by Kate Lowell
Point of Sale
Julian was half-asleep in Leo’s bed, waiting for fucking permission to go shower, when things went to hell. He hadn’t bothered asking earlier—being filthy and smelly suited his mood and might keep the rest of the gang off his back for a while. Leo had told him to expect a raid during the afternoon. He wondered how it would go down and if he’d have a chance to get a shot in on DeGraff.
He rolled over and scratched between his legs, white flakes catching under his fingernails. His hands shook, no matter how hard he tried to keep them steady. It might have been anger or fear or just the shock of losing all control over his own body for hours.
Or it might have been his usually well-disciplined imagination playing everything Shiro had said the night before in an endless loop, with bonus video footage that it made up for shits and giggles and to rake Julian’s soul until it bled.
He rolled onto his stomach, any chance of sleep long gone. How does someone live in that kind of fear for that long and not lose their mind?
The door opened. “Get up.” It was that smarmy little shit Carragher from the party, and DeGraff, plus a heavyset man Julian didn’t know. Julian wanted to bitch-slap them all, just for starters. Then get creative. He had nothing to lose now except maybe his life, and his emotions were in such turmoil that even that seemed reasonable. Except for the small part of him that spoke with Dave’s voice, telling him Leo would be upset if he got himself hurt for stupid reasons. And that, somehow, had more effect than anything else in his brain. So instead of taking his chances, he played his role, pushing aside his anxiety that Leo wasn’t around. And really, he’d already taken one for the team last night—what was another?
Fuck.
He sat up and ran a hand through his hair. “Is there a party?” His stomach churned at the thought.
“No.” Smarmy smiled. “The gentleman who test-drove you last night was very pleased. He’s paid your asking price without even haggling, and his driver is here right now to pick you up.” He motioned to Julian to stand up.
Julian did as he was told. “Asking price?” Oh shit, oh shit.
Smarmy cuffed him on the back of the head, hard enough that his eyes unfocused for a second. “Stupid. He’s bought you. You’re his.”
“Oh.” Stall for time. “I should clean up.” He smelled and itched, and he needed to wash the memory of last night off his skin. It seemed like an obvious thing, to let him shower. And it would give Leo a chance to get back and haul his ass out of there. The memory of Dave’s voice floated back to him. “With you, it’s always about winning…” Not anymore. He’d take the loss now. Except maybe he had a chance to get Shiro out of there. The guy had to have a phone, right? And Julian still had his emergency number.
Smarmy shook his head. “No time for that. Get dressed. Here’s clothes.” When Julian stared blankly at him, stalling again, Smarmy slapped him lightly on the cheek. “Get moving!”
Julian started unfolding the clothing—expensive dress pants, a cotton shirt that probably cost more than Julian paid in tuition, shoes, socks, a tie. No underwear. Figures.
He made a point of putting them all on slowly, piece by piece, wobbling like his balance was bad and fumbling with buttons. Two tries for the shoelaces and three for the tie. He would have kept dragging his ass through the process, playing stupid, except the look on Smarmy’s face told him he’d pushed his luck as far as it would go. Julian finished up, then quietly followed the man out the door and down the hallway. They walked past the common room—where Leo currently wasn’t—and out the door to a limo waiting in the sun. The driver opened the back door, and Julian was gently nudged into the vehicle. The heavyset man got in beside him, and a few seconds later, the car started moving.
Julian was up shit creek.
The Final Cut
Leo dropped the paper takeout bags on the table. “Lunch is here!” he yelled, then went to his room to look for Julian.
Julian wasn’t there. Leo frowned and let his unease draw him back out into the corridor.
He finally came upon DeGraff in the little office, and he wasn’t alone.
“Good morning, Mr. Leon.” Carragher looked up from the laptop with a satisfied smile. “I have good news for you.”
“Sir?” The walk into the room felt like something out of a horror movie. He knew, even before Carragher held out the envelope of cash, what had happened.
Julian was gone.
Leo took the envelope automatically. He hoped no one had noticed the blood drain from his face. It had happened so quickly he’d felt it, like a sudden chill on the skin.
