Chapter Nine
CHAPTER NINE
Stella
I ’m nervous, though this is what I’ve been waiting for.
While I balanced the real set of books for Ladies and Gentlemen, I discovered exorbitant amounts of money were laundered through the club. Eventually it moved to offshore accounts, but the process took years. I always thought most of the cash came from his escort service. After all, if he could charge a million dollars a night for Zarah, there was no doubt he was raking in at least half that for the other girls, and I never knew how many women he had working for him. That was something he kept private, and it’s no wonder, but I never stopped thinking about what happened to the women he turned over. Where they went when he didn’t want them anymore.
That’s what we need to find out.
“You look good, Stella,” Mel says, securing the camera disk to my dress in her brightly lit bathroom.
She’s refreshed my hair color a couple of times now, my blonde roots showing just weeks after every dye job. My hair is growing out too, but she doesn’t cut it. Tonight, she pinned it into a French twist, and I’m wearing a classy little black dress and heels. She changed out my tortoise shell frames for thick black ones, and I look like a trendy hipster on her way to a club after her barista shift downtown. I like it, but not enough to wear glasses for the fun of it.
Quinn’s beautiful in a blood red dress and nude pumps, and Mel paints matching lipstick to her lips. Earlier this week, Mel cut her hair. Longer on one side, shaved on the other, revealing an ear full of tiny diamond studs. Black nail polish on her fingers and toes. Zane calls her Goth girl, and I’m not amused when he does it. Quinn had a difficult childhood just as I did, only she didn’t handle it as well as I have. She didn’t have a Maryanne on her side. Thinking of my dead foster mom brings tears to my eyes, and I push back the memories. I don’t want Mel mad she has to reapply my mascara.
She walks us through the night the way she does every time she has to let one of us out of her sight. She’s turned into a good friend and I appreciate the concern, but tonight there isn’t much to walk through. Nathalie will be wired too, because if anyone can get information at the club, it will be her. Quinn and I are along for the ride, extra sets of eyes and ears.
Nathalie’s dressing at the penthouse, and after Douglas attaches her camera to her dress, he’s going to drop her off. We’re supposed to meet her outside Ladies and Gentlemen at ten.
Zane leans against the doorjamb watching Mel fuss. He hates letting me go just as much as she does, but he knows it’s necessary. He came back to the hotel on an adrenaline high after his meeting with Special Agent Banks. People kicked him around for so long and I love seeing him pumped. It won’t bring his parents back, but I can understand that finally being able to do something and not being treated like someone’s puppet is an exhilarating feeling. He’s fighting back, and he’s stronger because of it.
Quinn and I are ready, and Zane stops me in the hallway outside Mel’s room. She ordered a car, and it will be here in a few minutes.
“I guess I don’t have to ask you to be careful,” he murmurs, his hand wrapped around my arm.
Mel and Quinn trade glances and step into the elevator to give us some privacy. The doors bump shut.
“I’ll be okay. Quinn and Nathalie will be with me. They won’t let anything happen.”
“I know.” He brushes a kiss to my lips.
I only lightly reciprocate—I don’t want to smear the apricot lipstick Mel applied.
“I won’t be here when you get back,” he says, sighing. “Mel thinks it’s important that I spend as much time at the penthouse as I can, and I agree with her. Ash may be busy planning his gala but that doesn’t mean he’s not keeping an eye on me.”
“Yeah, I know. Spend some time with Zarah, okay? Maybe bring her and Ingrid back to the penthouse. I think with everything else going on, Ash will leave her alone and there’s no reason to keep hiding her.”
“Okay, I’ll ask, but I doubt she’ll leave Max and he said he wants to watch your camera’s feed. Stella—”
“I should go. I don’t want Quinn to have to wait for me.” I pull my arm out of his grasp. He wants to plan and talk about our future, but I don’t see how that would do much good until we’re free.
“I love you,” he says, pushing the lift’s Down button.
“I love you, too.” I squeeze his hand and step inside the elevator. The doors slide closed, hiding his unhappy frown.
Quinn and Mel are standing on the sidewalk, and just as I step outside, a sleek black sedan pulls up to the curb.
“If you need anything, I’ll be listening. What’s your code word?”
Mel insisted we have something to say if we need assistance as soon as possible. It will blow our cover if she sends the police there or Zane barrels into the club ready to be a hero, but it would be irresponsible not to at least consider we might walk into a situation we can’t get out of on our own.
“Chanel,” Quinn says obediently.
