Chapter 48
Ace
Fuckin’ sicko.
There hasn’t been a time in my life when I’ve felt as
conflicted as I do right now, standing on this doorstep with Booker.
Just because I’m young doesn’t mean I don’t know this shit ain’t right.
Even though I know I’m doing this for the right reasons, I still feel like an absolute piece of scum wandering in under the guise that I’m actually into this vile shit.
The only thing bringing me any solace is knowing I get to end these motherfuckers when this is all over. As for Booker, I wouldn’t be sad to see him go, too. Anyone involved in this shit needs to pay for what they’ve done.
Booker knocks. The door swings open.
“What business brings you here?” a tall, skinny guy with dark hair asks.
“Pleasure, of course,” Booker responds. Sounding like he’s reciting a practiced line.
Shit, it probably is. Another way to weed out the real customers from the narcs.
Fucking gross. All of it.
The man moves aside, and we’re told to wait in a large room with plush seating.
Booker was right; the house is like something famous people would live in.
Or the kind of place a high-end drug lord would call home.
It’s not a place I feel comfortable in, and I’ll be happy when we can level the whole damn thing.
“Just gotta grab the boss. Be right back,” Tall and Skinny says before heading upstairs.
The waiting area is eerily quiet. I look around to occupy my mind, but beige is the only color in this place that I can see. Fucking boring.
There’s a big-ass chandelier hanging over the front entryway and a spiral staircase leading to the next floor. It’s almost a shame this place will be rubble before the end of the day.
Who am I kidding? No, it’s not. Fuck this rich-people hellhole.
From what I can tell, no one is watching us, but I’m not about to get comfortable.
They likely have eyes on cameras watching our every move.
Booker and I came in with only our phones and wallets; mine is ready with a fake ID.
Booker warned us in advance that IDs get checked and that electronics aren’t allowed in the rooms with the girls, so the Prez gave me a burner.
We can’t have anything connecting me to my real identity, just in case someone gets nosy and goes through my shit.
Thankfully, the air outside is cooler today than it has been, so my long-sleeve tee doesn’t stand out.
Under it is a bulletproof shirt the Prez loaned me.
I didn’t even know they made shit like this.
Cool as fuck, though. You can’t even tell I’ve got it on.
Sarge says it won’t stop high-power ammunition, but it’s good against handguns.
I’ll take any help I can get, being in this house essentially alone and unarmed.
Thanks to Booker, we knew there would be no way to contact the guys once I was inside, so I need to reach Hannah and give them the go-ahead as soon as I can.
Too bad Booker’s good deeds for the club aren’t enough to earn him a pass. People who like the cruel shit he’s into don’t deserve to breathe.
Shifting from foot to foot, I’m getting antsy. The fuck is taking them so long? Booker looks like shit, and it’s making me regret not giving him something to take the edge off. He’s been sober too long, and his body is reflecting that.
His eyes ping around while he picks at the skin around his nails. Dude looks nervous and antsy. Here’s to hoping all eyes stay on me.
Footsteps overhead filter through, and I know someone is coming. I stare up the steps, waiting for bodies to descend. Tall and Skinny comes into view first, followed closely by none other than evil himself. Diesel.
Clenching my jaw, I keep my expression even. Bored. Masking my emotions with the illusion that I’m simply bothered by being kept waiting. When Diesel reaches the landing, he offers his hand.
“Sorry to keep you waiting. Josh, is it?”
I shake his hand like it doesn’t make my skin crawl and look him in the eyes. “Yes, sir. And you are?”
“Ah, yes. Name’s Diesel.” He drops my hand and steps back, crossing his arms casually. “Has Booker filled you in on how things are run around here?”
“I believe he has. Eight hundred bucks for fifteen minutes alone with the girl of my choosing. No rules other than no electronics in the room and make sure she’s breathing when I’m done with her.” I laugh, acting like the words don’t make my stomach churn.
Diesel snickers. “Sounds like you got it. Dead girls don’t make me any money, so that’s a hard line. We don’t react kindly to anyone who breaks it. Thankfully, it doesn’t happen often.”
Doesn’t happen often. It shouldn’t fucking happen ever. And it won’t again. Not here—not after today.
“Just need the cash and ID, and once my assistant here pats you down for any weapons or wires, you’ll be good to go.” I hand my ID and the money to Tall and Skinny before holding my arms out, ready to be searched.
