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“It’s the same one,” he frowned. “They’re marking these kids for someone. Making it easy for them to identify who might be an easy mark. The others who got these tattoos, were they seventeen or eighteen?”
“They were all seventeen, I think,” said Walker.
“They’re underage, and that’s helping them. The kids won’t tell their parents about the tattoos, so it’s hidden from them. Only the artist knows who was tatted and who is underage.”
“Uncle Nine, Uncle Whiskey, Gray Wolf can help, right?” asked Walker. The two men looked at one another, then at Callan, who smirked in their direction.
“Are you asking to hire us?” asked Whiskey.
“I-I guess we are,” said Leif. “I mean. I have some money saved. How much do you guys make for a case?”
“I’ll tell you what,” said Nine. “We’ll do this one free of charge if you guys promise to give us a hand, but only when we ask for it. Don’t step in, don’t do anything foolish, don’t talk to anyone about this. Contact the rest of the girls you know and make sure they understand that no one should get a tattoo from this guy. No one.”
“That’s great! Thank you,” said Walker.
“Boys, do not go off on your own with this. I know you’re almost grown men now, but you’re still in high school. We can’t allow you to get involved in this.”
“Yes, sirs,” they said in unison.
“Okay. Call your friends,” said Whiskey. “But don’t tell them who’s helping you. Just let them know someone is going to find those kids.”
The boys left the tattoo shop, and the three men couldn’t help but notice that all three ducked on their way out the door. They shook their heads, chuckling.
“Are we feeding them something different?” asked Callan.
“I’m not sure. Mama Irene said the babies will be bigger and stronger than their parents. Whatever the hell that means,” frowned Nine. “We’ve got a serious problem with this tattoo guy. If he’s branding kids to be picked up by a trafficker or gang leader, these kids are in for a shitty surprise.”
“I’ll keep my eyes open for any more cases and let you know. Until then, just keep me informed on what you find.” They nodded, and Callan raised a finger. “You know, I could set up shop down there myself. I’m licensed. I could do it out in the open. Give this guy some competition.” Whiskey nodded at him.
“It’s a good idea, Callan, but let’s hold that one for the column of ‘absolutely necessary.’ After all, I’d like my daughter to still love me when this is all over with.”
CHAPTER THREE
Christina stared at the blank wall in front of her, counting the pinholes scratched into the surface. She’d seen the strange stripes down the walls when she’d first arrived and had the unfortunate awareness that they weren’t stripes. They were nail marks. Fingernails. Someone had been trying to claw their way out.
She wasn’t sure why she was staring. She could barely make out the wall itself. The room was nearly pitch black, only slivers of light coming through. She had no clue where she was or what they wanted with her. No one had touched her body in a sexual way, and no one had taken her clothes.
There were others in the other rooms. She could hear them. Some were crying out for their parents, others were screaming at the guards, and still others were silent. But the worst ones were those screaming in pain.
She’d learned the difference in the last few days. She’d heard the difference. Crying out in fear or crying out because you missed your parents sounded very different than crying out in pain. Those were the sounds that prevented her from sleeping at night. The sounds of someone begging for them to stop, begging to be let go. They would cry for their parents, an aunt or uncle, grandparents, even friends. But the screaming and crying didn’t seem to stop.
They’d yet to tell her why she was here or what she was doing. All she knew was that everyone else she caught a glimpse of had the same tattoo that she did.
Christina wondered if Becky and the other girls worried for her. If they had been honest with her parents and the police, telling them that she’d left the club alone. Did they try to find her? Hell, did they even know where she was? She wasn’t sure where she was.
“Hello, Christina,” smiled the man standing at the small window of her door. “It’s almost your time, my sweet.”
“Don’t call me that. Why am I here? Why are any of us here?”
“You’re here to change the world,” he grinned.
“I’m not going to change the world for you or for anyone. I’m seventeen years old, and I haven’t even finished high school. Let me go.” He laughed, shaking his head.
“Oh, my sweet, you really are a breath of fresh air. Defiant. Strong. Fighting it all until the very end. I love it! You’re going to be at the top of this little group. I can just tell.”
Christina held back the screams and tears seeping into her brain. She wasn’t about to show weakness. Isn’t that what her father always said? Don’t show them weakness, Christina. They’ll feed off it.
“I want to leave,” she said calmly.