At first, I thought that was silly—why would we need a reason to say Chanel?—but then I realized it was perfect. The brand name could be slipped into conversation quite easily. “Is that a Chanel bag?” “Do you shop at Chanel?” “Are you wearing Chanel Number Five?” Uncommon but familiar, we wouldn’t need to say it for any other reason than to indicate to Mel we’re in trouble and need to get the hell out of there.
“Good. Good luck.”
Quinn and I sit in the back and the driver asks her to confirm the address to our destination, wrinkling his forehead in confusion as to why we want to go to a strip club. She does and snuggles into me. The driver gets the hint, decides to mind his own business, and focuses on the road. She smothers a laugh against my shoulder.
I’ve never been to Ladies and Gentleman before, but the line of men and women wrapping around the building waiting for the club to empty enough to admit them doesn’t surprise me. Ash owns the most popular, most lavish, strip club in the city, maybe the United States. A couple of burly bouncers stand at the door keeping an eye on the line.
“Fuck. How are we going to get in?” Quinn asks as the driver idles at the curb. She rummages in her purse, wiggles out her wallet, and slips him a hundred dollar bill. “Keep it.” She elbows me. “Get out. No one’s waiting to open your door, chickie.”
“Shut up,” I say, laughing, pulling on the handle. I push the door open and carefully step onto the sidewalk. To fit in, my heels are higher than what I’m used to wearing. Quinn follows me and the car melds into traffic.
Biting the inside of my cheek, I stare at the line. It could be a three hour wait, maybe more. We might not even get in before the club closes. Once people are admitted, they rarely leave, unwilling to give up their coveted spots. We stand uncertainly on the sidewalk. The pounding music the women are dancing to filters out to us, and I recognize “Lady Marmalade.”
A couple of men near the front of the line whistle, and one calls, “Hey, come over here! If you blow us, we’ll pay your cover.” Quinn scoffs over the sound of others farther back cackling, booing, and hissing in amusement, disgust, and displeasure.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a black limousine glide up to the curb, and it slows to a stop in front of the club. Quickly, Douglas climbs from behind the wheel and opens Nathalie’s door. She steps out of the limo.
“Is that what you were waiting for?” Quinn asks, teasing me, but I’m not in the mood to be teased. I’m watching Nathalie, like everyone else who’s close enough to see her.
Her legs look a million miles long, silver stilettos strapped to her feet, and a white sequined dress hugs her every curve. Her hair is a tumble of curls down her back, and her makeup is perfect. I look down at my plain black dress feeling like the poor homeless girl I am. Why in the hell would Zane want someone like me when he could have a goddess like Nathalie, a woman who would do anything for him? She looks like a movie star—I’m the extra that ends up on the cutting room floor.
“Hi,” she says, her heels clicking against the cement. She’s holding a small white clutch that matches her dress. “Problems?”
“Oh, the line,” Quinn says, jerking her thumb behind her.
The guys who were calling to us are really into it now that Nathalie joined us.
“Ah, I know the two at the door. They’ll let us by.” Nathalie ignores the hoots and hollers like she’s used to the attention. She probably is.
“Nat!” One of the bouncers yells as she catches his eye. She waves. “What are you doing out tonight? I hear you’re engaged to Zane Maddox. Lucky son of a bitch. He should be keeping you locked up.”
His words drop a pit in my stomach. How someone could say something like that so nonchalantly. Nathalie has been locked up, just not in the way he means. I’ve been locked up too, and there isn’t any situation in which being a captive can be a good thing. It doesn’t matter how you lose your freedom.
“Hey, Spike. I can still do what I want,” she says. “He’s working all the time. What’s a girl gonna do?”
“Me,” Spike says and winks. “Ladies.” He unlatches the red velvet rope blocking the door and lets us through to the dismay of the others in line.
“Ash here tonight?” Nathalie asks over her shoulder.
“He might pop in, Huxley, too, and word is he’s pissed at you.”
Nathalie laughs, but a tightness forms around her eyes. “Yeah, well, he’s not the only one who’s angry I’m off the market.”
“Is the rock worth it, Nat?” Spike asks.
“Sometimes, I don’t know.”
She walks away, and Quinn and I hustle to keep up—we don’t want her to leave us behind. Weaving around packed tables and scantily clad waitresses, she leads us to a small, unoccupied hightop table in the back of the room, a gold RESERVED place card positioned in the middle. Through the sexy haze of neon track lighting, we can see the entire club, and I wonder if that’s why she wanted to sit here. The building looks bigger from the outside, but when I ask Nathalie about it, she explains, “Ash made sure there are plenty of booths for lap dances and private VIP rooms that are equipped for more than that, if you catch my drift.” She smirks. “There’s a lot of space to play if a customer can pay and he can find a dancer who’s willing.”
