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I almost feel sorry for her. Almost. But I remind myself that Cassandra isn’t just some love-drunk teenage girl. She’s deep in this shit, showing no empathy for anyone else. My sympathy for her dries up faster than Luke’s cum.
The door opens and closes before Luke sighs and sits heavily on the bed, his black loafers the only thing I can see.
He speaks. “Yeah, it’s me.” I freeze for a second, thinking I’m busted. When he talks again, I realize he’s on his cell phone.
“She’s becoming a liability. It’s time I send her your way and find someone else to use for a little while.”
A pause before he snorts.
“I’m the one here doing my part. I don’t see you on the front fucking line.”
On the front line? What the hell does he think he is, a soldier?
I close my eyes and hold my breath, realizing that’s exactly what he is.
I know why his name was vaguely familiar. Luke Gavin checked out. The checks showed nothing out of the ordinary, but I bet if we dug deeper, we’d find that Luke Gavin only exists on paper.
When I read over the current Russian players, trying to familiarize myself with Dmitri’s connections, I came across a name I thought nothing of at the time. Shestyorka—an errand boy, if you will, and the lowest rank in the hierarchy, I believe. Although, I’m hardly an expert. I might not have looked that far down the list if it weren’t for a note referencing a photo of two boys playing together.
Dmitri Aslanov and his friend Luka Garin.
A Russian-sounding name would have raised too many red flags, so it was smart on his part to change it. Unlike with Dmitri, I can’t remember detecting a hint of an accent with Luke. They know each other, that much is clear. Is it a fragile bond forged between two boys before one of them disappeared, or is it nothing more than a professional relationship that remains? When they interact, there is an undercurrent of disdain and resentment. After the shit Luke—or should I say, Luka—said to me in our last session, I’m wondering how deep those rivers of resentment run.
“That’s fine. I’m keeping my eye out for any kind of fallout, but so far, nothing. I’ve got the students coming in daily, airing their idiotic problems to me, and not one of them has said anything or looked at me with any kind of suspicion. I’m merely being cautious.”
He’s quiet for a minute before huffing.
“I know. You don’t have to tell me how important everything is all the time. If you want to swap places with me, you are more than welcome. I’d love nothing more than to get out of this godforsaken place and return to the motherland.”
Motherland? Lord, please let him be an alien. That would be an awesome story to take back to the girls.
“It’s under control,” he murmurs before cursing.
“You’d have to ask him. He’s probably holding up somewhere with his whore.”
Why do I feel like he’s talking about Dmitri and that I’m the whore?
Another pause before he laughs harshly. “Then maybe you should get off your ass and do some fucking work and find out.”
More silence before a growl. “It’s already done. I’ll contact you at the handover. And no, I can handle Cassandra myself.”
He must hang up because it goes quiet, then he starts muttering to himself. He stands up and paces before I hear the sound of clinking bottles.
Curious, I peek out from under the bed and watch as he pulls two blue bottles of sparkling water from the little fridge under the shelf. I watch as he opens them both before pulling a little bag from his pants pocket.
I can’t see what’s in it, but I can see him dropping something into each of the bottles before he tightens the caps once more and returns them to the fridge.
When he glances around the room, I quickly tuck myself under the bed once more, keeping out of sight as he opens the door and closes it behind him. I hear him lock it, noting he has a key before I climb out of my hiding spot.
“And the plot thickens,” I mutter.
I have an idea of Luke’s end plan for Cassandra, but not how he plans to execute it. I race through the different scenarios, and the most likely one seems to be waiting for Cassandra to drink the drugged water before returning for her.
He said he would send her on, so it won’t kill her. My guess is it’s GHB or something similar. Something to knock her out and make her more pliant.
In hindsight, I should have recorded him with my cell phone. But since I’ve only just thought of it, it’s a bit too late. Even with the bottles, I can’t prove it was Luke and there is no way either Luke or Cassandra will admit they are in a relationship.
If I thought for a second that Cassandra would believe me about Luke’s duplicity, I’d warn her. But she won’t listen. And let’s be honest, she’s not an innocent victim in all this.
“Okay, think.” I pull out my cell phone and scroll through the photos of the girls once more, reminding myself why I’m doing this. I keep scrolling, smiling at the images of me and my girls goofing around. Some are of me posing in front of various lame-ass landmarks, and some are just in pretty spots like parks and—
“Shit, that’s it.” I scroll back to the photos of the girls and see what it is that’s been bugging me so much.
In each photo, the background has been manually blurred. In the pictures of me and my friends, there are a variety of awful shots as well as ones that look stunning thanks to filters. The photos from Cassandra’s cell only showcase the girls’ faces in a spotlight. Nothing in the background is of importance because the girls are the focal point.
I hit call and wait for Sugar to pick up. When the call goes unanswered, I move down to the next name in my recents list and call Reese.
“What’s up, buttercup?”
“They’ve been photoshopped. That’s what’s wrong with the pictures. The background has been removed or blurred out, just showing the girls’ faces in profile.”
“Okay, nice to speak to you too. Now, if you could maybe start again, and this time make sense.”
“The photos of the girls, Reese, I think they are edited to look like headshots for selection.”
“Selections. What, like on a menu?”
“Yeah, Reese, exactly like that. Think about it, those photos are all taken the same way, but not at the same time. All are in different places, we can just make out enough to know that. But the theme itself is always the same. Clear shots of all their pretty faces.”
“Okay, so these girls are selected for whatever reason. Their photos are taken and then are sent to potential buyers. The ones that are purchased are then snatched-to-order and the others, what…narrowly escape servitude?”
“Pretty much. Although in this kind of business, not many will turn down the offer of a nubile young woman. Of those photos, a few committed suicide, a few returned home, and a few ran away. The others disappeared completely. What if it’s all planned that way?”
“What do you mean?”
