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CHAPTER1
Half-naked girls filled his vision as the music pumped through his insides, practically making his spleen vibrate. Everyone on the dance floor swirled glow-in-the-dark wands in the air to the rhythm of the bass.
Lobo Gris took a pill out of his pocket and popped it into his mouth, swigging from his water bottle.
The music sucked, but it was party music, and he’d planned a fucking party. It was so damned easy to pretend to be pulling a fast one on parental figures, lure other children into the trap of an illicit rave, and boom…
A bunch of kids, who sneak out of their house regularly, won’t be missed for a day or two, and by then, they’d be in the southern hemisphere. These were the kinds of girls he targeted. They were easily categorized as partiers, runaways, drug addicts.
It was truly a shame law enforcement didn’t take their disappearances more seriously.
The drugs were flowing, and everyone was taking them willingly. This would be a piece of cake. Lobo Gris spun around and pushed past a curtain behind him. The warehouse had been sectioned off by old, rotting curtains, and he strode into the VIP room like he owned the place.
Because he did. Metaphorically speaking.
On the shitty couches he’d had the men all stuff in this one room, girls were passed out after having drunk the special “juice” he’d given them.
He had a moment of regret before tamping it down. There was no room for that here, and it was too late anyway. Regret was a tangible thing; his superiors would smell it on him. And then he would be dead.
With a small nod to Hector, he left just as the little guy sprang into action.
Soon enough the girls would be loaded into the cargo plane and taken to Honduras, where a buyer would get them. Right now, he had to make sure nobody got nosy while Hector worked. He stood guard outside, and as soon as he felt the tap on his shoulder, they were done.
