Chapter 35 Rook
ROOK
On my way to the bedroom, I texted Finn and told him to get here ASAP to stay with Asha.
“I should come with you to the dock,” she said, following me to the closet.
She didn’t look away when I stripped out of my sleep pants and tugged on a pair of dark jeans. “Like fuck.” A T-shirt and black hoodie went on next.
“If you find women, they’ll be scared of you. I could talk to them. Help keep them calm.”
“They’ll be scared no matter what. A pretty face won’t soothe them.”
With Asha hot on my heels, I went to the armory—a concealed room behind the wine cellar. The door unlocked with a clunk.
“Holy shit.” She gaped at the wall of weapons. “Does John Wick know you’ve stolen his cache?”
I shoved a Glock into my waistband, an extra clip into one pocket, and a switchblade in the other. I grabbed a duffel bag and loaded it with a rifle, a sawed-off shotgun, some ammo, grenades, and flash-bangs.
“What do you need all that stuff for?”
When I faced Asha, she was gnawing on a fingernail.
“I’m not going to a tea party, love. If we find the men responsible for this shite, we’ll finish them before sunrise.”
“Shouldn’t you wear a bulletproof vest or something?”
“Aye. It’s in the car.” My brows lifted. “Are you worried about me?”
“Of course not.” But the way she folded her arms across her body told a different story.
“Hey.” I went to her. “This is why I can’t have you with me. If bullets are flying, I’ll be distracted trying to keep you safe.”
Asha chewed on her bottom lip. “You think there’ll be a shoot-out?”
“It’s unlikely, but it’s best to come prepared.” I clasped her by the shoulders and stared into the most stunning pair of green eyes I’d ever known. “Stay and get some sleep. Finn will be here until I’m back, but it probably won’t be until morning.”
“Okay.” She nodded.
I released her and threw the duffel bag over my shoulder. “There is something you can do to help.”
“What?” she asked eagerly.
I smirked. “A parting kiss for luck?”
Her face went deadpan. “You have rocks inside your skull; you know that? Literal gravel and nothing else.”
I laughed and headed down the hallway. Just as I reached the kitchen, Finn walked out of the elevator.
“Get comfortable, Finn. Can’t say how long I’ll be.”
“It’s no problem, Boss.”
The elevator carried me to the basement, where Aidan waited for me by the Escalade.
“I haven’t called in backup,” he said. “Thought we’d keep it quiet until we know what we’re facing.”
We tossed our bags into the back seat and slipped into the vehicle. “Good call.”
Aidan buckled his seat belt. “How are things with you and Red?”
“Grand.” I started the car. “She only threatens to murder me once a day instead of five.”
“Guess the honeymoon’s over. If she stops wanting to kill you altogether, you might need couples therapy.”
I gave him an unamused look and drove for the exit.
On the way to the dock, Aidan filled me in on the tip-off.
One of his informants had overheard a thug bragging about big pay for an easy job guarding shipping containers at the port.
He’d gone on to say how there were strange noises coming from inside.
Human noises like crying, begging, and knocking.
After stashing the Escalade on the outskirts of the docks, we snuck through a hole in the chain-link fence, the metal edges biting at our clothes.
Aidan carried a backpack with supplies—bolt cutters, zip ties, duct tape, flashlights.
The place reeked of brine, diesel, and something rotting nearby.
Each breath sent a plume of mist into the cool night air.
The marine terminal loomed ahead, vast and still at this hour.
Most of the port activity had wound down for the night, but the occasional hum of machinery or distant clang of steel reminded us we weren’t alone.
Floodlights from the far side of the lot cast a dull glow over rows of shipping containers stacked like building blocks.
We weaved between rows, boots silent and pistols drawn.
At the next junction, I slowed and threw my arm out to stop Aidan. We used a container for cover and peered around the edge.
Two men stood near a cluster of containers up ahead. One was tall and wiry, wearing a red bandana and puffing on a cigarette as he patrolled. The other was bulkier, with a shaved head and gold chains glinting in the moonlight. Both carried automatic rifles slung over their shoulders.
“Albanians, cartel, and now street gangs?” I whispered. “Is there anyone not involved with this shite?”
Aidan smirked. “Just us, cuz. Last of the saints.”