Carragher held out a hand, and it took Leo a moment to realize he was supposed to shake it. He did, numbly. Carragher laughed. “Don’t look so surprised—you did a good job. The client was pleased enough with him, he didn’t even bargain. This is a much better deal for you than selling him on to our storefront operation. There’s enough in your envelope to make your ex a happy woman and some left over for you to play your ponies.”
“Dogs, sir,” Leo corrected out of habit. Holy shit, he had to let Harrow know. “Who did he sell to? The fellow from last night?”
“Yes. And he wants us to let him have first crack at your next one. He’s had Shiro, what, four years now? That’s a long time for him. Figured he’d be replacing him sooner than this; he usually gets rid of them before two.” Carragher smiled. “Keep this up, and I foresee great things for you in this organization. After all, you have college funds to be thinking of, right? How old are your kids again?”
“Ten and twelve, sir.” Shit, shit, shit, shit. If Leo’s heart was racing before, it was going for the finish line now.
“Enough time to start saving. I can put you in touch with my money man; he can invest for you, build up a little education fund. The way things are going nowadays, makes me glad I don’t have kids. They say this generation is coming out with so much debt, they’ll be twenty years just paying off college.”
“I’ve heard that, sir.” The next part was a bit delicate. He needed to know where Julian was going. “Who, exactly, was it that bought him, sir?”
Carragher sat back with a shake of his head. “Our client records are entirely confidential.” He was less friendly-looking now. “That’s not something you need to know. DeGraff will inform me when you’ve brought in another candidate, and I’ll take it from there.”
Leo shuffled his feet, doing his best embarrassed look. “I thought I might buy him back whenever this guy gets tired of him.”
“I doubt you could afford him. He sold at close to $650K. The new owner isn’t going to want to get much less than that when he sells—if he sells. If your boy is smart, he’ll behave and keep his owner happy. Some of the private sales have come back to the brothels, but those guys have their own ways of dealing with failures too.” He shook his head. “Not my circus, not my monkeys. Nor are they yours.” He closed the laptop, but Leo was relieved to see that he didn’t put it away. “Why don’t you go spend some of that? Place a bet or two; buy your kids some toys. Keep an eye open for any good prospects while you’re out there.”
Here was his excuse to get out of the building, handed to him on a silver platter. Leo could hardly believe it. Natural instinct made him suspicious, but he was desperate enough to grab for it anyway. He had to get Harrow on Julian’s trail.
And that laptop, the Holy Grail of this operation, was still in the building. “Yes, sir. Thank you. I’ll do my best.” He forced a grin. “Think I’ll get the oldest that mountain bike she’s been after.”
“You’ll be the World’s Greatest Dad.” Carragher opened the laptop again.
It was obviously a dismissal, so Leo left, fighting not to run for the door. DeGraff stayed behind, leaning over Carragher’s shoulder and pointing at the screen, low murmurs the only sound as Leo closed the door behind him. Then he ran. If anyone questioned him, he could say he couldn’t wait to call the kids and tell them about his windfall.
He went out the lo
ading bay’s man-door, pulling out Mauer’s phone and bringing up the contact as he went. By the time he was ten feet outside the building, he had bars, and he hit the call button. “Come on, come on.” What was taking so long? The faint brrr of jet engines and the whoosh of passing traffic filled him with dread. Julian could be anywhere, and every minute increased the amount of territory that would have to be searched. Even worse, if he was being flown out, he could be headed to any one of over a hundred different cities.
On the fifth ring, just when he was about to hang up and try the main line—fuck protocol—the female agent who played his ex picked up.
“Hello?”
“Julia? It’s Leo. I need the HRT, now.”
Role-play ended just like that, and she was all agent. “What happened?”
“They sold Julian to one of the guys from last night. I can’t get the info out of them, but Carragher is here with his laptop. We need to act now.”
“Hold on.”
Leo was nearly dancing with impatience by the time he heard Harrow’s voice. “Leo, you lost him?”
