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Who knew the one person I would never want to comfort me is also the very person who brings me a little peace through all of my pain?
Chapter
11
Ice
Sometimes, the world in which I live in blackens my soul. The lines get blurred between good and bad. It is survival of the fittest, smartest, and bravest. Daily, I am tested. The world in which I exist is one that requires intelligence, experience, associations, and balls of fucking steel.
The meeting with Sandoval was successful in furthering our connection to him. Lazaro Sandoval, the sick fuck, required one of us to fuck two of the women in front of him after paying for them. Thankfully, Coal only takes pussy he pays for, and initially, didn’t mind taking one for the team by trying out the merchandise, so to speak. I can tell his willingness waned when he realized just how out of it the women were. It was obvious in their sloppy interactions and slurred come ons to us that they were high as a kite on something.
For Coal, fucking them, paid for or not, became difficult. He doesn’t want to be left with any doubt of their consent. Needless to say, when he finished, he disappeared on us for a while. If we were not in the middle of a job, I would be worried he is somewhere drinking himself to death in order to deal with his demons; however, my VP is a soldier in every way. Therefore, I know he will not drown himself with alcohol just in case he is needed for the job on short notice. Other than that, I don’t have a clue as to where he is. I won’t look for him, either. A man should be able to find peace when he needs to.
These aren’t high class hookers we are dealing with. According to Coal, the women are definitely drugged to the point of dependency. Their captors more than likely deny them whatever it is they have hooked them on until they are begging for their next hit and forced to sell themselves in order to get it. We have them at the clubhouse detoxing. It is an ugly situation that seems to get darker and deeper by the minute.
“Ice,” I answer as my phone rings.
“Got something you need to see, now,” Screech says with panic in his voice.
“Be there in ten,” I bark back into the phone before disconnecting.
Sending a quick message out to Hammer, Coal, and Skid, I take off to meet everyone at the clubhouse.
Screech has a room here dedicated to his IT equipment. The room is on the small side and extremely cool. He says keeping the temperature down is the best way to ensure his equipment doesn’t get overheated. The lights in the room are quite a bit dimmer than my main office. Screech said something about it being better for his eyesight since he sits in front of computer monitors all day. I don’t do technology, so if that is what the man needs to do what I need him to do, whatever.
What I do know is that the mysterious atmosphere of low lighting combined with wall to wall gadgets and equipment makes me think of Alfred and Batman down in the bat cave. If I ever told Screech that, the nerdy little bastard would probably bust a nut in comic book glee and buy himself a batman costume. Hence, why I haven’t told him that I secretly call this the bat cave.
“Sit down, fellas. You have to watch this,” Screech instructs.
“What are we watching exactly?” I ask.
“After the meeting, you had me track everyone. It took me a little longer than usual, but I was able to hack into the feeds coming and going from one Leodanis Gutierrez. He is Sandoval’s right hand man and has more access than the rest of Sandoval’s crew. I still haven’t broken through on Sandoval’s phone, but I got enough from Gutierrez to lock in on a live feed. They have the location scrambled; I’m still trying to get an exact location on where the video is being made. At first, I thought it was on a delay, but upon further study, it is indeed a live feed. What you are about to see is unlike anything we have dealt with before.”
“Cut the shit and turn it on,” Coal clips out. This whole situation has him going back down a dark path.
At the press of a button, the screen comes to life. The grainy images aren’t easily discerned, but what we can see is bad enough I grab the arms of my chair in pure rage.
Cages.
Upon cages.
Dog kennels basically line the large room, each one housing a different girl. They are spaced far enough apart that each girl cannot pass items between themselves. Each young woman is chained, as if in prison, hands and ankles together. They are connected to a chain that attaches to a collar that firmly holds a hood over their heads. There is a hole cut out for their mouth, leaving them enough room to eat, spit, or puke; yet, otherwise, rendering the women unable to see what is going on around them.
