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“What the fuck is…Callum?” Flavio Gaspar’s imbecilic second-in-command pales, his body moving backward. Probably remembering the damage inflicted the last time we met. “We didn’t know you were in town. Flavio would’ve… son of a bitch!” His gun now lays on the dirty ground while blood drips from the wound on his wrist. “Why the hostility,” he grits out, eyes darting behind him. There’s movement back there, more than one person. “Let’s talk this out. Whatever you’re here for—”
“Open the curtain.”
“This isn’t a good time.”
“You sure?” At his nod, I shoot him two more times. Thigh and shoulder; he’ll bleed but won’t die yet. “Is that still your answer?”
“No.”
“Good boy.” I point at the curtain. “Open it.”
Whimpering, he does as I ask. The sound is pathetic, almost comical, but what I find as he pushes the fabric aside infuriates me. There are five women, no older than twenty and naked, some with a few bruises on their faces.
These are not their dancers from the other night.
With how they’re being treated, I’d say forced prostitution, and I can’t allow that.
“You sick fuck,” I snarl, biting back my action for a moment when some of the girls scream in fear. Exhaling roughly, I lower my gun and then face them. “Grab your clothes, get dressed, and head outside. Please wait for me. My family will help you with whatever you may need.”
“Why are you doing this?” One of them, a short blonde, asks. She’s shaking. Her left eye is almost swollen shut. “We were tricked like this once before.”
Before? The bloody fuck?
“How long have you been held against your will?”
“A month,” she says, tears falling down her cheeks.
“Shut the fuck up, Jenna, or I’ll—” The twat doesn’t get to finish, not when the next bullet enters and exits through his hip. I’m sure the bone shattering has something to do with his scream of pain and the way he crumbles to the ground like a broken puppet.
“Threaten them again, and the next one will be on the tiny prick you try to pass for a cock.”
“Callum, we can talk this out,” he gasps, pain radiating across his features.
“No.” Pulling out my mobile, I text Lindsey and Kray. They’re off, but together, and I need them here fast.
Situation with women held against their will. Going to need help with clean up and delivery to the Conte House. 3 dead and 5 innocents. ~ Callum J.
Kray is the first to respond.
Where? Medical attention? ~Kray
Gaspar strip club, and basic. They seem roughed up and are untrusting; I need Lindsey here to gain their trust. ~Callum J.
Flavio’s right-hand man drags himself toward the blonde, more than likely seeking to use her as cover, but I walk over and place my boot on his chest. Press down hard enough that it hurts, and his wounds bleed profusely.
A text comes in, and I look down at my mobile.
Fifteen minutes from there now. OMW ~Kray
“I have someone coming that will help you,” I keep my voice low and unthreatening. They still cower back, and I don’t blame them. God knows what these arseholes have done to them. “Lindsey works for the Conte House—”
“I know that place.” A brunette, tall and gangly, steps forward. “They helped my sister escape an abusive husband. You know them?”
“My girlfriend works there. Her name is Aliana.”
“She’s not your girlfriend. She belongs to…” You can’t understand garbled speech when the person is choking on his own teeth.
“Aliana, I know her! She teaches and helps in the office.”
