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The three of us all turn our attention on him, but it’s short-lived. Charles returns his attention to me, the coldness in his eyes a direct contrast to the warmth I’ve come to expect. “I suppose it is poetic justice that it be you who dies, seeing as you are the reason my brother was murdered.”
My brow furrows in confusion and I jerk my head to the side to look at Storm who seems equally confused until understanding dawns on us at the same time. “Craig,” I whisper.
“Ding, ding, ding,” Charles chimes. “You couldn’t keep your fucking legs together and so my brother died because of you.”
“That’s not what happened,” I tell him.
“Oh, I know exactly what happened, you little harlot. You were going to that sinful club, sneaking away in the dark of night to hide your shame. My brother only wanted to cleanse you. He was giving you a chance at redemption.”
The blood rushes from my face, sweat gathering at my temples as I struggle not to fall into the memories of the night I wished for death. It’s only now as I stare at Charles, that I see the resemblance to his brother. Perhaps I didn’t see it before because he was always so nice, his face always kind, his movements non-threatening, but as he looks down on me with revulsion in his eyes, the similarities are all I see.
A strangled sob tears from my throat and I can’t do anything to stop it. His words are so close to the ones Craig uttered to me as he beat me until I was bloody and broken that I almost can’t differentiate this moment from that one. “You don’t understand. I didn’t go there for sex. I swear I didn’t.”
“Wynter,” Storm warns calmly, and he doesn’t need to say anything for me to understand the unspoken words. Falling apart allows him to win. And explaining myself to a madman is pointless. He’s made his mind up about how this is going to go, and nothing is going to make him deviate from that path.
“It doesn’t really matter what you went there for anyway.” Charles drops his hands to his belt, and I squeeze my eyes shut. No. Not again. I’ll beg for death before I allow him to hurt me the same way his brother did. “Stepping foot in a place like that is a sin in the Lord’s eyes, and now you’ll pay for your family's transgressions with your blood.”
62
Everett
Three trucks pull into the driveway one after the other, dust floating through the air and making the moment even more ominous than it already was. My stomach flips painfully at what I’m about to see. Even though we’ve done this a few times, it never gets any easier seeing the darker parts of humanity.
We have Doc and a few other trusted physicians on standby to tend to any injuries, but it’s not the physical wounds that will need healing. These women have been torn from their lives and sold like they’re little more than an object. The impacts of that will live with them for the rest of their lives.
The other men start pulling out their weapons, aiming them toward the trucks like the helpless people inside will be any match for them even without a gun, but it gives me the opportunity to do the same. My trigger finger has been itching since the moment I left Frost Industries, and I’ve never been more ready to end lives as I am right now. Every single one of these fuckers deserves a painful death for their involvement. I understand needing to put food on the table, but there has to be a limit to what you’re willing to do, and in my opinion that limit should lay somewhere well before selling other human beings for profit.
Something settles in me the moment the heavy gun is in my hand, the cool metal in my palm, and I can breathe just a little easier knowing I get to start killing people soon. I just have to hope Tommy and Rayne are close. After I sent the message, I was a little worried they would turn back around and defend the estate, but even if I have to do it myself all these motherfuckers are going to die tonight.
The trucks stop, one after the other and I hold my breath. The first time I did this, I wasn’t prepared for the stench. These people have likely been living in their own filth for weeks, and combine that with small spaces, you have one hell of a smell on your hands.
Just as men step toward the back of the truck, their hands raised to pull the back doors open, loud gunshots ring through the air.
Thank fuck for that.
I duck down with everyone else, not ready to give myself away just yet. I’m in the thick of Russo’s men. Even a whiff of my involvement and one of them may get the drop on me.
“Fuck. It’s Saint James men,” someone shouts.
“Take cover,” another man yells. I almost tell him he can hide all he wants, but he’s going to die like the scum he is tonight but decide to keep my mouth shut.
“Stay with the cargo,” I order.
The moment I have eyes on Rayne, his eyes filled with barely controlled rage, holding the biggest fucking gun I’ve ever designed, I allow myself to stand and cross to where he’s standing. For the first few steps, I keep my gun drawn to keep up the show I’m putting on, but as soon as I’m sure they have my back I lower it and shove it in the back of my jeans.
Tommy appears a moment later, a semi-automatic pointing toward the group of men on the ground. “I feel a bit like a bank robber, boys.” He smirks. “Look at all these bitches cowering in the dirt.”
I chuckle. “Now, now, Tommy, no need to rub salt in the wounds.”
“But that’s my favorite thing to do!”
“Can you two shut the fuck up? I want to get back to the estate and make sure my woman is okay,” Rayne snaps.
“Fine.” Tommy sighs and lowers his weapon, stepping toward the truck and wrenching the door open.
No matter how prepared I am for it, the stench never ceases to almost knock me on my ass. Scared faces hide behind the woman in the front, all of which seem dejected. Who knows what they’ve been through to get here. The last shipment we intercepted there were some girls who were just too far gone. They’d been through too much to recover and took their own lives. I understood it, but I fucking hated that there were people who did this shit in the first place.
“Call the house,” I tell Rayne. It’s the only way he and I are going to be able to focus on the task at hand.