I stare down at my lap. I know she means the rooms have, couches, maybe beds, and toys. Is that what Zane likes? Toys? He’s never asked me to do anything more than make love.
Quinn holds my hand under the table. She knows whenever I feel melancholy, and after so many weeks at the Crowne, she can always pinpoint why right to Zane. “He loves you how you are,” she whispers in my ear.
A waitress stops at our table and asks what we’d like to drink, and Nathalie orders a pitcher of Cosmopolitans. “Gotcha,” she says. “Be right back.”
We watch the women dancing, but I feel compelled to say something to fill in the silence. “Do you know the women on stage?” Three dancers who are still partially clothed are doing a routine in sync using the silver poles that are attached to the ceiling.
“No, not them, but I see some familiar faces.”
“Did you dance, too?” Quinn asks.
The waitress approaches our table and overhears Quinn’s question. She laughs. “Nat? Nah. She never danced, but her dates brought her in all the time. She knows her way around the back,” she says, setting three martini glasses and a tall, narrow pitcher in front of us. A pink stir stick glows inside.
Nathalie blushes.
She hurries off, and I say, “I’m sorry.”
Nathalie huffs. “For what? Me working on my back for the past seven years? Or Zane using me to shut all this down? I know some of the girls have a tough time and Ash isn’t always fair or kind, but Clayton gave me work and a paycheck when I needed it, and that’s what counts.”
“You’re beautiful. You could have gotten a job anywhere.”
“You can’t live on minimum wage, honey, and the Blacks pay a hell of a lot more than that.”
I did, but I wouldn’t have been able to take care of anyone else on what I made as a payroll clerk.
Nathalie pours, and I sip the tart cocktail, the glass reminding me of the evenings Zarah and I spent at the Sweet Apple. It’s citrusy, and the vodka softens the sting of her words. She’s defending Ash and Clayton and resents having to help Zane. Maybe she liked this lifestyle and she’s not grateful he rescued her from it. The glamour, the booze, the jewelry, maybe even the sex. Maybe all those things meant more than if a job got rough. Maybe she was lucky and didn’t have to put up with it very often. I don’t know Nathalie well and never wanted to get to know her. I see her as competition for Zane’s love and affection, and most of my thoughts about her involve wishing she would go away.
“You know he’s only taking advantage of women who are down on their luck. There are better ways to help people.”
She jerks a shoulder.
Quinn raises her eyebrows at me, but I can only shrug too.
Two different dancers begin a new set, and I’m starting to get antsy. We’re not going to find out anything tucked into a corner getting tipsy off martinis, but I need to play it cool. I can’t look like I’m scouting or I’ll draw attention to myself.
I wait until we’ve drank our way to the bottom of the pitcher and the waitress serves us another round. “I need to use the restroom.”
“I’ll go with you,” Quinn says, already wiggling out of her seat.
I frown, and she shakes her head so slightly I can barely see it. I relent. It’s not safe to go anywhere alone.
Nathalie waves to someone across the room. She doesn’t care we’re leaving and doesn’t offer to come along.
The women’s restroom is located behind our table down a dark hallway, and like the rest of the club, it’s glamorous. The lighting isn’t too bright, and a clean, floral scent floats through the air. A plush lounge area invites women to sit, kick off their heels, and rest their feet. It’s evident the restroom is used for more than simply going to the bathroom—the stalls are located through a door that divides the two rooms. An attendant offers everything from bandages to tampons to painkiller and stomach relief. I bet if I asked she would have condoms and the morning after pill too. Ash deals in sex—all the extras apply.
Several women are standing in front of a long mirror fastened to the wall above a counter touching up their makeup, and a girl who looks younger than me is sitting on a velvet settee holding an ice pack to a bruised cheek, tears running down her face.
There’s nothing more to see, but I don’t want to simply go back to our table. Nathalie seems content to sit there and get drunk. Some of the girls heard she was in the audience and stopped to say hi, but she never asked questions or even hinted at trying to find out information about what was going to go down. All they did was gawk at the ring Zane gave her and chat about the men and women who have come through the club. Who was dating whom, who was working for whom, who had gotten “promoted,” whatever that entails. They talked like it was water cooler gossip, but it wasn’t information we needed to know.
Ash is going to turn over his girls, and I don’t know what that means. Turnover in any other company is defined as unhappy workers leaving and new ones brought on board, and the cycle never stops because the company isn’t good to work for. But if I apply the term to Ash’s escort service, or even his dancers, they aren’t allowed to leave if they’re unhappy. They’re forced to work until he can’t use them anymore. Once that happens, they have to go somewhere. There are other strip clubs in the city, possibly other escort services, too, but I doubt Ash would let anyone go anywhere else. That’s not the way he does business. If you sign, you belong to him.
