The Beast of Boston

by JL Mac

  She rises to her feet and glances from me to the couch, a silent offer for me to join her on the couch she just abandoned to prowl closer to me. She watches me closely as she lifts one hand, placing her palm against my chest. I’m vibrating with rage, my breathing less even, less measured.

  “I can see you’re angry. Take it out on me,” she whispers almost shyly.

  “Trust me you don’t want that,” I warn.

  “Maybe I do.”

  “I don’t want to fuck you, Abigail Tally,” I lie. I want very badly to have her writhing beneath me, on top of me and I want very badly to vent my anger. I want very badly to punish her. I want very badly to see what shade of pink her skin would turn after the palm came down on it a few times.

  “But, if you’re my client—” she lifts a shoulder, shrugging.

  “You’ll do as I wish. Me being the client and all,” I clip.

  “And what is it you wish?”

  “For you to sit down on that couch and keep your pretty little lying mouth shut.”

  “Your wish is my command,” she says dryly as she backs away from me and heads to the couch and flops down in one heap. She curls up her sensuous body like a sleek cat, ready to go back to sleep.

  I’m a monster, a powerful man, a dangerous man capable of doing terrible things to people who cross me. So why does this small, stunning woman I could easily snap in two make me feel like the prey and not the predator I’m so used to being?

  I don’t wait around to ponder it. I grab my shit and leave before I have time to do something I’d regret or worse, something I wouldn’t regret one fucking bit.

  Chapter Twelve

  Ena

  He’s either obscenely arrogant or incredibly stupid. Or… innocent, which in my mind is very close to impossible. I didn’t hear all of his conversation of course but I heard enough. The noun was girls and the verb was selling. Hearing half of the conversation sent a new sense of drive and ambition through me but it also set my heart to trembling with fear for Lan. He’d mentioned the Asians and Russians, which only leaves me to wonder what their involvement is. Do they sell women too? Maybe High Knoll isn’t selling women at all. Why then would she have disappeared from right outside one of their establishments?

  It had to be them!

  It’s not them.

  My mind races. No matter who is selling women, I have to wonder to whom exactly do these thugs sell the women to? Each other? Private, unknown, third parties? Who handles the women? Where are they kept? How are they transported and how much would it cost to buy one—to buy Lan?

  One thing was obvious in that moment after his call. Beast was seething, intense. A smarter woman would have bolted for the door and ran until her legs gave out. Not me. I was compelled to touch his fury, to feel it under my fingertips. I wanted to feel the violence in him. I wanted to get close to his rage and closer to his secrets. It was clear he was ready to break something… or someone, and like a fucking lust drunk idiot fixed on violence, I went to him and worse I offered myself to him.

  God.

  Sure, a huge part of me is aware that getting intimate with Beast may better my chances of getting closer to any information that could help find Lan but I’d be a liar and a fool to claim my quest for leads was the only thing that had me trying to seduce him.

  My eyes find the sun over the harbor and a few things occur to me. 1. It’s late morning. 2. I never took out these goddamn contacts last night so my eyes feel like sandpaper. 3. Beast didn’t come back last night.

  I reach for my cell phone on the coffee table and swear under my breath when I see it’s completely dead. I stand from the couch and stretch my arms over my head and yawn.

  I find the bathroom and toss my bag onto the counter needing to claw these fucking contact lenses out of my eyes. I pluck them from my eyes and screw the lens case shut.

  “Ooooooh, yes!” I moan, rubbing my eyes luxuriously slow. “Mmm. God, that feels amazing,” I whisper. When I remove my balled hands from my eyes I nearly jump out of my skin as I catch sight of Beast standing in the doorway to the bathroom.

  “Shit!” I say snapping my eyes shut and fumbling for my sunglasses.

  “Feel good?”

  “You scared the hell outta me!”

  “Why are you wearing sunglasses, Ms. Tally?”

  “I had to take out my contacts. These are prescription sunglasses. My actual glasses are at home and I can’t handle wearing these contacts for another second,” I lie my ass off and shove back that little feeling of slipping deeper into the abyss, the web that will get me caught up.

  Beast nods and I note the has a bandage on one of his hands. No surprise. When he left here last night he was the definition of unhinged. I pity the person or persons on the receiving end of his fury last night.

  “I can get myself home.”

  “You didn’t answer your phone,” he accuses.

  “It’s dead.”

  “Fine. My car is downstairs. I’ll take you home after we eat.”

  “Yes, Master,” I mock a robotic voice.

  “I already ordered room service.”

  “When will I have a client—a real client?” I change the subject making it a point to seem impatient, eager, and money-hungry like the other women working in this club.

  “Oh, never,” he replies through thinly pressed lips, keeping his eyes on his cellphone as he taps the screen.

  “What? Why?”

  “I don’t make it a point to hire strangers and liars just to send them on their merry way to my valued customers who expect discretion. You happen to be both a liar and a stranger.”

  “I’m not.”

  “I’ve asked you who you really are multiple times and you have now lied to me on every occasion. You’ll get nothing until I decide differently.”

