CHAPTER 17
It feels like the room takes a collective breath, taking a moment to be lost in the what ifs and the uncertainty. Then our focus is back in this room where there is no room for doubt. It’s in Church where we plan for the worst and make decisive decisions for the benefit of our city.
“When we came in the back,” Lucifer starts, “we found three Rebels in the back room.” His eyes light up slightly and I know I’m going to like what he says next. “Two tried to go for their guns, but they never got the chance. The third guy was Hustle, but he was too fucking out of it to do much of anything. He’s waiting for us in his new,” he pauses for a moment, a sinister grin on his face, “accommodations.”
Glee skitters through me. The thought of making Hustle pay for what he tried to do in our city with more pain than a single bullet can give is intoxicating. I don’t even care if that makes me a little unhinged; he deserves it and so much more.
Lucifer must smell the bloodlust around him because he just nods slowly while meeting our eyes with promises shining back at us that we’ll get to have a little fun with him. Internally I’m rubbing my hands together, but I keep my face held in a neutral mask for the moment because Prez has more to tell us.
“Adam was right outside the door. He had subdued a fourth Rebel.” Lucifer puffs up his chest a little bit with his words and I’m sure he’s feeling the same pride swelling inside of me hearing about our Prospect’s actions.
We weren’t sure how he would do in the situation we were throwing him into, but it seems like he held his own. When his year is up, he’ll make a great brother.
“There was a holding room of sorts for men paying for the services of the females in the house and getting high. When they heard the shots, a few stumbled out to investigate. Instead of surrendering, they thought they could fight their way.” I almost laugh because there is no way they were successful. “The only one who had to be put down was one with a weapon. The rest are now in police custody.”
Yeah, it helps to have friends on the force.
“Our friends are very grateful for the assist. They do think that Hustle was able to slip away, and I suggested that he probably skipped town since his dirty little income stream has been shut down,” Lucifer informs us, a certain type of glee in his eyes.
Whether the cops Prez talked to believe him or not doesn’t really matter. We cut through a lot of fucking red tape by taking down that house instead of sending the cops in. The judicial system has a way of fucking up the simplest of things.
What the females we rescued last night endured is something no one should have to go through. If the cops had done the sweep, they would have arrested the women and the Johns. It would have been a shit show and instead of being the victims in all of this, the females would have been dragged through the mud and I doubt they would have gotten the help they clearly need.
No, taking care of it ourselves was the right way to go.
Scythe has an edge of glee in his voice when he asks, “When are we taking care of Hustle?”
Lucifer smirks. “I figure we can let him marinate in his own juices for a few days. He’s going to be wishing he was anywhere but here because he’s just as addicted to his own shit as the females he preyed upon.”
My lips stretch into a wide, feral smile. I probably shouldn’t find the satisfaction I do in Lucifer’s words, but I do. I’m not at all surprised either. It seems the men of the RRMC can’t keep their heads on straight when they’re given even the smallest fraction of power.
I think back over the events of last night and reconcile it with what Lucifer experienced. We went in, executed our plan perfectly, and got the job done. Not a single shot was leveled at us and there were no brothers injured.
I nod at Scythe, and I can see the wheels turning in his head. I have no doubt he’s coming to the same conclusion that I am. When he smirks, I know I’m right.
The quiet around the room isn’t unsettling, it’s introspective and I think it’s a moment we all need to take. The shit we saw last night leaves a scar, one that might not heal and disappear completely. We’re riddled with scars, but this one feels different and deeper.
I never want to see another young girl victimized the way I saw last night.
We have to do better. We need to figure out a way to get in front of the problem because Hustle isn’t going to be the last person to push their shit onto kids. Then there’s the Martinez problem.
Fuck, our work is far from done.
“Okay,” Hacker says, pulling me out of my thoughts as he sits back in his chair. His eyes are bloodshot, but fiercely determined. He hits the screen of his tablet and a picture pops up on the TV screen. “Let’s get started.” His determined voice turns detached. “Two of the other females from last night are underage. They’re 17 and will both be 18 within six months, just to get everyone up to speed on just how sick and depraved the RRMC is. You know about the other two,” his voice is a rough whisper.
Hacker nods toward the screen and we direct our attention there. The picture is of the girl who we found first upon entering the house. Her name, birthdate, age, and information on her family. That’s not what has most of my attention.
It’s how normal she looks in the picture. It’s clearly one taken on a school picture day and she’s grinning from ear to ear. Her eyes are bright and look alive. It’s hard to reconcile the image in front of me with the girl I saw last night.
