a secure tower where no one else would see it.
Opening the door to my apartment, I called her name.
No answer.
My steps quickened as I walked to the spare room where she had been staying.
Flipping the switch, I saw the bed was made and the room unoccupied.
What the fuck?
Where would she go?
I clenched my teeth as concerns bombarded my thoughts.
Damn her, I’d told her it was dangerous outside the apartment and forbid her from leaving. She’s always been strong-willed. That was different than being stupid. My order hadn’t been negotiable.
Reaching for my phone, I sent a text to Patrick, Reid, and Sparrow.
* * *
“MY SISTER ISN’T IN THE APARTMENT. WHAT THE FUCK? CHECK THE CAMERAS. I’M ON MY WAY TO 2.”
* * *
She didn’t have access to the garage or our command center. She could, however, get up to Sparrow’s apartment. From there, she could have entered the public elevator. Not that it was really public, but I knew my sister. She could sweet-talk the guard with a flash of her smile and change to her voice. Those skills came in handy when she was surviving on the streets. As soon as I could, I started sending money home to her.
Our younger sister was gone. Our mother could rot in hell—maybe she was. Our fathers—make that sperm donors, plural—were gone before any of us were born. That left me, and I wasn’t letting her down.
My heart pounded in my chest as my thoughts filled with the war happening on the streets. The four of us were known. That was why I didn’t want her out and about. Sparrow had called her a distraction. She wasn’t, but she sure has hell could be used as a liability, the perfect weapon to be used against me.
If some two-bit wannabe found her, I’ll fucking rip his beating heart from his chest.
Passing my hand over the sensor of the elevator, I waited. As I did, a door opened behind me.
“Mason.” Reid’s deep voice prompted me to turn.
My eyes went from his wide stance and dark eyes to the woman standing beside him. Her red hair was mussed, lips puffy, and blouse crooked.
“Mason, Reid got your text,” she said. “I’m good. Didn’t mean to worry you.”
Her words were barely audible as blood rushed through my veins. I was no longer looking at my sister but at the man at her side.
My friend.
My confidant.
The man who’d had my back.
With red blurring my vision, I rushed toward Reid, my hands balled into fists and arms ready to swing. “You fucking dick. What the hell are you doing with my sister?”
Laurel
Present Day
Wrapped in a blanket, I waited on my laundry. The first load was in the clothes dryer with the second load washing. Kader’s orders for my appearance in his office could wait. I had no intention of leaving this floor again until I could do so fully clothed. That predicament left me alone, staring out the large windows with my thoughts, currently, not a good place to be.
The sunshine glistening upon the fallen snow no longer displayed its splendor. The crystal sapphire sky lost its appeal. The river at the basin of the ravine was now infested with rattle snakes and insects waiting for the spring thaw to increase their activity and sink their fangs into the nearest prey.
Kader’s performance hadn’t ripped off my rose-colored glasses; it had shattered them, the heel of his boot grinding the shards into the hard floor until they were beyond repair. Peering out of the large windows, now I saw the reality beyond the panes: freezing temperatures, potential hypothermia, and probable dangers at every turn. The view wasn’t the only thing he’d spoiled with his performance.
Everything associated with him was tainted.
I tried to rationalize that Kader had lied to scare me. But how does one rationalize lying
from a man who claimed not to lie? Why after what he’d said last night had he pushed me away? I hadn’t been the one to make the binding statement of staying. It had been he who’d claimed he wouldn’t let me go.
I’d been replaying that scene as well as every moment since our first meeting, on repeat in my head. Like snippets of film by a cinematographer, I’d dissected and critiqued each frame. The result was a headache. The conclusion was that I couldn’t be certain of anything.
After Kader had walked away, a part of me hoped that when I went downstairs to the kitchen, we could try to discuss how he’d behaved and what he’d said. Perhaps it was my background in psychology that pushed me to seek understanding. That part of me was willing to listen—until I entered the kitchen. Finding a protein bar, yogurt, and water on the counter and Kader nowhere in sight was the final blow to his assault.
He’s beaten me without throwing an actual punch.
It wasn’t that I expected a champagne brunch. After what we’d shared and how he’d behaved last night, I simply expected something. Instead, I was down for the count.
The door behind me rattled. With a gasp I pulled the blanket defensively higher, covering his shirt I was still wearing, as the sound of the opening door amplified like fingernails on a chalkboard. I wasn’t certain of his aversion to locks, but like the bathroom in the basement, this bedroom was without one.
Although I’d heard Kader enter, besides lifting the blanket, I refused to turn, to see his hauntingly handsome face and associate that vision with his earlier cruel words.
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