“Fuck you, Bert. Fuck you to hell. Get the team down here now. I’m going back in, see if I can wiggle the buyer’s name out of them anyway.”
“Don’t. We’ll find him. We’ve had the unit in Vegas since you updated your location. We can be there in an hour. Maybe less. Keep playing your role, in case we need Leon later. I’ll tell the guys not to rough you up too much.”
He deserved a good roughing up. Julian had trusted him. “Tell them to make it look good; don’t worry about hurting me.”
“Hang tight, Leo. It’ll be over soon.” The phone clicked, and the call ended.
Leo took a shaky breath and looked up at the sky, watching the contrails fade into the pale, burning blue. He wondered if Julian was in one of those planes right now.
Tear Down
Leo made an excuse to stick around the warehouse, claiming he was hungry and wanted to check out the online sports shops for a good mountain bike. He and Kittridge fed the victims and locked them away before going back to the common room. Kittridge turned up his nose at the Chinese food Leo had bought, and left—much to Leo’s frustration—to find something he considered edible.
Leo and DeGraff were relaxing in the common room with one of the girls to wait on them, drinking beer and eating ribs and wontons and stir-fried vegetables from the bags scattered over the table, when they heard a loud bang, then another, louder one, accompanied by a flash of light like twenty lightning bolts at once. His ears ringing, Leo staggered blindly to his feet and fell over again as his overwhelmed nervous system crapped out on him. He lay there a moment while the effects of the flashbang had their way with them.
He’d been through this before. He knew what to expect. The pain in his head would dissipate, and the tinnitus would fade by the end of the day. The balance problems would be gone before they’d finished clearing the building. He’d be tired and out of sorts for a day or so, but no permanent damage. A roar of voices, barely heard over the noise of his abused ears, shouted, “FBI, drop your weapons!” The Hostage Rescue Team. Leo squinted in DeGraff’s direction. His sight had already started to clear, and he dimly saw DeGraff careening for the locked cupboard in the kitchen, ricocheting from the table to the wall and then to the floor. “Get Carragher’s laptop!” he snapped, his voice muffled, the words as mangled as if they themselves had been hit by a grenade. Leo reeled toward the door, sometimes on two feet, sometimes on all fours, only to be bowled over by the entrance of the team. As he went down, he caught a glimpse of DeGraff, hands in the air, the useless keys swinging from the lock as he staggered and bounced off the wall to land on the floor. The teenager who’d been waiting on them screamed in the corner, a pitiful wail.
One of the men put a knee between his shoulder blades and yelled, “Don’t move!” Like he could, with the room still spinning around him. The cold muzzle of a carbine pressed against the base of his skull. Another operator yanked his hands behind his back and secured them there with a zip-tie. Leo pulled against it when the man stood up, but it was good—not so tight that it would cut off the circulation, but tight enough that there was no way he was getting his hands through the opening.
The first agent got off him and stepped back. “Stop that.” He emphasized the command with a careful kick to Leo’s ribs, making it look like more than it was. Leo grunted for DeGraff’s benefit, assuming DeGraff could hear him—his ears had to be worse than Leo’s; he’d been closer to the door—then lay still.
It was over. This part anyway. He still couldn’t relax, not until they found Julian.
“Clear,” someone shouted, and the room emptied except for the four men left guarding Leo and DeGraff. The crying girl was escorted out, her legs wobbling beneath her as her inner ear struggled to make sense of the shock waves from the flashbang.
Lying where he was, not ten feet from the door, gave Leo a ringside view of what was going on in the hallway. Another half dozen men hustled down the corridor, guns up, staying in tight formation. Right after they passed, Bert walked into the common room and paused, looking around with an expression of satisfaction on his face. “Well, what do we have here?” He nudged Leo with a toe, then moved on to inspect the rest of the common room. “Take them outside.”
