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“Went to Ole Miss one semester and got kicked out for drinking. According to police reports, her father came in hot to the police station, ready to drag her back and beat the crap out of her. Rightfully so, considering how much money they’d spent on her education, and that she had a history of things like this. How she countered with that was accusing dear old dad of molesting her. Everyone knew it was bullshit. Connor was well-known and well-respected. His other children even came to his defense.
“Apparently, Jamie didn’t give up on it. She warned him that if he didn’t give her the entire trust fund that was being held until she was twenty-one, she would go public with her accusations. Even though everyone knew he was innocent, Mr. Connor knew that it would ruin his reputation. He signed off on handing her the rest of her trust fund, minus one semester at Ole Miss.”
“What a piece of fucking work,” growled Nine.
“She took the money and went to New York, hoping for a modeling career.”
“A modeling career?” frowned Max. “I saw that girl. She was cute but heavy at the hips and covered in tattoos. Most models that I’ve seen are anorexic. Have things changed?”
“No. Things have not changed. Neither did she. She claimed rape for the first photographer that did her photos, and before the ink was dry on the check to make her keep her mouth shut, she made the same claim on another. Luckily, these guys were talking to one another, and no one would go near her after that.
“So, she took her money and went back out on the road, headed to Chicago. She applied for a job at the Chicago Museum of Art and somehow got it. One evening, while helping her boss put out the new exhibit, she claims, again, she was sexually attacked.”
“Jesus fuck, how many men has she destroyed.”
“Women. This one was a woman,” said Code. “Only this time, she refused to bend. In fact, she got smart and looked up her history, finally hiring her brother as her attorney.”
“Smart girl,” smirked Gaspar.
“Jamie took off, not to be seen from by her family again. She got to New Orleans roughly two years ago, put herself through cosmetology school, and started working as a massage therapist and facialist. She’s had six jobs in fourteen months and six roommates. The most recent was Stephanie Moore. She removed her name from the lease and is now leasing a place off Magazine.”
“By herself?” asked Nine.
“Not sure. There’s no roommate listed, but that doesn’t mean anything,” said Code.
“Alright. Whiskey, you and Callan go visit a few more shops. See if they know anything about Imron and where he might be or if they’ve heard from any of the kids. Kegger? Is Morgan in a place where you feel comfortable leaving her for the day?”
“Honestly? She is. I’m not,” smirked Kegger.
“We understand, brother. Take care of her. There will be other chances. Dex and Vince. You guys find this apartment for Stephanie Moore and track her down. See what we can find out about Jamie Connor, and maybe she’ll have information on Imron as well.”
Jamie Connor was dying from the worst hangover ever. Her head was pounding so hard she was afraid to open her eyes. She tried to roll over, but something stopped her. Shit! She thought to herself. Did I take some guy home?
Reaching out, she felt for another body but found nothing except a cold blanket. Opening her eyes, she was surprised to find complete blackness. Not even a sliver of light coming through a window or door.
Pushing herself up on the bed, she realized the reason she couldn’t move. She was tethered to the bed. Fuck, no, no, no! She set her feet on the floor and immediately pulled them back. It was wet. Not just wet, the water came above her ankles.
“No,” she whispered. “No, what happened?”
Her hands reached far enough for her to rub her head, thinking back to the night before at Jax Brewery. She’d taken a seat at the bar and ordered a vodka on the rocks. Her meeting was supposed to be at nine. By half-past nine, he still wasn’t there.
“Screw them. I’ll teach them how this works,” she laughed.
“You need something, honey?” asked the bartender.
“Nah,” she giggled. “Maybe you. You off soon?”
“Nope,” he said with a straight face. “Listen, that drink was pretty strong. Let me get you a taxi.”
“Nah,” she laughed again. She stood from the barstool, her knees giving out beneath her. She giggled, shaking her head as a hand cupped her elbow. “Oh, hi. There you are. You’re late!”
“Yep. I’m late, Jamie. Let’s go.”
That was it. That was all she remembered. Her clothes were on, and she immediately reached between her thighs to see if she was sore.
“Don’t worry, honey. I wouldn’t touch your pussy with a ten-foot pole,” said the voice.
“Where the fuck are you?” she asked, looking around the black space.