He would have no trouble replacing his women in a city the size of King’s Crossing. Everyone needs a paycheck, and a woman would do anything to feed her children. That includes stripping and having sex for money. If Ash treats them well at the beginning, the job would seem like a real opportunity to get ahead.
It would be easier to snoop if Quinn wasn’t with me, but she won’t leave me alone, and after we use the ladies’ room, we wander the back hallways. Women are everywhere, and no one asks what we’re doing or where we’re going. I can see now, how the club looks bigger from the outside. Like Nathalie said, the inside is full of backrooms and narrow stairways that lead to only God knows where.
We roam long enough that my feet start to hurt in my heels, and thankfully, we stumble into the dancers’ dressing room. Music blasts from hidden speakers, and the sweet smell of pot drifts through the air. Mountains of cosmetics are piled onto brightly lit counters, and women play with wigs and bras, some walking around wearing nothing between dances, showing off their spectacular bodies.
When Zarah and I hung out after Ash started blackmailing her, Hector lurking around made me sensitive to the creepers, and I don’t miss the men in black suits and earpieces skulking in the shadows hoping to go unnoticed. Are they here to stop trouble, the drunk men who want a little extra for their cover charge, or are they here to keep the dancers from leaving? I balanced Ash’s books for years. I know the not-so-small fortune he pays in security, and that he writes most of it off as a business expense.
Quinn and I separate, and she approaches a redhead, her boobs spilling out of a black, sparkly corset, and they start to talk. I sit next to a brunette who’s smoking a cigarette and staring at her phone. She looks bored, and she eyes me warily when I sit down.
“Hi, I’m Kendra,” I say, hoping I don’t sound like I want to grill her.
She scoffs. “You and half of King’s Crossing,” she says, uninterested. “You coulda made up something more original. What do you want?”
“I was hoping I could work here. Do you make a lot of money?”
“Don’t strip unless you have to.”
“Yeah, but I heard Ash Black is a good boss.”
“No worse than any other.”
“Is he hiring right now?”
“How the hell should I know? Do I look like his secretary?” she snaps.
I’m going to lose her if I sound like a police detective, and I soften my voice and posture, sinking into the cushion and crossing my legs. “Sorry. This is new to me.”
She curls her upper lip. “Look. You’re a sweet girl, pretty. You got nice tits. Get an office job, and maybe your boss won’t be an asshole and fuck you over his desk, yeah? I dance because I’m dumb, and I know it. A doctor said my mom drank a lot when she was pregnant with me. Did something to my brain nobody can fix. I can’t read, and I dropped out of school in fourth grade. No one gave a shit. If you’ve got a working brain in your head, get out of here.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, my heart breaking. She’s beautiful, and Ash is using that. She’d be on the streets if he hadn’t given her a job, and there’s not a doubt in my mind he pats himself on the back for signing a paycheck that pays her rent.
I stand up and inch my way toward the door. Quinn’s still talking to the redhead and I don’t want to leave without her, but she doesn’t follow me and after a few minutes I wander the back hallways alone. Men dressed in sharp, expensive suits hang around talking to half-naked women. Not like trashy half-naked, but classy half-naked. Earlier, I saw an icy blonde wearing a dress featured in one of Zarah’s fashion magazines that was selling for ten thousand dollars.
I climb a dark set of stairs, having to slip around a couple pressed against the wall, kissing, his tongue in her mouth and his hand up the skirt of her dress. At the top, another dark hallway leads to several rooms, their doors shut, discreet signs indicating they’re occupied. A dancer and a guy in a rumpled suit stumble out of one rooms. He leers at my boobs, but the brunette ignores me, urging him down the stairs now that her job is done.
I’m surprised I can walk around so freely, and I search the rest of the floor. There isn’t anything up here besides the VIP rooms the dancers use to treat their guests to a little extra. So far, the cameras Nathalie and I are wearing haven’t picked up anything of importance, and I feel like the risk we took coming here was a waste. There’s nothing illegal going on, well, there’s plenty of illegal stuff going on, but nothing that will help us.
Quinn’s downstairs and she’s panicking, but she spots me and her expression relaxes. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
“I went upstairs, but there isn’t anything up there except rooms for the lap dances and other...things.” I want to ask if she thinks Zane brought Nathalie here to play, but I don’t want him to hear how insecure I am.
“Did you talk to anybody?”
Shaking my head, I say, “No. There wasn’t anyone to talk to. A couple of girls, but they were busy, you know. What about you? Did the redhead tell you anything?”
