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“Before everything happened, I never thought my life could get much worse.” Lucy laughs humorlessly. “But it did. I was working one night and a guy came in… fuckin’ asshole, the worst kind. I knew it as soon as I saw him too, and I tried to steer clear. But he wouldn’t let me. Kept requesting lap dances, then wanted a dance in the private room. My boss never let us say no to anyone. It was a fire-able offense.”
My stomach clenches, and I cross my arms over my chest. I want to hug her, but I have a feeling that, just like Ciro for the longest time, that’s the last thing she needs.
She shakes her head, brushing her dark brown hair away from her face. “Of course, as soon as we made it into the back room, his dick was out. It’s technically against policy for us to do anything but dance, but management always turned a blind eye as long as the guys paid well.” She licks her lips, a muscle in her jaw tightening. “I figured if I gave him what he wanted, that’d be the end of it. I gave him a blowjob and tried to get up, but he said he wasn’t done. His dick had gone soft, but he said it didn’t matter. He’d find something else to fuck me with.”
Tears gather in her eyes, and she shakes her head, like she’s trying to banish the memories.
“I fought back,” she finally says quietly. “When he tried to hurt me, I fought back. So he reported me to management, accused me of trying to extort him for money. Got me fired. I slept on the street for a week before some other men came and picked me up one night. They hauled me into a van, threw me in the back…”
“Fuck, Lucy. I’m sorry.”
The words spill out of me before I can stop them. I don’t want to scare her or break into the reverie she’s in, but I have to let her know. I have to let her know that someone cares. That the entire world isn’t that heartless.
She shrugs as if it doesn’t really matter. “They took me to this place on the south side of town—the shitty thing is, I knew where I was. I recognized the place. I used to buy from a dealer who used that corner, back in high school. But it didn’t matter if I knew where I was. There was no chance of running, not after they threw me in with the others. That’s where I met Emmaline and Dee.”
My heart pounds fast and heavy in my chest.
She knew where she was?
Was it just a temporary holding area, or is it where the Rooks are keeping all of their human merchandise? If it’s the latter, then that could be the information I need to get Agent Brady and the rest of his team off our asses. If I could hand him the base of operations for Camilla’s entire trafficking ring, and that would be a bigger win for him than going after the Novaks.
“How long were you there?” I ask gently, trying hard to keep my tone soft.
“A few weeks. They kept bringing more girls in for a while. It got crowded.” She grimaces. “Then they started taking girls out. Not many. Emmaline, Dee, and I were the second group to get picked. Something about them finally getting buyers lined up, I dunno.” She makes a noise in her throat. “The rest of the girls are still back there.”
“How many others were there?”
“Too many,” she murmurs, and I sense her drawing back into herself. She doesn’t want to talk about what she’s seen. I don’t want to make her relive any of it.
But…
You need proof.
The words echo through my head. Brady said I needed proof, and Lucy might just be able to give me that. Or at least point me in the right direction to find what I need. I hate to push her after everything she’s been through, but the clock is ticking.
Every day, we’re running out of time.
“Lucy,” I say slowly, “do you think you could tell me where that place is? Do you think you would be able to identify it?”
Her gaze shoots to me, her eyes sharp and assessing. She seems to realize how much she’s been talking, and her whole body tenses up like she’s about to fight or run. But then she lets out a breath, her shoulders relaxing.
“Yeah. I just told you I knew the street corner.”
To my surprise, her voice is stronger again, and I feel a surge of admiration for her. She’s been through a lot of shit, but she’s tough, resilient. She may not trust easily anymore, she may spend the rest of her life looking over her shoulder, but she’s smart.
“The men who saved you and the others are in trouble,” I admit. “We’re all in really big trouble. The people who took you are our enemies, and we need help taking them down. So I need you to listen to me. If you know anything—and I mean anything about the group who took you, I need to know.”
She stares at me for a long moment, like she’s trying to see through any lies I might’ve just spoken. I wish I could tell her how much I understand her suspicion, her worry that she’s about to put her trust in the wrong people. I know the feeling all too well.
“Please, Lucy,” I say softly.
Another loaded minute ticks by, and I’m about to back off, to give her space and try again tomorrow, when she lets out a sigh.
Then she starts talking.
Her memories of her actual abduction are a little fuzzy, a mishmash of images and sounds and sensations that are hard to make sense of. But when she begins to describe the place where she was kept, a large warehouse on the south side of Chicago, her words gain confidence and clarity.
It’s a big space, and it sounds like they were keeping at least fifty girls there. She said she saw some who looked like they were still in their teens, and no one older than early twenties. And when she describes the woman she saw walk through the warehouse once, pointing to various girls and giving orders in a clear, loud voice, my stomach tightens so hard I think I might vomit.