Diesel turns his attention to the man slowly unraveling next to me. “Booker, you getting yourself some pussy today, too?”
“Oh, I wish but, no money.” He moves around, eyes like a fly. Never landing on any one thing for long.
Diesel looks from me to Booker, and for just a quick second, I think he’s onto us. “You two want some party favors? On the house.” He produces a small baggie of white powder—cocaine, most likely.
“Not for me, man. Work tests my piss at random. Can’t risk the job.” I clap my hand down hard on Booker’s shoulder, giving him a rough shake. “I think my friend right here will be happy to take my share, though.”
Fucking junkie piece of shit. Rapes women and then numbs the world with whatever he can get his hands on.
Booker’s eyes go wide. “Oh, uh, thanks. But I don’t have the money for that right now.”
“It’s on me. Why don’t you and I go set this up while your friend gets a piece of that bitch you had yesterday?” His eyes meet mine. “She’s a feisty one, but I’ve made her a little less confrontational,” he says with a wink.
“Cisco, take him to room eight,” Diesel tells Tall and Skinny. “We’ll be in the billiard room. Come get yourself a drink when you’re done.”
I can’t tell if that last bit is directed at Cisco or me, but either way, I don’t wish to have a drink with this man unless it’s to celebrate over his corpse.
After climbing up the twisting stairs, I take in the second level. Doors line the halls to both the left and the right of the central staircase. I expected plenty of rooms in a place this large, but I didn’t expect so many guards.
Not every door has one. I count sixteen doors, but only ten guards.
Without knowing the ins and outs of this place, my best guess is that these guys are here to keep people in, not out. That means ten girls are trapped here, one of them being my Prez’s Ol’ Lady.
We stop in front of what I assume is room eight. Cisco leaves me with a quick, “Have fun.”
Fuckin’ sicko.
“You get fifteen minutes. Knock twice when you’re done. If you take longer, I’ll knock twice to announce your time is up. Got it?” The guard asks. He looks like he’s never laughed a day in his life—all business, zero emotion.
“Yep, got it,” I say, trying not to sound as repulsed as I feel.
The door opens, and my breath hitches. I keep my feet moving until I hear the door click shut behind me, not wanting to tip them off that what I’m seeing is tearing me apart.
Because in front of me is a half-naked, beaten woman. I think she’s the one I’m here for, but I can’t be sure. My foot takes one step towards her, but she stays planted like a statue.
When we went over every detail of freeing her, nothing could have readied me for this.
Nothing could have taught me how to approach her.
She looks so small, and the bruises on her body cover a range of colors, telling me they started beating her days ago and haven’t stopped.
How the fuck do I approach a woman who has been abused by every man she’s seen for days?
She doesn’t seem to know who I am, and I don’t blame her. My facial hair is gone, and my long blonde hair has been buzzed. Without my vest and the other features that make me me, I barely recognize myself. But hair grows back. Changing something so insignificant is worth this moment right here.
Her features are hidden beneath the swelling, but she has long brown hair and a nose ring in her right nostril. Sarge mentioned a few things to help me identify her, just in case something like this happened. We didn’t want to expect the worst, but we planned for it anyway. I’m glad we did.
I don’t miss the way this room reeks of piss and stale air. There’s what looks to be a wet towel on the bed where she was forced to sleep, and half of her body is exposed. This is no fuckin’ way for someone to live.
“Hannah?” I whisper.
Her hands stay behind her back. I can’t tell if that’s by choice or if she’s bound. I take a step forward, reaching out instinctively before dropping my hand to my side. The look on her face is terror masked with anger, and I doubt she wants me anywhere near her.
“Hannah, it’s Ace. Please tell me it’s you.” I keep my eyes locked on hers, refusing to look at the rest of her body.
The fact that they’ve left her in this condition is beyond unacceptable. The urge to rush back out and kill every motherfucker in this building is overwhelming, but I am painfully unarmed.
I take another careful step, like I’m approaching a dog ready to bite. “Honey, please.” My voice is barely a whisper now, just in case anyone is listening. “I need to know if it’s you so I can signal the guys. We have twenty men outside, ready to come in and get you out.”
Her eyes drag to the window and then back to me.
“If it’s you, please, just nod so I can get us both the fuck out of here.”
Finally, she gives a slow, careful nod. And that’s all I need.