  I sigh and roll my eyes at him from behind my dark sunglasses while my heart is hammering away in my chest. “I’ve told you. My name is Abigail Tally and I am here to work. I need this money. That’s it.”

  “So you’ve said,” he mumbles keeping his attention on his cell phone.

  “You’re—”

  “Not to be fucked with,” he murmurs so coolly that it’s vastly more chilling than anything else he’s said.

  “So you’ve said,” I counter, eyeing his waist where I know there must be a gun.

  “Have I? I hope so because you should really be clear about where you are Ms. Tally. Take a real good look around. You’re in my world and you will be here until I decide you may go.”

  “I’m clear.” I don’t dare ask what he means by go. Go where? I don’t actually want to know and he isn’t going to come out and say it anyway.

  “Good.” Beast inhales deeply then sighs like he’s suddenly exhausted. A knock at the suite door breaks up our tense moment and his onslaught of threats. He leaves me in the bathroom and I shut the door needing a moment to clear my head and calm my nerves. I inhale deeply and kick myself for almost getting caught with the fashion contact lenses. I do my best to smooth myself out in the mirror, relieve my bladder and wash my hands, taking my time along the way. By the time I emerge from the bathroom, I’m relieved to see him digging into food on a large balcony opposite from the bathroom. I join the monster for breakfast like the total lunatic I have become. Breakfast passes in silence—blessed, blunder, and threat free silence. For the most part he seems to ignore my presence opposite him and I pretend to ignore him too but he caught me looking at him at least twice. Even from behind dark lenses, he catches my gaze and holds me captive.

  “Get your shit. We’re leaving,” he announces, checking the time on his watch. He gets to his feet, tucking his cell phone in his pocket and snagging his suit jacket from the back of his seat. As he turns from me I catch sight of the gun I knew was somewhere on him. I swallow hard and grab my bag from the empty chair beside me, getting to my feet.

  “And where are we going?”

  “Home.”

  I’m both relieved and nervous
when Beast pulls up to my little duplex. Without saying a word, he rounds the car and lets me out. His hand slips around the crook of my elbow and he takes me to my door. I unlock it and without preamble, he pushes into my small rented space. He scans the room and it instantly feels like a closet with a man like him, a man his size in here. I watch him prowl slowly through the place, studying my dwelling. I have done my best to make it look lived in and occupied by a woman. My makeup is on the counter. I have bottled water by the fridge. My bed is made but the pillows are rumpled. My cell phone charger is plugged in, it’s tail coiled like a snake on the floor. I toss my bag on the bed and set my key and sunglasses on the nightstand.

  “I have water if you want some. Oh, and coffee. I have that.”

  Please say no.

  Beast doesn’t say anything. He only shakes his head, declining my offer. I step out of my heels and try to ignore his scrutinizing eyes while doing my best not to glance around my space to make sure I haven’t carelessly left something incriminating lying around. Beast turns to face me and immediately looks down at my bare feet. I feel like a child by comparison. He towers above me even with heels on but without them…

  Snow White’s eighth dwarf, Loony.

  Beast takes a long, measured stride toward me, stopping only an inch or two from me. He lifts one hand and plants the tip of his index finger under my chin, forcing me to look up at him.

  “You’re quite small without heels,” he whispers softly, directly contradicting the glinting violence in his stormy gaze. “Petite,” he vibrates, his voice reverberating through him. “… delicate bones,” he adds bringing his other hand to the top of my arm. He drifts his fingertips over my skin, skating higher. His index finger glides across my collarbone and I force myself to breathe normally as he purposefully puts just enough pressure behind his blunt fingernail to scrape the skin over every bone he comes across. “… skin as thin and soft as silk,” he murmurs appraisingly. Both big hands slither across my shoulders where he grips me firmly.

  “So small. So soft. So breakable,” he says tilting his head slightly to the side, studying my response. I lick my lips and ignore my heart tripping over itself with the demand for me to run.

  He leans down toward me and drags his cheek against the smooth slope of mine. The feel of his five o’clock shadow lighting up my nerves. “I can almost hear your heart Abigail,” he sneers wickedly calm. “Careful, now,” he warns with his lips sliding over the top of my ear. My hands float up and grasp his biceps, my fingertips digging in to the hard muscles there. I shiver but can’t say whether it’s due to the feel of his breath skating over my skin or the danger I’m facing. A distant voice in my head whispers, reminding me I like his violence and his threats. I like his face and his body and his scent and his energy and all his thorns even though I know they are likely to make me bleed. That voice dares me to deny it. Fuck that voice.

  “See you at the club tonight.”

  Without another word, he turns and leaves me frozen in place right where he has left me. If I had any notions about what’s going on between us, they were just shattered. We are playing a game of cat and mouse. I just hope I don’t end up getting caught.

  Sitting down on the edge of my bed, I pin my cell phone between my ear and shoulder as I crack the seal on a bottle of water.

  “Hey you!” It’s good to hear my mom’s voice. It’s grounding, steadying. I’m not usually very emotional but hearing her voice causes a lump to blossom in my throat.

  “Hey, Mom!”

  “Give me three words.”

  “Hmm. Scenic. Enchanting. Remarkable.” I feed her a plate of my carefully prepared bullshit and feel bad for it right away.

