2. SAVANNAH, 12 YEARS LATER
Chapter two
SAVANNAH, 12 YEARS LATER
S avannah huddled in the shadows, her breath fogging up in the cold night air. The Lucifer nightclub loomed before her, its neon red sign casting a sinister glow on the rain-slicked sidewalk. The air was thick with the smell of cigarettes, alcohol, and sweat. Mixed in was a hint of something more pungent, a sickly sweet odor that made Savannah's stomach churn.
She watched the eclectic mix of patrons drift in and out. Some wore leather jackets and chains, others were dressed in expensive suits, and some looked like they hadn't changed their clothes in days. Each person had a different expression on their face—some sneering and confident, others lost and desperate. Together, they created an unsettling sight, like pieces of a puzzle that didn't quite fit together. Even so, each person exuded an air of intense hunger, as if they were all searching for something to fill the void within them.
Savannah couldn't help but feel like prey amongst predators, her heart pounding as she willed herself to remain invisible. She pulled her baggy black sweater tighter around herself. Unfortunately, her sweater had Winnie the Pooh on the front of it. Not exactly an undercover outfit. But what could she do? She didn’t exactly own "creeping around in dark corners" clothes.
"Keep it together, Savvy," she muttered under her breath, putting her rebellious red hair behind her ears for the hundredth time. She scanned the crowd. Her eyes fell upon a man lingering near the entrance, his posture rigid and his gaze locked on the club's door.
Who was he? A bouncer? A drug pusher? A pimp? There was something off about him, that was for sure. He had a lean, wiry frame, as if he were a tightly wound spring waiting to be released. His eyes darted around, taking in his surroundings like a wolf examining its territory. A jagged scar traced its way across his cheek, a memento from a past altercation, no doubt.
Instantly, alarm bells went off in Savannah's mind. Her breath caught in her throat. This guy knew something. It was obvious.
Would tonight be the night? Was she finally going to expose the truth behind the Lucifer nightclub and the darkness that lurked within?
Her pulse quickened as she made her way through the throng of people, inching closer to the suspicious man. Pretending to be checking something on her phone, she adjusted her stance and leaned against a nearby wall, pushing buttons at random on her cell. With a casual flick of her hair, she glanced in Scarface’s direction.
"Hey," she called out, forcing a flirtatious smile. Not ideal, given the aforementioned Winnie the Pooh sweatshirt, but again: what could she do? "You been inside yet?” she asked. “I heard this place is wild."
Scarface eyed her warily, his lips curling into a tight, guarded grin. "Yeah, it's somethin' else, alright," he replied, his voice low and gravelly.
"Anything interesting happening in there?" Savannah asked, trying to sound nonchalant as she subtly probed for information. "I'm looking for a good time tonight."
His eyes narrowed slightly, tension creeping into his posture. "Just the usual. People drinkin', dancin', having fun." He paused, studying her face with newfound suspicion. "You lookin' for something . . . specific?"
"Nope," she shrugged, feigning innocence. "Just curious. I like to know what I'm getting myself into."
The man's gaze bore into her, his demeanor growing colder by the second. She felt his eyes run down over her baggy attire and then back up to her frizzy red hair. "Listen, Freckles," he hissed, leaning in close. "I don't know what you're lookin' for, but I suggest you stop snooping around. You're attracting the wrong kind of attention." He sneered at her and then spat on the ground. “And you don’t exactly look like the right clientèle for this place.”
Savannah swallowed hard, trying to maintain her composure as fear blossomed in her chest. She had clearly struck a nerve. Her instincts screamed at her to run away, but she couldn't afford to back down now—not when it felt like she might be getting somewhere.
"Sorry if I said the wrong thing," she said lightly, her voice wavering ever so slightly. "I’m just new in town and looking for some fun."
Upon hearing that word, “fun”, Scarface’s expression changed. “You want some fun, Freckles? You wanna come over here and suck my dick?”
Savannah’s eyes widened as she put her phone back in her pocket. “Oh, uh, no thank you, sir. I’ll just get back in line, and uh . . .”