I shake my head and glance around the table to see that my brothers are having just as much difficulty with this as I am. It’s written all over their faces.
Hacker gives us the basic information he’s found out as we all look at the screen. When his voice changes from detached to morose, I look at him, “Her parents were going through a divorce when she ran away. They each thought that she was at the other’s place and the hatred they had for each other caused them not to talk or check on their daughter for two weeks. Both thought the other was taking care of her. But she was,” he clears his throat and squares his shoulders, “on the streets.”
“Didn’t her school notice that she wasn’t there?” I growl the question, incensed that this girl fell through the cracks so horribly.
Hacker shrugs his shoulder and looks at me with lost eyes. “I can’t answer that question, Apostle. It doesn’t make any sense. Someone should have noticed she was missing, but they didn’t. It was her best friend’s parents who ended up calling the police because they were worried about her when their daughter finally told them she hadn’t been to school or in contact for so long.”
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath and my eyes slide closed.
“The parents were upset when cops showed up on both their doorsteps and were horrified to find out that their inability to coparent and care for their daughter, without bringing their hurt feelings and anger at each other into the mix, meant they didn’t even know their daughter wasn’t where she was supposed to be. Since then, they’ve been trying to find her.”
“I’m sure they didn’t expect her to be on the fucking streets,” Tack sneers.
I’m not surprised at his reaction. The man is very black and white, right and wrong, and the nuance of a situation is almost always lost on him. That means he believes that parents should put their kids first and make them a priority.
Usually, I’m willing to entertain other sides, but this time I agree wholeheartedly. This girl’s parents should have made sure she was safe. They didn’t and she was lured into the clutches of people who have changed the course of her life in a way that she might never be able to come back from.
The mood in the room is somber as Hacker starts to walk us through files on the other females, starting with those who have already gone to rehab. I’m sure that I’m not the only one hoping that they can overcome their demons and get sober. If not, life is going to continue to be difficult for them and we’ll only be able to help them so much.
While listening to Hacker, it’s taking all my self-control not to storm out of the room and head out to the shed where I know Hustle is waiting for us to make time for his very own welcome party. He’s probably very aware that it’ll be the last party he attends and that he’ll hate every single moment of it.
I’m going to make sure that his stay with us is pure agony. He deserves nothing less.
Hacker clears his throat and cuts his eyes in my direction. The haze of red in my vision as I was thinking about what I want to do to Hustle evaporates.
“This is Tara,” Hacker intones.
The same information is on the screen as the other women. I tilt my head because the photo is one that clearly came from her social media, and she looks so different. Her hair is shiny and full instead of looking stringy and lifeless. Her eyes are bright, and her smile holds joy instead of hidden despair.
It’s hard to put the two images I have of Tara together. How the fuck did her life take such a turn? She’s only 22; younger than my sister.
“Her parents died two years ago in a car accident,” Hacker informs the group even though it’s on the screen in front of us.
Maybe it’s for my benefit because I find that I can’t look away from her picture to read anything else about her.
My heart clenches because I understand what it’s like to lose your parents in a tragedy. I wouldn’t wish that kind of pain on anyone. It’s a feeling that can never be resolved because they’re just gone. Anything that you didn’t say is still there in the ether, without ever being able to find those who need to hear it.
Because they’re gone.
“She’d come here for college, but dropped out after her parent’s death,” he informs us. “She was working in strip clubs throughout the city for a while. I suspect she got introduced to drugs in one of them. She was picked up for solicitation six months ago.”
I swing my gaze over to Hacker and narrow my eyes. “Are you trying to say she chose to be there selling her body instead of being manipulated by those fucking assholes?”
Hacker shrugs like I’m not a seething while staring at him and daring him to say just that. “I don’t know what happened, I’m only telling you the facts that I’ve been able to find out about her. She’s the only one who knows the truth of what happened, and I can only get us so much information.”
His words do nothing to appease me, but I know fighting with my brother isn’t going to solve anything. I take one more look at her picture, seeing a young woman full of life and promise, before I focus on Lucifer.
My Prez meets my eyes and sighs at whatever he sees on my face. “Whether she chose to be there or not doesn’t matter, Apostle. We’re going to make sure she gets the help she needs.”
I nod my head and try to relax my body. It’s almost impossible to do.
For some reason, knowing that we’ve both experienced the death of our parents, makes me feel pity for her. If I didn’t have the support of my brothers when they died, where would I have ended up? It’s a question I can’t answer, but I still wonder.
