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“Missed your fuckin’ answer.” He took a step closer to the chair and Miller jerked against his restraints, the whites of his eyes growing larger.
Shade barely caught the answering, “No.”
Sounded like his sperm donor had his mother snatched but didn’t give a fuck what happened to his son. He didn’t give a fuck that his mother’s disappearance would leave a four-year-old boy without any parents. An orphan for the state to deal with. Because there was no way the bastard was claiming him as blood.
Nah. Why the fuck would he want to do that? Claiming a child born to his side piece would ruin his life.
“So, you were a greedy motherfucker and kept all the scratch you scored for me for yourself?”
No answer, of fucking course.
“And he never asked about me when you gave him his cut from my mother?”
Miller shook his head and his Adam’s apple made the slow journey up his throat again but stuck there for a few seconds before dropping like a rock. “Look, I’ll pay you. The amount I got for you. What I got for your mother. Then we can forget this whole thing. Okay?”
Right. Simply forget. Easy.
Shade rounded the chair and stopped behind it. The man’s flesh broke out in goosebumps. Everywhere.
The reason Shade could see almost every inch of him was because he had cut off the broker’s clothes before he finished securing the asshole to the chair. He doubted Miller was as humiliated by that act as his mother had been. Or Julian had been.
Fuck no, Miller didn’t have a soul. Why the fuck would he be embarrassed?
If a career of selling women and children to the highest bidder didn’t bother him, then nothing would.
“How about this... I’ll make you a trade. Most boys who are... compromised—”
“Molested,” Shade corrected him. “Tortured. Abused. Raped would fit, too.”
“...End up liking the same things as what was done to them. They follow the same pattern. You probably like boys, right? I’ve got one for you. Innocent, untouched. Still old enough to be trained. You could be his first. You could teach him the same lessons you were taught. I bet you’d like that.”
Before leaving a house, he always searched for any victims. He’d start at the top of the residence and work his way down to the lowest level, usually the basement.
“What do you get in exchange for this untouched meat?” Shade asked slowly, pretending to be interested. Trying to remain as calm as he could, even though the blood was surging through his veins and his fingers had tightened on his knife to the point of pain.
“All you have to do is let me go.”
That would never happen. “Lemme get this straight... I get the boy, I let you go, and you just find a new boy to sell.”
“No!” burst from Miller. Then he said more quietly, “No. I’ll never do this again. I swear. You take him for yourself and I’ll forget all about him, all about you, all about this business. I’ll walk away from it all.”
Yeah, right.
“Seriously, no one has touched him yet. Just think of how tight he is. And he’ll probably fight if you’re into that.”
He’ll probably fight.
Shade’s stomach churned. The urge to puke was strong, but he swallowed down the saliva pooling in his mouth. He tamped down the panic attack he teetered on and let the anger flow through him instead. “Oh yeah? How old?”
“Twelve.”
Shade sucked in air through his mouth, trying to settle the bile rising in his gut. “Where’s his mother? Got her, too?”
Miller shook his head. “She’s gone. They were homeless, living in their car. Got her cleaned up and sold her for a pretty penny.”
Jesus fuck. He was clenching his teeth so hard he wouldn’t be surprised if he cracked all his fucking molars.
“If you’d rather have a woman, I can get you one. I can get whatever you’re into. Boys, girls, women... All you have to do is let me go.”
Yeah, he wasn’t picking from that fucking menu. “Why didn’t the boy sell at the same time as the mother?”
Miller gave him a crooked smile, appearing relieved that Shade was actually considering the trade. Yeah, he was taking the fucking boy all right, but not for the reason the bastard thought.
“He was too old for that crowd. He also fought my guys and got some bruises. No one wants marks on their purchase unless they put them there themselves.”
Christ. A twelve-year-old was too old for that crowd. Twelve. The age Julian was when he was sold to David. But “Daddy David” was done buying tweens.
“I was hoping once those bruises healed someone would buy him cheap. The longer my product doesn’t sell, the more they cost me to keep them clean and fed.”
His product. “Wanna know where his mother went and who bought her.”
