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“Leave 'em, we have the other guy, and we can’t afford to break off and lose anyone else.” Someone shouts, and I assume it’s one of the cops.
A grin splits my face at hearing someone has gotten away. I just hope they decide to come my way. I put my gun in my holster inside my jacket. Playing with my knife has given me the urge to use it. Far too often, we put people down quickly. A bullet between the eyes, or even send them off for questioning to the bosses guys. But, not tonight, no, if I get someone tonight I want to play, nothing will be quick about it.
Less than two minutes have passed since I heard the cop call out when two shots ring out from the South, letting me know our runner just came face to face with Rick.
Damn it.
Rick’s not above a good fight. Hell, he even gets into torture when he has to, but when a mission is on the line, he’s all about quick and effective. I feel my shoulders slump forward, disappointed I wasn’t the one who got to take them out. But, at least so far, the mission has been successful. So I guess thats a plus.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out. Rick messaged both Spencer and me in our group chat. Letting me know I could head back to the car and telling Spencer to make sure our one runner was the only one with the cops. I pocket my phone and head back, a small part of me hoping there were others and we could go hunt them down.
I’m fucking beat and annoyed that the damn runner went to Rick instead of me. Talking to the cops is the last thing I want to do, but the only way we get to go home is if everything is cleaned up all pretty, and the only way to know is to ask.
I make my way over to one of the cops standing near his car instead of trying to flag down one of the others who are going back and forth from the building to the van outside.
Wonder why they need a van. Maybe it’s a drug bust, and they have to haul away evidence? Guess I’ll ask about that, too, since I’m here.
“What’s up, Trent.” I call out to the cop as I get closer, smiling to myself as I see his back stiffen. Clearly, he didn’t notice me as I approached, or maybe he did. The bastard hates us, so his reaction is usually the same, no matter what.
“Spencer. Is this a business call, or did you just happen to be in the area?” His disdain is obvious and only makes me smile wider. Of course, Froggie has most of the cops on his payroll nowadays, so he can hate us all he wants. But, at the end of the day, I’m as good as a boss to him, and he knows it.
“Purely business, my friend.” I sling my arm around his shoulder when I reach him and pull him close as if we’re friends. The clench of his jaw shows me just how much he wants to push me off. That makes being the one to talk to them completely worth it. Well, not entirely, but better, that’s for damn sure.
“So how about you clue me in on what’s happening here, huh, buddy?” I’m laying it on a bit thick, even for me. Usually, Zander is the one who gets into this kind of thing, but Trent and us go way back, and making his day worse makes mine a thousand times better. I’m not above using him to make my shitty day even a little bit less shitty.
“I thought you said this was business. Doesn’t that mean you should already know?” Just like that, my mood sours again. Apparently, he’s going to need a reminder of who’s in charge here.
“Our business here was to pick up the slack.” I give him a pointed look as he opens his mouth, I’m sure he’s seconds from assuring me they don’t need help, but we both know that’s not true.
“For example, the guy that got away. We handled him.” That makes him snap his mouth closed again. You can’t fight with the facts.
“You’re welcome.” I tell him, patting his shoulder with just a bit more force than necessary.
“Now, was there anyone else who might have gotten away while under your very watchful eye? Cause we’re under strict orders to make sure nobody gets away, and you know the boss doesn’t tolerate failure well.” I keep my tone light, teasing even, but we both know I’m not joking. No, the boss doesn’t tolerate failure at all, but I’m not the one risking his wrath right now, so I don’t mind using it to get under his skin.
I swear the vein in his forehead is about to burst any second now, and the mental image that creates for me almost has me laughing out loud. I hold it in, just barely. Instead, I raise a brow at him in question when he fails to answer me.
“No.”
His single-word answer doesn’t come without looking as though it caused him great pain, and again, I find the whole situation worth it.
“Well damn, that’s no fun.” His eyebrows shoot up, and honestly, that’s people's usual reaction to us, so it doesn’t even phase me anymore.
I stuff my hands in my pockets. A little bummed the night’s been so uneventful, but more than ready to head out. As I turn around to head back to the guys, I spot the van again and remember I planned to ask what it was for.
“What’s with the van?” I shout back over my shoulder, heading towards it to see if I can answer my own question.
Before I get to it, I hear voices, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I pick up my pace as I round the van. The back doors sit wide open. No less than ten girls, maybe more, varying from very young to maybe mid-teens, sit in the back of the van. The older ones holding the younger ones all seem to be in different states of distress, their clothes dirty, ill-fitted, and clearly old.
They don’t look as if they have been properly bathed in who knows how long, streaked with dirt, the cleanest parts on most of them being the track marks on their faces from their tears. I feel my mouth fall open, but words escape me.
One little girl who couldn’t be more than ten looks up at me as I stand in front of the doors, frozen. The moment she sees me, she buries her head back into the chest of the girl who holds her and begins to cry hysterically.
Someone grabs my arm and tugs me back around the side of the van so hard I stumble and almost fall on my face, righting myself at the last second.
I look up to find Trent in front of me, his hand still gripping my arm. I look from his face to his hand still gripping my bicep, and he pulls away fast enough it’s as if he’s been burned.
“Those are the victims we pulled from the building. Twelve women,” His voice cracks, and he clears his throat before starting again. “Twelve girls. All found in this building. We can’t know for sure, as none of them will talk to us, but we're pretty sure it was a sex trafficking ring. From the looks of them, they’ve been here for a while.” By the time he’s finished explaining, his voice has lost its hard edge. He looks at the van, and I can see the sadness clearly on his face.