More shouts echoed from the hallway, and the sound of shots fired rang off the walls. Leo tried to turn his head to see how DeGraff was taking everything, but as soon as he lifted his cheek off the floor, one of the agents guarding him put a foot on his ear. “Hold still. You don’t need to know what’s going on.” So he held still and watched out of the corner of his eye as DeGraff was pulled to his feet and dragged out of the room.
An agent stopped in the door. “Sir, we’ve found three women and three men in the back.” Behind him, Leo watched a trio of other agents escorting the blanket-wrapped victims out the front of the building. Consuela was the last one out, clinging to the arm of the man escorting her.
Leo closed his eyes in momentary relief. Then he was hauled roughly to his feet and hustled out the door to kneel in the midday Nevada heat beside DeGraff. He worked his jaw against the full feeling in his inner ear, hoping that the size of the common room meant he’d be deaf for a shorter time.
Sweat had already soaked through his shirt when there was a bustle of activity around him. Shouts sounded from the building, and a few minutes later, he and DeGraff were joined by Maciel, Carragher, and the doctor, whose name Leo realized he still didn’t know. They’d have to look for Kittridge later.
Bert walked up and grabbed Leo by the collar. He jerked him impatiently to his feet and slammed him against the side of a police car. “Where’s the rest of them? Huh?” He was obviously yelling, because Leo could hear him without trouble. Leo gave him nothing back, exactly what Dale Leon would have done.
Bert frowned at Leo’s face; then his eyes went wide, and he laughed incredulously. “Why, hello, Mr. Leon. So this is where you disappeared to. I’ve got some friends in California that really want to talk to you.” He shook Leo, then threw him at one of the other agents. “Put him in a car, and let the office know. San Diego will want him when we’re done.” He watched them manhandle Leo into position. “I’d suggest you cooperate with me, Mr. Leon. San Diego office won’t be nearly as agreeable as I am.” He stalked over to DeGraff and pulled him to his feet too. “What about you? Do you have anything to say, buddy?”
DeGraff stared back at him with icy eyes. Bert grinned. “That’s okay. I can see how you might be tired. We’ll have plenty of time for you to rest up and find your tongue again.” He walked on to Maciel. “What about you? Got a story?” Maciel looked down at the ground. Leo glanced at Maciel while the agent folded Leo into one of the cars. Maciel refused to look up, and Bert had to crouch to get in his face. Then the door closed, and blessed air-conditioning began sucking the day’s heat away. He closed his eyes and leaned back in the seat to worry some more about Julian.
The other door opene
d, and Bert got in. “You okay?”
Leo opened his eyes and turned them toward the ASAC. “Yeah. Where’s Julian?”
“We’ve got teams looking for him. Marshals, local police, state troopers. I pulled out all the stops on this.”
“You damn well better find him.”
“You think I don’t feel just as bad about this as you? I’m the one who put him out there.”
Leo sighed and closed his eyes again. “Yeah.” Still didn’t feel any better.
Payment on Account
The limo had been on the move for what felt like forever. Julian found himself dozing off, exhausted by the previous night and no longer bolstered by adrenaline. A glance out the window showed him nothing but flat, sunburned land, with a few mountains for variety. It all looked the same to him, as an eastern boy.
His adrenaline came surging back when the driver knocked on the roof of the car. “We’re about half an hour away.” Julian’s escort looked up from his phone and smiled in a manner Julian had grown to know all too well. Julian suddenly understood at a visceral level what some of his female friends meant when they talked about a guy stripping them with his eyes.
“Well, you’re prettier than the other one. Do you have all the same skills? Let me see your tongue. You pierced?” He shook his head in disappointment when Julian showed him he wasn’t. “That’s too bad. I kind of liked that about the last one. Sure hope you got the skills to make up for it.” He crooked his finger. “Come here.”
Fuck, were they all perverts? Julian studied the man from under his eyelashes. The guy had a gun in a holster on his belt. Julian had never shot a gun, but it couldn’t be that hard. He could get that gun if he played his cards right.
And he was so damn tired of meek and timid. “No. I’m not for you,” he said, just flip enough to prick the man’s ego. He looked down at his clasped hands and waited for the bodyguard’s reaction.