As Savannah slipped back into the shadows, her mind raced with possibilities. Was this man part of the trafficking ring, or was he simply a dangerous distraction? Did he suspect her of snooping? How could she get the information she needed? One thing was clear: she needed to tread carefully if she wanted to survive long enough to find out.
Think, Savvy. Think.
Savannah’s heart pounded in her ears, drowning out the pulsating beat of the music coming from the club.
"Wait just a damn minute," the man growled, lunging forward to grab her arm before she could slip away. His fingers dug into her flesh like a vise, his grip unyielding. “I’ve seen you here before, ain’t I? Standing around by the door asking questions. You’re up to somethin’.”
"Let go of me," she snapped, panic rising in her chest like a tidal wave.
"You think I don't know what you're up to, Freckles?" he snarled, yanking her closer.
Savannah's mind raced, searching for an escape. She couldn't let him stop her, not now. Not when she was so close. Gritting her teeth, she channeled every ounce of strength she had into her free arm, swinging it with all her might at his face.
"Leave me alone!" she shouted, her fist connecting with his jaw. The force of the blow sent shockwaves through her hand, but it was enough to loosen his grip.
In that split second, adrenaline surged through her veins, granting her the strength to tear herself away from him. But as she stumbled back, her hidden camera fell from its hiding place inside her sweatshirt and clattered to the ground.
"Look what we got here," the man said, bending down to pick up the small device. He held it up, examining it with malicious curiosity. Then, he looked at Savannah’s sweatshirt. Before leaving home tonight, she had carefully cut out Winnie the Pooh’s nose and poked a secret camera out of it. Now the camera was gone, Winnie the Pooh had a hole in his face and the bare flesh of her stomach showed behind it.
Savannah's breath caught in her throat, terror seizing her heart. She knew she had to act fast, or everything she'd worked for would be lost. Yet somehow, despite the fear threatening to suffocate her, a spark of defiance still flickered deep within.
"Give that back," she spat, her voice shaking but determined. "Or I swear to God, you'll regret it."
The man scoffed, a sinister grin spreading across his face. "You got guts. But you're playin' with fire, sweetheart. And if you ain't careful, you're gonna get burned."
“You know, theft is illegal,” said Savannah bravely. “Give it back now or . . . or I’ll call the cops.”
The man’s mouth twitched into a large grin and then he let out out an explosive belly laugh. “The cops? The cops! That’s a good one, lady. Real good. The cops.” He laughed some more. Then, suddenly, his face turned white and deadly serious. “Now get lost, cockroach. If I see your ugly freckled mush around here again, I'll break your neck. Hell, if I see your ugly face anywhere in Chicago, I’ll break it."
Savannah's heart pounded in her chest as she eyed him warily, trying to mask her fear with bravado. "You don't scare me," she lied through gritted teeth.
"I should," he sneered, stepping back and giving her room to breathe. "You're in way over your head, sweetheart."
As soon as he released her, Savannah stumbled away, her legs shaking. She forced herself to keep moving, even as her mind raced with panic.
This was bad. She’d been caught spying. She was a known enemy now. And her face wasn’t exactly forgettable. She had pale white skin, a ton of freckles, and the frizziest ginger hair of anyone she’d ever met.
"Damn it," she muttered, biting her lip, her thoughts racing. This wasn't just about her own safety—there were countless lives on the line if she didn't expose the trafficking ring. But she couldn't do it alone, not anymore.
She needed help—someone with the skills and experience to navigate this dangerous world. Desperation clawed at her insides, urging her to act quickly before the situation spiraled further out of control.
And as much as it pained her to admit it, she knew exactly who she had to call.
She ducked into a narrow alleyway. The stench of rotting garbage filled her nostrils, but she barely noticed. All that mattered now was staying alive and completing her mission. Pressing her back against the cold brick wall, Savannah pulled out her phone, hands trembling.
"Paladin Security," she murmured, her voice barely audible. It was a name she'd seen mentioned on a DDlg forum, of all places. Probably nothing to do with the lifestyle though—it was an organization set up for vulnerable women seeking private security.