I was damn lucky because when the days were dark, I knew I had people who wouldn’t allow me to get lost in the inky blackness of grief. Tara wasn’t as lucky as I was.
Maybe if she had been closer to home for college then she would have had more support. But she was already in a new place and, by the looks of it, a larger city. The allure to forget and to be numb pulled her in with promises that were always destined to be broken.
Now look at her.
Hacker’s voice shakes, “Then there’s the girl Feral carried out.” He shakes his head and looks toward the TV where a photo that was clearly taken last night or this morning is on display. My heart clenches at the fear and distrust in her eyes. “She won’t say a word which means I haven’t gotten her name yet. I’ve tried to find her, but I haven’t yet. I’ve tired facial recognition software and haven’t gotten any matches yet.”
“Fuck,” Prodigal breathes out and I look away from the screen because it’s too much.
She should have a family out there searching for her. But she doesn’t, at least not that Hacker has found. She’s all alone.
But she has a family now.
“We’ll figure it out,” Lucifer promises us. He glances at Tack before informing us, “Feral and Diana have asked to take her in while we figure out who she is. They think being in a home instead of the clubhouse might make her feel more comfortable with opening up. I’m also looking into counseling options.”
“I figured that would happen, whether she has family out there or not,” there’s a hint of amusement in Tack’s voice. Honestly, when I saw the way Feral was holding the girl last night, I thought it might happen as well. Tack’s voice is filled with compassion, “Is she exhibiting withdrawal symptoms?”
“No,” Lucifer’s voice is filled with hope. “She’s clearly been traumatized, but there aren’t any track marks on her, and she seems okay physically. She’s underweight and malnourished, but nothing we can’t handle.”
I breathe a sigh of relief with his words. It could be a lot worse.
The knowledge that the world hasn’t been plastered with missing persons posters with her face on it bugs me. From the looks on the faces around the room, it’s a thorn in all our sides.
We chat some more about where we go from here and how we’re going to ensure every female rescued gets what they need to go back to their lives or start over. I try and focus on the conversation, but it’s hard when my heart tugs at the knowledge that Tara doesn’t have anyone in her corner.
Maybe she just needs someone to rely on—a friend—and she’ll be able to turn her life around. I don’t know, but I’m not willing to give up hope on it. I think Sioux would agree with me.
When we’re dismissed from the meeting, we agree to meet again tomorrow to find out if Hacker has found out anything else. Lucifer will also then update us on the phone calls he’s making today to get some advice on how we do right by these females.
The first person I see when I step back into the common room is Tara. By the looks of it, she’s having a very in-depth conversation with Connie. Her eyes are bright, and her hands are moving around animatedly. A smirk dances on her lips as she nods excitedly at something Connie is saying.
Suddenly, Tara looks up and her eyes lock on me. My first instinct is to take a step back, but then I remember everything we know she’s gone through.
She doesn’t even say goodbye to Connie as she gets up and practically bounces across the room toward me. “Apostle,” she drawls, “it’s so good to see you again.” Her smile is bright, and I find myself returning it while pity for her fills me. “Connie was telling me about the angels. I think that would be perfect for me,” she chirps and my gut twists painfully.
I shake my head firmly and bark, “No.”
She looks taken aback, her eyes filling with tears and her lower lip quivering. Instantly I feel bad about yelling at her.
“I’m sorry, Tara,” my voice is gentle. “I didn’t mean to yell at you and scare you. I just don’t think that being an angel is a good idea. You’ve had a lot happen to you lately and need to deal with that.”
She pouts and runs her hands down her body, trying to be seductive and the pity I feel for her grows. “What? You don’t think I’m pretty enough? That my body isn’t good enough?” Fat tears roll down her cheeks and make me feel like an ass. “I know Connie is gorgeous, but I’m just as good as her.”
I reach for her slowly, the need to comfort her warring with not wanting to touch anyone but my Firefly. She seems to melt when I grip her shoulders and give a gentle squeeze. “It’s not about that,” I assure her. “But you should heal first and get your head on straight before making those kinds of decisions.”
Tara scoffs and glares up at me. “What would you know about getting your head on straight?”
Without giving me a chance to answer, she rips herself from my hold and stomps back toward Connie whose face is twisted in concern. Connie looks at me like I’m evil incarnate and opens her arms for Tara when she’s close enough.
The sobs coming from Tara as she collapses in Connie’s arms are loud and attract the attention. It makes me feel lower than scum.
I don’t know how I’m going to make this right, but I will. Maybe being Tara’s friend is the first step.