After the dancer in the dressing room shot me down, I’m afraid to try to talk to anybody else. It’s possible the girls signed a nondisclosure agreement and they’re too scared to say anything—Ash would love to punish anyone who broke it. If that’s the case, we might as well go back to the Crowne. It’s closing in on one in the morning and we’re wasting time.
“Not much. Her sister got her the job here, and her boyfriend is one of the bouncers. That’s it. Come on, maybe Nathalie heard something,” Quinn says. My feet are killing me and I limp back to the main room, Quinn’s fingers tangled with mine so she doesn’t lose me again. Nathalie’s still there, the second pitcher of Cosmos almost gone.
She looks over at us, her eyes bright. “Hey, I’ve been waiting for you to get back here. A friend of mine overheard some shit, and she’s willing to tell us what she knows about what’s going to happen tomorrow night. We have to hurry before she changes her mind. Let’s go.”
Excitement sparks through me. We hoped we’d learn something from Nathalie’s connections at the club.
She lays two one hundred dollar bills on the table. The waitress must be one of Nathalie’s friends, too, because the Cosmos weren’t worth that much.
Every man in a twenty-foot radius watches her slide elegantly off her chair, and we follow as she weaves around the tables to a door behind the bar. The bartender’s too busy filling drink orders to pay any attention to us.
“Her name’s Donna,” Nathalie says, her heels clicking against the white tile. “She’s putting a lot on the line to help us.”
This is where Quinn and I should have looked. Nathalie’s leading us to the administrative offices where the books are kept and business deals are done. I would have gotten more poking around back here than trying to find a dancer to talk to, but I also would have stuck out like blood on Nathalie’s dress. It’s obvious we don’t belong, especially at this time of night, though we’re not alone in the corridor. A club like this is staffed twenty-four hours a day.
She stops at an unmarked door and raps her knuckles against it.
Donna must do paperwork for Ladies and Gentlemen, or she’s one of Ash’s secretaries. In the years I worked for Ash, I never heard of her. Maybe he turns over his office staff as often as his other girls.
The door swings open, and the room is pitch black inside.
I hesitate, and Quinn waits behind me.
“It’s okay. She’s just being careful. You know what Ash will do to her if he finds out she’s a snitch,” Nathalie says, nudging my shoulder.
Tentatively, I step into the room, and Quinn’s so close to me her breasts brush my back.
The door slams shut, and we’re left in complete darkness.
For a moment, I think we’re alone in the room, but a hand clamps over my mouth and nose stifling a scream. I can’t breathe.
I struggle against the man holding me, grappling at his arm, and I feel Quinn doing the same. Whoever grabbed her better watch out. She fights harder and dirtier than me.
Heavy hands fumble at my breasts, and I kick at whoever’s trying to touch me. “Cool it,” he growls. “I got my own woman.” He pulls the camera disk off my dress, and I hear the plastic snap into pieces. There’s a second snap near my ear, and Nathalie mutters, “Thank God that’s over.”
The lights flicker on, and I blink against the sudden glare. One of the burly bouncers who guarded the club’s front doors holds me tightly against his chest, his arm wrapped around my stomach. He loosens his hand that’s covering my mouth, and gratefully, I attempt to drag in a breath.
“Hello, Stella.”
Quinn still fights next to me, yelling obscenities beneath Spike’s hand. No wonder the bouncers let us into the club. Nathalie had this planned all along.
Ash stands behind a desk wearing an expensive black suit. His dark red tie matches Quinn’s dress. “I knew you weren’t dead,” he continues, “but after this, you’ll wish you were.”
Nathalie digs her cell phone out of her purse and connects a call. Zane immediately answers, and she says, “We’re okay. There’s nothing to worry about.” His low voice rumbles through her phone, but I can’t hear what he says. “Yes, we’re fine. Mel doesn’t have to freak out. My source got scared and bailed, and we took the cameras off. There’s nothing else to see. We were invited to a party and won’t need them.”
I try to scream, but Ash’s goon tightens his hand pressed over my mouth, and I sound like I’m humming. Zane will never hear it. Slowly, my mind catches up with what my heart already knew—Nathalie and Ash have been working together from the beginning. She’s never been on our side. She’s been playing Zane, leading him on, letting him think she was helping us, when really, she’s been faithful to Ash this whole time.
Zane says something and Nathalie responds, “No, but we’re hoping at the party...” She pauses, listening, and then says, “I’ll take care of her, Zane. I know how much you love her.” She disconnects the call.
Spike’s friend loosens his grip again but doesn’t release me.
We’re in deep shit, and I swallow hard. Zane has no idea Nathalie’s a traitor, and now he thinks we’re off to a party. I’ll be dead before he thinks something’s wrong.