They didn't have much of a web presence, which made her hesitate. What if it was just another dead end? What if they couldn't help her? What if it turned out that they were bad guys too? That the good things she’d read about them online was false?
It was probably crazy thinking, but part of her had wondered over the last few years if Paladin Security wasn’t somehow involved with the traffickers. She had seen their names crop up in association with more than one missing girl. What if the vulnerable women who approached them were funneled into the very system they needed protection from?
"God, I hope this isn't a mistake," Savannah muttered, swiping through search results until she found their contact information. But there was no time for doubt now. She couldn't afford to be picky. Taking a deep breath, she tapped the call button.
"Come on," she urged, her eyes darting around the alley, watching for any sign of danger. "Pick up, pick up . . ."
"Paladin Security, Blake Marks speaking," a gruff voice answered on the other end of the line.
"Hi, my name is Savannah Sweet," Savannah said hurriedly, her voice cracking slightly. "I need your help. Like, ASAP. I’m kind of on this mission and—"
“Savannah . . . Sweet ?” replied the grumpy voice, both irritable and distracted. The unmistakable sound of gunshots rang out in the background, making Savannah's heart lurch.
“Yes,” said Savannah. “That’s me.”
“Right, Miss Sweet ,” he said moodily. “You’re gonna have to slow down for me. What’s the reason for your call?”
“Well, my camera just got broken and—”
"How did you get this number?” Blake cut in.
“Uh, I saw it online,” she answered, her mind reeling. Why was this guy being so unfriendly? Paladin was some kind of ancient name for a protector, right? This guy sounded about as protective as a cardboard box in the rain.
"I’m an investigative journalist," she blurted out, trying to steady her breathing. "I'm investigating some very bad people, and they know I'm onto them." She glanced around the alley, half-expecting someone to jump out at her. "I'm scared."
"Where are you right now?" Blake muttered, and the urgency in his voice made her feel both reassured and terrified.
"Don’t worry about that," she replied, clutching the phone tighter. "I’ll get home safe. I just . . . need your help. I’m so close to blowing this story open. I need to go back and finish the job. So, I need security for maybe a couple of hours while I—”
“Where. Are. You. Right. Now?”
Savannah slid down the wall into a crouch, her body trembling from the adrenaline and fear coursing through her veins. She had no idea who this Blake was or if Paladin Security could be trusted, but there was nothing else she could do. It was either trust them or face whatever horrors awaited her alone.
“I don’t need you here right now,” she said, her voice small. “But . . . well, things are getting a little tricky. Can we meet tomorrow morning to discuss my security needs?" she asked, pushing away the fear that threatened to consume her. “I’m in desperate need of backup.”
"Awkward little thing, aren’t you?" Blake grunted in reply, the distant gunshots still echoing in the background.
Savannah gritted her teeth, forcing herself not to tell him he was the awkward one. She couldn’t risk him hanging up on her.
"I’m busy tomorrow morning,” Blake said after a pause. “It’ll have to be the afternoon. 3 p.m. Do you have a meeting place in mind?"
"Uh, my apartment?" Savannah suggested hesitantly, unsure of the best place to discuss sensitive matters.
Blake grunted. "Listen to me closely, little girl,” he scolded, his voice firm and commanding. “Don't you ever invite a strange man back to your apartment. Got it?" The words sent shivers down Savannah's spine. Little girl? Did he somehow know she was a Little?
"R-right. Sorry," she stammered, feeling foolish for her suggestion. "Where should we meet, then?"
"North Avenue Beach," he said gruffly.
"The beach?" Savannah repeated, surprised. She knew the beach well—it was a popular hangout this time of year. There was a huge beach house that looked like an ocean liner. Not the sort of place she was expecting to have a rendezvous with a grumpy private security grunt. But still, why not? "Alright, I'll meet you there. How will I know what you look like?"
"Don’t worry about that," he confirmed. “I’ll know what you look like, Savannah Sweet.” The conversation ended abruptly as he hung up the phone.
Savannah stared at her phone for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest. What had she gotten herself into? And how in god’s name did he know what she looked like?