Page 38 of Fallen Hero

Copy.

“What are you thinking?” Calista asked.

“Fallon’s got eyes on Pete. No sign of Kiara yet.”

“What if what’s behind that door isn’t the first floor of the apartments?”

Fucking Shep and his favors.

“What do you mean?”

“What if it’s the lobby or the laundry room or more retail space?”

This wasn’t the US; space was at a premium. It wouldn’t be wasted on laundry or a lobby. Not in this area. But damn if she wasn’t on to something.

“Six stories,” I started, and closed my eyes to picture the building from the outside. “Eight individual balconies on each level. The first floor doesn’t have the same balconies. It has a gallery with chain-link fencing from the knee wall to the overhang roof. I thought it made sense, that enclosure to keep the girls locked in, and it does, but they don’t take johns to that floor.”

“So you’re thinking that’s where he keeps the girls when they’re not working?”

“Yeah.”

I reached into my back pocket and fished out my lockpick kit. Two seconds later, the shittiest lock I’d ever worked was cracked.

“That was easy,” she drawled.

I knew the life she lived, the business she was in. She didn’t need the lesson. Still, I educated. “No passport. No money. If they do get out, where are they gonna go? The police? Authorities are bought off. Ask a tourist for help? What are they gonna do? These women are stuck in a way they’ll never get unstuck, and they know it. So they don’t try to escape because if one of them is brave enough to try, she’ll be brought back and made an example of in front of the others, then she’s back out a few hours later, beaten to shit, taking cock, but she’ll do it fucked up. The lock is symbolic, not functional.”

“How evil does a person need to be to . . .”

She didn’t finish that statement, and I understood why. Just saying the words made acid churn in your gut. The mere thought of what these people were forced to do, what they endured night after night, day after day, was too much to comprehend.

I replaced my kit for my phone in my pocket and sent another message to Fallon.

On the move. Look up, first floor fenced in. We’re moving up a floor.

Copy. Still no prize.

I put my phone away and relayed, “No Kiara yet.” I twisted the doorknob. “Stay—”

“Sharp,” she hissed. “Warning. Next time you tell me that shit, I’m gonna show you how sharp I can be and shank your ass.”

Shank.

Goddamn, she could be cute.

I beat back my smile and nodded.

Slowly, I pushed open the door.

I barely had it open a few inches when the smell knocked the breath out of my lungs. I heard Calista’s gasp, felt her moving behind me, likely adjusting her shayla to cover her nose and mouth. Not that the fabric would hide the stench, but I got the sentiment.

I pushed the door open a little more. Stained mattresses on the floor and cots came into view. Crumpled sheets, small piles of clothes, but no women or guards.

Slaves didn’t get the day off.

With a nod, I stepped over the threshold, holding the door for Calista. Her hand tapped mine, I moved, and she slowly and gently closed the door.

The room was filthy. Filthy in a way it would never be clean. The putrid smell of sweat mixed with desperation and depravity coated the air. Human waste intermingled with the misery.