“You look good as a redhead,” Ash says, stepping across the office toward me. He brushes a finger down my cheek, and I flinch. “I should have had my guy aim at your head, but I didn’t like the thought of brains all over the fucking sidewalk . I do have more class than that, no matter what you might think of me. I didn’t consider a bulletproof vest. You almost got me, but I’m not stupid. I checked the morgue, and the body that had your name on it was not you. I might not have bothered, but had you really been dead, oh, I know Zane, Stella. We’ve been friends our whole lives, and no matter what he said, I know he never stopped loving you. He would have given you the biggest goddamned memorial service money can buy. When he didn’t, I knew he still had you in flesh and blood.”
The bouncer drops his hand, and I ask, “What are you going to do with us?”
“You want answers, I’ll give you answers. Since you’re so interested in what happens to the fucking strippers and girls who no longer pad my bank accounts, I’ll show you, because Stella, you have certainly overstayed your welcome in King’s Crossing. You’re going to disappear once and for all and if I can make an extra buck, that will be a bonus. Get rid of their purses and cells and bring them out back.”
Ash’s thug rubs me down, searching for a purse or a pocket in my dress where I could put a phone. I didn’t carry a purse or my cell—Quinn stored both of our IDs in hers. Spike snaps the strap, yanking it off her, and she howls in outrage and pain.
My heels snag the carpet as I try to fight off the bouncer pushing me out the door.
Behind me, Spike yells, “Fuck!” and I know Quinn paid him back for hurting her, but then there’s a slap and she cries out again.
Tears flood my eyes. I’ve put her through so much, and I have no doubt Ash is going to kill us. We baited him for too long, and he’s ready to take me out, personally and permanently. Not only to get rid of me, but he wants Zane to suffer. He really does know Zane.
Nathalie follows us down the corridor, her heels clicking on the tile. I wonder how Ash will reward her. A cut of Black Enterprises? Her own strip club? A coveted place in his prostitution service? She loved the role she played as a high-class escort and hated Zane for taking it away from her.
The bouncer yanks my arms behind my back, turns sideways, and using his shoulder, pushes the back door of the club open. We step into a paved lot where the cars that belong to the staff are parked between bright white lines that glitter in the bluish security lights.
Near a clean, green dumpster, a black industrial van idles, the windows tinted so dark I can’t see inside, and two men dressed in black tactical gear jump out of the backseat.
“We’re going to the docks,” Ash barks. “My shipment is finally complete and ready to go.”
The bouncer shoves me into the back of the cargo van, and the rough carpeting scratches my cheek. Spike pushes Quinn in next to me and slams the doors shut. Scanning the inside through the dark, I sit up, bracing myself against the wall. We’re the only ones in here.
The van lurches over a pothole or the curb, and my head hits the side.
Quinn scoots next to me and wraps her arms around me. “I never trusted that bitch.”
I try to laugh, but it squeaks out as a whimper instead. I trusted Nathalie, and so did Zane. He’s going to hate himself for that. He already hated he had to spend time with her instead of me. He’ll be furious when he learns she was using him for information and it was all a waste.
“What’s going to happen to us?” I ask.
“I don’t know, sweetie. There’s no way to let Mel or Zane know what’s going on, either. We’re fucked.”
I wanted her to reassure me, not confirm my worst fears, and my throat constricts. Now isn’t the time to lose control, but I’m so tired of this goddamned mess.
“What do you think he meant by his shipment’s ready?”
“Could be anything, Stell. Guns, drugs.”
That definitely sounds like Ash.
We’re on the road for what seems like a long time, and the only clue we arrive is the long, low song of a foghorn. The scent of dirty water and dead fish permeates the air, and my stomach twists.
I never gave Zane a proper goodbye. I was too worried about smearing my lipstick. I should have attacked him, showed him how much I love him. Now I’ll never get the chance.
At least I can die knowing we saved Zarah. I hope her doctor will successfully wean her off the drugs and she can live a normal life. Maybe with Max. I’m glad that even though Richard Denton isn’t going to work at Maddox Industries again, he and Zane repaired their relationship. Denton could be a fatherly presence in Zane’s life. He’s going to need people around him to get through this. It breaks my heart to think he’ll go off the deep end like he did when he thought I betrayed him.
My death will be much harder on him.
The van rumbles to a stop, and Quinn squeezes my hand.
“Don’t do anything dumb,” I beg her. “Don’t be stupid and think you’re going to die for me or some crazy shit.”
“You give me too much credit,” she says, resting her forehead against my temple, “but if you go, I go, too.”