  “What are yours?” I ask trying to keep the conversation moving.

  “Hallmark. Movie. Marathon,” she laughs weakly.

  “Sounds great actually.” I tell her and that part is true.

  “So what’s next?” Mom says trying to sound cheery but she’s terrible at hiding her feelings. She’s lonely and it rings out in her voice. She may as well take out an ad saying as much. It makes my heart ache.

  “The Golden Gate Bridge. I’m heading out after we get off the phone. They say it’s a beautiful but long drive from here to there. The guy at the front desk says there’s a lot of attractions on the way though—places to stop for a bit and stretch my legs.”

  “Was The Grand Canyon worth it? The drive?”

  “It’s beautiful,” I say quietly, mentally summoning the stolen image I’d sent to her. A sad, lonely part of me wishes I was on this made up trip and my mom and sister were with me to stay in cheap motels and binge on junk food while driving for hours at a time.

  “I barely remember it. I was only eight when grandma and grandpa took me.”

  “We’ll come back together,” I promise solemnly.

  “I would love that. Guess I should let you get on the road. Please call or text me when you arrive in California.”

  “I will, Mom. I love you.”

  “I love you too, Ena. Be safe.”

  I end the call and ignore the fact that neither of us mentioned Lan. She didn’t say anything and I hadn’t asked if there were any developments.

  Have we come to that already?

  Ignoring her disappearance, not bringing up her existence? Are we both too cowardice to stir the sediment of the shipwreck, knowing the murk would blind both of us from finding our way back to the surface?

  Why didn’t I ask?

  The question loops through my mind, taunting me. I shake my head and try to focus on the water in my hand but it’s useless. I didn’t ask because I knew there was nothing to new to be heard and being reminded of bad news again is too painful. And what does Mom do? The very same.

  I can feel it like a sneeze coming—a slowly building tingle in the recesses of my head. Lan will be forgotten and all but taboo to even mention, in no time.

  Coward.

  Disloyal.

  Traitor.

  “Goddammit,” I mutter. Those are my real three words today. My lip curls with disgust just as my right fist balls in my lap. I have to find her. Come what may, I have to find my sister. Not doing my best to find her—no matter what’s happened—will only haunt me forever and I’ll feel like the coward that I am. I made her a promise as a girl. I swore to myself I’d always do what I must to keep her safe. I swore I’d do anything to prevent her from ever knowing the ugliness I have. I swore I’d never allow her to come into contact with the likes of Rob and Viv and all their scummy friends who saw me as a servant or a source of entertainment—a source of pleasure…

  I swallow hard, forcing the sour taste back down to my stomach. I may have failed on that front. I didn’t prevent Lan’s disappearance but I will certainly do what I must to bring her home. Whether she’s still alive or not, my baby sister is coming home.

  Mercedes had said she’d call me today and I fully expect her to. I make a mental note to ask her if her offer to borrow some of her wardrobe still stands because I don’t have anything to wear to the club tonight unless jeans and a tee shirt is acceptable attire. I send Mercedes a text to ask her about the clothes and busy myself scanning the Internet for any useful information regarding human trafficking. I take a fortifying breath before clicking on the search button. The term human trafficking isn’t going to garner anything reassuring, and I find myself thankful that I haven’t had lunch yet. Most of the top results are things clarifying the definition, and demographics regarding global human trafficking. Apparently it’s a thing. A really big freakin’ thing. On the third page I find an article written by Milly Hibbard, a journalist from The Boston Globe.

  The Price of A Person

  By Milly Hibbard

  There’s an alarming rise in human trafficking and sex slave trafficking in recent years. The FBI gives credit for this rise to social media and the easy access of information from just about anywhere in the world. I sat down with a woman who is now in hiding following her harrowing escape
from a sex slave auction. I could not have prepared myself for the horrific story this brave woman recounted. This woman, who asked that her identity be concealed, said her day had been like any other. She’d spoken to a friend she recently met online, went to work, left work and had plans to meet with her friend for dinner. She never could have known this friend had other plans…

  I force my eyes away and take a minute to breathe. I was holding my breath and I hadn’t realized it until dizziness crept into my eyes. I refocus my eyes on the article and read on, scanning over the bulk of it, only truly absorbing the things that hint at something helpful.

  … spent more than four weeks in an abandoned warehouse outside of New York before her captors came to fetch their merchandise to prepare them for an auction. Fifteen other women were chained and shackled within the dilapidated building…

  Deep breath.

  … focusing only on her daring escape, she didn’t take notice of the building or it’s location. She says she only ran for her life, barefooted and clothed in only a soiled frock the women were forced to wear.

  Deep breath.

  … though police tried to assist her in backtracking to where she’d escaped, she could not recall where the building was.

  Deep breath.

  …ongoing investigation. No leads…

  Breathe.

  If I had to go the rest of my life without seeing or hearing that miserable, hopeless phrase, I think I’d die a happy woman. But I’m supposed to be a cop one day. It’s bound to be something I am forced to desensitize to but for now, no leads makes my skin crawl with desire to do something—anything.