If we were the righteous ones in this city, Philly needed to take a good hard look at itself.
We spread out. I moved left, Aidan right, each of us hugging the shadows. The smoker paused to flick ash to the ground. I edged closer, securing my pistol in the waistband of my jeans to take out my knife.
A quick glance at Aidan, and I gave the signal.
We struck as one. I lunged for the smoker and slid my blade clean across his throat. Hot blood spilled over my knuckles. He made a wet gurgling noise and crumpled at my feet. I caught him before he hit the ground, easing him down as silent as a ghost.
Aidan had Gold Chains pinned, a knife pressed to his jugular. “Move and I’ll open you like a fuckin’ tin of beans.”
We secured him with zip ties and a strip of tape across his mouth. Then we moved to check the containers. The first held crates of weapons stacked behind barrels labeled with chemical codes. The next two were filled with electronics—flat-screens, tablets, bundles of stolen smartphones.
The moment we opened the door of the fourth container, the smell hit me like a fist.
Sweat, urine, filth.
Jesus Christ.
Inside were thin mattresses on the floor, stained with God knew what.
Empty water bottles. Strewn clothing. Dirty buckets. Shackles.
But no women.
“We missed them.” Aidan winced and covered his nose with the back of his hand. “But this looks fresh.”
It sure smelled it.
These fucking monsters, keeping people in conditions not even fit for an animal.
I stormed toward Gold Chains, and his eyes went wide. He resisted every step of the way as I grabbed him by the collar, dragged him into the container, and threw him against the wall. The metal clang rang out like a bell.
No time for fucking around. I slammed my fist into his gut, then his face. “Where are they?” I tore the duct tape from his mouth.
Chains spat blood on the floor and laughed. “Fuck you.”
I grabbed his throat, squeezing hard while holding him pinned. “You think this is a fucking joke?” With my free hand, I pulled my knife and stuck him in the thigh. He howled and bucked, but I didn’t let go. “I’m fresh out of jokes, but I have a riddle for you. Do you like those, mate?”
“Here we go,” Aidan grumbled.
Chains just looked at me like I was a crazy person.
“I’ll take that as a yes. A male has seven holes in his body. You now have eight. If I stab you each time you don’t answer a question, how many holes will you have before you die?”
He froze, his bravado slipping.
“What did the last one make it to?” I asked Aidan.
My cousin leaned against the wall and folded his arms. “Thirty-four.”
“Aye.” I held Chains’ panicked stare. “These sacks of meat are more resilient than you think, especially if you stick to the fleshy parts.”
He tried to swallow, but instead made a choked sound in his throat, then farted.
“Jaysus Christ,” Aidan muttered, and looked toward the ceiling. “We have a shitter.”
“It’s all right, mate.” I gave Chains a gentle slap on the cheek. “You wouldn’t be the first bloke to disgrace himself when we’ve played this game. And it’s not like this place can smell any worse, is it?”
Chains trembled beneath my grip. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”
I leaned in close so he could see the truth in my eyes. “Neither do you. And now look at you. Shitting yourself while I decide where to stab you next. Eye or nut sack?”
“My vote’s for eye,” Aidan said. “They make such a satisfying pop when they explode.”
“That’s a solid point you make there, cuz.” I aimed an arched brow at Chains. “So, what’ll it be?”
His teeth chattered while he thought about it. Four seconds. Five. “The women are gone. Shipped out.”
“Where?”
“Fuck if I know. Europe. Asia. Wherever the buyers are.”
Aidan and I exchanged a look. That wasn’t what we’d expected. We knew women were being brought across the border for local prostitution. Shipping them internationally was a whole other level.
“We know you’re working for the Soul Collector.” A bluff, but we needed to be sure Chains was part of the same organization. “Where can we find him?”
Chains clammed up again. Terror, stark and cold, flashed in his eyes. Something told me he was more scared of his boss than me turning him into Swiss cheese.
He gave a sharp shake of his head. “Don’t even say his fuckin’ name. He’s like the Candyman. Mention him enough, and he shows up, has everyone killed. Your crew. Your family. Your fuckin’ dog.”
“Maybe we don’t need you to talk.” Aidan patted him down and pulled out a burner. He opened the old-school flip phone and punched in a code. He tried again, then said, “Bingo. One, two, three, four. Real original.”