I pull away and grab her chin, my gaze boring into hers through the dark. “No. You need to be there for Zane. If Ash kills me, you have to try your fucking hardest to get away. Promise me. You saw how he was when he thought Paulo shot me. Take care of him, please.”
She sighs, but she’s not given time to answer me. The back doors fling open and a bright light shines in our faces.
“Them, too?” a gruff voice asks.
“Didn’t I say so?” Ash says, stepping into view. “I want them gone.”
“All right, all right. You get more for lookers like this—”
“I know what they go for, idiot. I don’t have time to negotiate. I just want them out of my face, permanently this time.”
“Where they’re going, no one’s gonna see them, ever again.”
“That’s what I’m counting on.”
The two who threw us into the van jump in, and using zip ties, secure our hands behind our backs. The plastic cuts into my skin. Quinn gets in a good kick to Spike’s ribs, but he backhands her, and moaning, she sags to the carpet.
He dumps her body on the ground.
The one assigned to me presses his boot against my lower back and pushes me out. My heels catch in the crushed rock and my ankle turns, but I can’t reach out to steady myself. Ash grabs my arm, keeping me from falling on my face, and he jerks me toward a huge ship.
I’ve watched the cargo ships floating by on the Renegade as I passed time on the Crowne’s rooftop. From so high, they looked like toys, little ships that could bob in the bathtub. Up close, they’re enormous, and this one, like the others I’ve seen on the river, is full of metal shipping boxes.
Ash sighs. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she? She’ll be porting in Thailand, India, Pakistan. Then moving on to Saudi Arabia. She’s carrying half a billion dollars, and you are a part of it. A small part, but what someone will pay for you is only a fraction of the satisfaction I’ll feel knowing Zane can’t have you ever again.”
We stand near the stern of the ship, the river water lapping at the embankment. The shipyard is brightly lit, and other cargo ships wait to either take freight on board or be relieved of it. There isn’t anyone around except Ash and his goons until a sleek car parks near the van and Nathalie and a woman I don’t recognize climb out of the backseat. The woman’s pretty, wearing a sharp blazer and skirt that look out of place in the dirty shipyard in the middle of the night. Silently, she gingerly picks her way across the crushed rock in heels similar to mine. Ash wraps his arm around her and hugs her close, his lips brushing her cheek in what looks to be real affection. I don’t know who she is or why she’s supporting him, and even though I didn’t need it, it’s just more proof that what Ash said he felt for Zarah had been a lie.
“I told you I’d come through. You wouldn’t have gotten this far if it wasn’t for me,” Nathalie says, and preening, she sidles closer to Ash, proud of her duplicity.
Nodding in acknowledgement, he says, “You did better than I thought you would. Nora and I needed you, and you stepped up. I’ll reward you just as I promised.”
He jerks his head at Spike, and the bouncer steps away from Quinn and yanks Nathalie’s arms behind her. The thug guarding me secures a zip tie around her wrists, and her mouth drops open in shock, her gaze shooting between Ash and the woman he called Nora.
She blinks back tears. “You told me if I helped you, you would give me everything I want.”
“You did, and I appreciate it.” He lifts the corner of his mouth in a half smile. “You were instrumental in convincing Zane I fell for his stupid little story. Dinner at Luna Blanc, the engagement party. He thought he had me. The proposal was a nice touch. I hope he insured the ring.”
Ash looks at me, his eyes boring into mine, and pressing his hand to Nathalie’s chest, he pushes her over the embankment.
Her scream and the splash as she hits the water sends tremors through my body, and I sink to the ground, the rock biting into my knees. I throw up, and my stomach heaves as it purges my horror. My muscles and tendons burn against the restraints.
“For goodness’ sake,” Nora says, looking over the side and into the water. “Ash.”
He laughs. “What? You said keep it simple, and I am. The fewer bitches and snitches the better. I brought you on board and I’m listening to your advice. Don’t pretend you give a shit.” He turns to me, steps closer, and drops to his haunches. “You can’t tell me you cared about that whore. You know for the five years you worked for me, she worked for Zane in his bed? Fucking him. Sucking his cock dry. You don’t care she’s dead. Because by now she is.”
“You didn’t have to kill her,” I rasp, my throat so tight I can barely force the words out. Vomit sticks to my skin but I can’t wipe my face.
He pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket and cleans my lips and chin. His motions are gentle, but there’s nothing gentle in his words. “I’m tired of loose ends. You’ve been up my ass for the past two months, and I’m fucking sick of it. Get them on the ship,” he snaps at Spike, standing, smoothing the wrinkles in his pants and pocketing the handkerchief.
The bouncer drags me to my feet, and Spike does the same to Quinn. She bumps into me in a show of support. She can’t hug me, and God, by now we both know if we say anything, Ash will crack.
