Chapter Seven #2
He was in there. Behind enemy lines. Surrounded by men who would bury him in the dirt the moment they caught a whiff of who he really was.
Ezra’s chest tightened. Not with fear exactly—but with something deeper. He hadn’t just fallen for Ricky. He’d trusted him. Given him something Ezra didn’t give anyone—the right to worry. The right to matter.
So, he didn’t cheer like the others.
But when Ricky’s voice came back on the line again, “Confirming patrol pattern. Holding position. She’s not alone.” Ezra smiled.
Because he was still in the fight.
And Ezra would make damn sure he got out of it.
****
Children’s laughter floated through the compound on the breeze like birdsong.
A few of the freight crew passed by with crates, laughing in a low, bored way.
A man with a clipboard barked orders near the intake shed.
It all looked, on the surface, like a halfway house for displaced kids.
Maybe even a foster system staging post. Clean. Structured. Controlled.
Too controlled.
Ricky leaned against a metal support pillar beside the outbuilding they’d been told to stage equipment in, wiping faux sweat from his brow and letting his gaze track the movement beyond the courtyard.
Sophia moved through the garden like she’d been programmed.
She smiled when spoken to. Played when told to. Sat quietly when she was alone.
But every step she took was measured. Every glance was cautious. Every twitch of her lips looked rehearsed, like someone had shown her what happy was supposed to look like and made her practice in front of a mirror until she got it right.
The stick she’d been swinging earlier was now tucked into the crook of her elbow like she was afraid it might be taken from her.
And it probably would.
A tall guard with a crooked tooth bent down to speak to her. Ricky couldn’t hear what he said, but the way she flinched at the end of it made his fists clench.
She laughed a second later. Loudly. Too loudly.
Rehearsed.
Ricky pushed off the wall and circled wide, picking up a crate he didn’t need and moving it closer to the perimeter fence, staying within casual range of the conversation. A second guard approached the first, lighting a cigarette with a flick of a zippo and gesturing toward Sophia with his chin.
“She’s nearly ripe,” he said in Albanian, voice too casual.
Ricky stilled—just a hitch of breath, then kept walking, looping closer. The guards barely noticed him. Just another mule in a line of bodies.
“Boss says we ship her out after next week’s buyers,” the other man replied. “She’ll go high. Girl’s got that angel look.”
“Six is too young for me. Eight’s a good age,” the first guard said, puffing on his cigarette. “Enough to fake innocence. Not old enough to fight back.”
Ricky’s stomach turned.
He almost dropped the crate. Almost charged. Almost let the rage detonate.
But he couldn’t. Not yet. Not until Sophia was clear.
He set the box down carefully and turned toward them, putting on a weary, curious expression. “What’s the girl’s story?” he asked in rough Albanian, nodding toward Sophia.
One of the guards shrugged. “Some nobody’s kid. Picked up in Kosovo or Turkey or hell knows where. Smart, though. Learns fast. Pretty.”
He grinned like it was a compliment. Ricky forced a smile and walked away before he started swinging.
He turned into a storage corridor and spoke, shielding his mouth with his hand like he was scratching his jaw.
“Bateman, come in.”
Bateman’s voice came through clear. “Go ahead.”
“This place is a pipeline,” Ricky said quietly. “They’re grooming kids. I just got confirmation—Sophia’s being prepped for sale. Age six, highest bidder. There’s probably more. This is a front for child sex trafficking.”
Silence. Then—
“Copy. Understood. Adjusting extraction strategy. Stand by.”
Good. Ricky didn’t want to sneak out anymore.
He wanted to burn it all to the fucking ground.
Later.
First—he needed to talk to the girl.
He waited until the guards rotated off—until Sophia was left alone by the shaded patch of grass where she sat with a coloring book and a single broken crayon.
He crouched nearby, acting like he was checking the valve on a water drum.
“Hey,” he said, low and soft.
She didn’t look up.
“Hey,” he said again, shifting to show his face. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
Now she looked up at him. Warily.
“I know your name,” Ricky said. “Sophia, right?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Who told you that?”
“Your daddy.”
Her shoulders tensed. “I don’t have a daddy.”
“You do,” Ricky said gently. “His name was Van. He was a good man. He loved you very much.”
She blinked.
“And you’ve got an uncle,” Ricky added. “Actually, six of them. All big, loud, pain-in-the-ass types who’d go to war to bring you home.”
“Uncles?”
He smiled. “Yeah. Including me. I’m your Uncle Ricky.”
Something flickered in her face—confusion, then suspicion, then something like wonder.
“You came here for me?” God, the hope in her voice almost dropped him to his knees, and he could tell from the curse through his comms that his team heard it, too.
“Yeah, sweetheart. We all did.” He had to fight to keep the rage that was boiling within him from his tone. The last thing that wee girl needed was to be frightened by the man who was trying to convince her he meant no harm.
She stared at him for a long time. “Why now?”
Ricky’s throat tightened. “Because we didn’t know where you were. But now we do. And we are not leaving without you.”
Sophia glanced over her shoulder. Then back at him. “They said if I ran again, they’d make me disappear.”
“You won’t have to run away,” Ricky said. “When I say a secret word—something only we know—you come to me. You don’t look back. Just run straight to me, okay? And I will make sure they can’t get to you.”
“What’s the word?”
He thought for a moment. Then said, “Miracle.”
Her mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. But almost.
“I can remember that,” she whispered.
“Good. You’re smart, just like your dad.”
She glanced away, but this time, she didn’t flinch.
“Be ready,” Ricky said, standing slowly. “It could be anytime.”
She nodded.
And Ricky turned, walking away without looking back.
He had work to do. A compound to torch. A miracle to deliver.