I thought about his sister; I knew he did. He has reasons for wanting to find the people who brutalized his sister and niece, and women like Cara. I remembered what he said the day El Jefe held me captive. Stone mentioned the eight-year-old he prevented El Jefe from hurting. Girls like Cara and countless others have had their lives negatively impacted by men like him.
Now, sitting alone in my apartment, I stare at the art around me. The brutal, violent art I’ve created. Scenes of El Jefe’s eyes. Close-ups of knife wounds with my face in the center. Visuals of Women being ripped away from their children. Scenes of terrified women’s faces. I’m one of those women. I will never forget those moments when El Jefe was on top of me. When his fingers squeezed my breasts, when he bit my neck, and stabbedme over and over. The scars all over my neck bear witness to the irrevocable way my life has changed.
Nightmares plague me, too. Vicious dreams of being held down. The type of panic that makes me wake up in a cold sweat, fighting El Jefe’s phantom form. It’s the type of panic that I had never felt with Stone. I’ll definitely never be able to eat oranges again. The smell makes me sick to my stomach, remembering the scent of it on his breath.
Everyone’s been encouraging me to go to therapy, but I’m not ready yet. I want to speak to Stone first.
Suddenly, I remember the recording devices in my apartment, and I look around. I forgot about them. The night when I threatened to destroy them was long forgotten. I had never gotten around to it, and days later, I was in the back of a van, tied up with my friends. I wonder if he still watches me from the devices. Did he see me crying? Did he watch me pacing, walking back and forth when I couldn’t sleep, wrapped in his shirt or my sheet? Did he hear me calling his name when I pictured El Jefe’s face?
It’s weird, but I feel closer to him knowing that maybe he can see me.
I stand in the middle of the living room and speak loudly. “Where are you?”
I wait like he’s going to suddenly knock on the door and walk in, hold me, and make me feel what I always feel with him. Alive. But he doesn’t, and more and more it feels like whatever we had is dead.
Chapter 78
My body sags with exhaustion.
It’s more than just physical. It’s mental. The amount of work that needs to be done now that El Jefe is dead is unexpected. But as he said, another rat took his place. Rumor has it that his 25-year-old son is taking over. So far, he hasn’t continued the sex trafficking pipeline. The people we have in place claim that he’s more interested in the drug market. Pharmaceuticals and illegal substances. For now, we have a reprieve and can focus on helping the women we were able to save. There are hundreds more out there that are still lost and being abused, and it burns in my brain.
Caleb and his ties with the FBI received a mysterious phone call that pointed out three facilities that were holding women as part of a sex-trafficking ring, illegal arms, and kilos of raw cocaine.
The other location in Oneida was raided two days later, and Jacinda was rescued by Rhodes. The third in Essex was abandoned by the time the FBI showed, and gone were the women, the weapons, and the drugs. Kamilah was also nowhere to be found, leading Riggs, her cousin Jacqueline, and Quintenon a month-long hunt for her. She ended up being located in Canada, and from what Riggs told me, she was tortured and assaulted by her captors.
She’s back home, hopefully healing, but it will never be the same. I know what that’s like, having experienced it with Ivory. Her assault affected her powerfully, making her shut down. Her marriage to Onyx wasn’t easy, and her pregnancy with Angel also added to her depression and feelings of shame.
Thinking of Ivory makes me think of Camryn.
Leaning back in the seat of my jeep, I think about her. It’s been 28 days since I last saw her on that gurney. Riggs and Onyx have returned to the tattoo shop and have no problem giving me attitude when I refuse to come in, canceling any and all appointments. Riggs flat-out called me an asshole.
“If you love her the way I think you do, then get off your ass and come and get her, dummy.”
But what was I supposed to say to her? I stopped being afraid of things years ago, murder and mayhem a daily part of my life, but when it comes to a 5 ‘7 woman with black hair, green eyes, and a sassy mouth, I’m scared shitless. How was I supposed to face her? I still don’t know the extent of what he did to her. He admitted to me in front of her that I was the reason she had been chosen. He tortured her. God knows what her psychological scars are. I was part of it. Thirty fucking stab wounds still give me fucking nightmares.
Turning into the hidden trail that leads to my cabin, I steer the bike until I pull up to the cabin. I sit there letting the vibration of my bike rattle through me, trying to take comfort in the familiarity. I turn off the ignition and pocket the keys, staring at the front door, not wanting to go inside. Before her, it was my sanctuary. The place where my sister and niece rest. The place for my rituals. My revenge.
But it doesn’t feel the same since that weekend. I want Cam waiting in my bed, tired and filled with my cum. I want her walking the halls, touching my things. I want her in my bath, at my table, eating the food I made. Fuck.
I scrub my hand over my face and blow out a breath. I climb off my bike, undoing my helmet. It’s the scent of burning wood that has me reaching for my gun.
Smoke is coming out of the chimney. Smoke that doesn’t belong there since I left the cabin two weeks ago for the border between Canada and New York. I scan the cabin quickly, anticipating an attack. Moving quickly, I head toward the woods on the side of the house for more cover. It could be anyone.
El Jefe may be a rotting corpse that lies 50 feet from me, but that doesn’t mean his men or associates are not looking for revenge. The alarms should have been triggered. They should have alerted me that someone approached the cabin. Fuck. They’ve been disabled. I don’t even have time to check the cameras. I need to get inside. The back door opens easily, no alarm blaring. My nape prickles as I ease inside, gun drawn, looking around. The pop and sizzle of the fire crackles in the fireplace. I slow my breathing, training coming back, and walk down the hall. The door to my office is open. I slip into my office and stop short. Shock leaves me mute.
“It took a while, but I figured out which ones lead to the security cameras.”
I watch as the colorful wires drop to the table.
“So I cut them all.”
“What are you doing here?”
“You’ve been ignoring me and that pisses me off, Stone. So I came to you.”
I holster my gun and lean against the door jamb, my heart beating triple time.
“Onyx drove me here on his bike.”