A narrow and wobbly metal gangway leads up to the ship’s deck, and the bouncer whose name I still don’t know shoves me up the steps. My heel snags, and I stumble, my knee catching my fall, shooting pain up and down my leg.
“Hurry up,” he growls.
I look over the railing, and the ground looms at me. If I were to fall over, I might not die, but the crushed rock wouldn’t ensure a soft landing. My ankle already throbs.
We finally reach the top of the stairs.
The containers create a maze, and we weave around them, the tight aisles pitch black. They’re piled on top of each other, and anyone searching these will need days to look into them all.
Quinn and I are so fucked. There’s no chance anyone will rescue us. I doubt Nathalie would’ve had an attack of conscience, but Zane can’t look for her now and pry any information out of her. He’ll think she didn’t want to be involved anymore and ran away. She never kept it a secret she resented him and the part he forced her to play in our plan. He thought paying her off would be enough in exchange, but she had bigger aspirations. Greed killed her.
She’d been a fool to trust Ash.
We stop near a dull green container sitting near the edge of the deck. A rusty ladder is fastened to the side, and Spike pushes Quinn toward it. She’s doesn’t fight him, her puffy cheek evidence of a lesson learned, and she sets her foot on the bottom rung. It will be difficult to use the ladder without the use of our hands.
Realizing this too, Ash swears. “Fuck. Cut them free. They aren’t going anywhere. If they try, snap their necks and push them over the side.”
The bouncer behind me cuts the zip tie binding my wrists, but he’s rough and careless and slices my skin in the process. I shake out my arms, and my hands tingle as the circulation rushes into my fingers.
A white, rectangular structure full of windows towers in the middle of the ship’s deck, and it emits one lone orange light that glows over us. The tall stacks hide us from shore, and feeling scared and alone and missing Zane so much my heart cracks, I try not to cry. I could call out for help, but no one is around to hear me. It would earn me a slap, or worse, Ash would do what he threatened and shoot me and throw me overboard. So far, the bouncers haven’t pulled out their weapons, but they aren’t shy, their holsters in plain sight.
I clamp my mouth shut.
Spike cuts Quinn loose. She flicks a glance at me over her shoulder and begins to climb, her dress tangling between her legs. He follows her, his muscles bulging as he grasps the ladder’s rungs.
Ash steps close to me, and I swear his eyes soften, just for a second. That, or the moonlight is playing tricks on me. He cups my cheek in his palm. His skin is smooth and warm.
“I can understand what Zane sees in you, Stella. Strength.” He slides the glasses I forgot I was wearing off my face and tosses them aside. They skid across the deck. “Beauty. Intelligence. If I were any other man, I might have fallen for your charms myself. But I don’t buy used cars.” He turns to the bouncer waiting to shove me up the ladder. “Hurry the fuck up. I want to go home. I need a drink.”
“You’ll never be the kind of man Zane is,” I say, tempting Fate, wanting to get in the last word. “He’s compassionate and cares about people. Your father tried to be like Kagan, but he couldn’t. It’s why he killed Kagan and Lark. Out of jealousy. The Blacks will never live up to the reputation of the Maddox family.”
Ash’s lips quirk. “Then luckily for me, I don’t want to.” He juts his chin at the goon standing behind me, and the bouncer pushes my back. It’s my turn.
Craning my neck, I search for Quinn and Spike, but I don’t see them.
The ladder attached to the container is sturdy under my feet. When I reach the end and climb on top, the bouncer heaves himself next to me.
Quinn’s gone, but Spike’s waiting. It’s then I notice the open hatch. The asshole doesn’t give me a chance to prepare for the drop, and he pushes me through the container’s access.
The fall feels like it lasts forever and a split second at the same time. I slam to the bottom of the container, and a snap echoes through my brain as pain shoots up my arm so sharply I can’t help but cry.
Quinn gathers me in her arms and rocks back and forth. “Shh,” she whispers, pressing her cheek to the top of my head and trying to comfort me. The pain is too much, the situation too much. Her reassurances don’t do any good, and I sob into her shoulder. I’m so tired of hurting, so tired of fighting in a war I can’t win.
We’re trapped in a storage container on a ship that will carry us to wherever Ash can sell us. It could be months before the ship ports. We could die of sickness, of dehydration or starvation, before we reach our destination. If we’re lucky.
“Stella,” Quinn says, her voice urgent.
I lift my head. A light shines in the corner, and at least fifty pairs of eyes stare mournfully through the weak light. “Jesus Christ,” I murmur.
This is how Ash turns over his girls.
He sells them.