Chains made a face. “Fuck. Come on, man.”
I shoved him against the wall again. “Shut up.”
After half a minute of scrolling, Aidan said, “It’s all here. Look at this shite.”
I tossed Chains to the floor and pointed at him. “Stay, or I’ll put bullets through both kneecaps.”
Aidan handed me the phone.
The screen was filled with names, dates, and prices. One folder was labeled Client Requirements, and another was labeled STD Status.
I felt sick looking through it.
Latina. 15 to 20. Big tits. Big ass. No hookers.
Black. 14 to 16. Virgin.
White. 20 to 30. Real breasts. Real red hair. Client will refuse fake.
Ice chilled my veins. This was the description I’d found on Lorenzo Tate’s phone the night I’d killed him for following Asha.
She could’ve ended up in this piss-reeking box, terrified and on her way to fuck knew where with no one to save her.
My fingers tightened until the phone trembled in my hand. I bit back my fury and opened another folder. This one contained dozens of photos of young women, drugged or unconscious. Some bound, some crying. Every race, shape, and size imaginable.
And then I saw her.
Sierra.
She looked thinner, bruised around one eye, but it was the same girl Asha had been searching for.
I showed Aidan the photo.
He dragged a hand over his face. “Fuck.”
This…this was bad news.
I couldn’t tell Asha about what we’d found tonight.
I already knew what my willful, self-sacrificing Wildfire would do when she learned the same person was behind Niall’s murder, Sierra’s disappearance, and a human trafficking ring.
She’d use Captive Audience to provoke the Soul Collector into revealing himself and alert the public to what was happening in this city.
Without locking her up, I doubted even I could sway her from that course of action.
And the public should know. Each moment we stalled, we risked another girl being snatched off the street.
But there were so many ways that could backfire. My biggest concern was Asha’s safety. The thought of her landing in the Soul Collector’s crosshairs was enough to put fear in the black heart of a stone-cold bastard like me.
And if Asha used the podcast and the Soul Collector didn’t come looking for Inferno, he could easily go to ground, making himself impossible to find.
It wouldn’t stop the trafficking ring. They would simply start up in another city. Same fucked-up MO, same consequences.
The Beasts needed to stop the Soul Collector and his operation now. Discreetly.
Starting in this hell box.
In one smooth motion, I drew my pistol, aimed it at Chains, and put a bullet in his head.
I glanced at Aidan. “Can you handle this mess?”
He choked back a laugh. “Who died and made you boss?”
“I have somewhere I need to be.”
“Wouldn’t happen to be the bed of a certain little redhead, would it?”
Was it that obvious? “Can you clean this up or not?”
“Aye. But you owe me.” He gave me a knowing look. “I’ll have someone bring a truck to move the guns and electrical goods. Make this look like a theft.”
“Good plan.”
After the night I’d had, all I wanted was to get home to check on my wife.
I showered in a bathroom down the hall so I didn’t wake Asha. It felt good to scrub the blood from under my fingernails and rid myself of the stench of that wretched container.
My raging mind only calmed when I found Asha sleeping peacefully in my bed. Lips slightly parted, long auburn hair unruly, and a pillow clutched in her arms like a stuffed toy.
One day soon, we’d find the Soul Collector, and Asha would be free to leave me.
How was I supposed to come home to a lifeless apartment? How was I supposed to crawl into this bed each night weary but unable to sleep without her?
When I’d decided to take Asha and make her my wife, I’d known it was a selfish act. A one-sided deal in which she had everything to lose and I had everything to gain.
But now, it felt like Asha would have the last laugh. She’d go back to her life, her podcast, and her friends, and I’d be left here wishing like hell she’d stayed.
I’d miss her. Maybe even more than I missed Niall, and that was terrible to admit.
Panic reached for my throat and gripped it tight.
I was overcome with the urge to touch Asha, to smell her, to know she was with me and safe.
I slid into bed behind her, curled my arm around her waist, and gently tucked her against my bare chest. She stirred, but not enough to fully wake.
I kissed Asha’s neck and breathed in her scent, holding it in my lungs until they burned. “Sleep, Wildfire. Let your monster hold you tonight.”
Because there would be no fucking pillow wall between us anymore.