Chapter 20 #2
A hesitation. “There’s one other. I hear him sometimes outside, yelling. He doesn’t come in much. Only the first man comes in, but I think the other one might be Mexican or something. He kind of has that accent.”
All right. Two men. Maybe more, but two for sure. Naomi filed the details away, keeping her face blank. She flexed her hands again, the cord grinding over her wrist bones.
She tested her ankles. Tape, not cord. Cheap. Probably the same stuff the hardware store in town stocked by the truckload. She could work with that.
“Have they said what they want from you?”
Angel hesitated, picking at the duct tape around her ankles. “No.”
Nothing else.
Naomi tried again. “Do they talk about money? Ransom?”
Angel shook her head, eyes locked on her socked toes. “I think… sometimes I hear the older one on the phone. Last time he said, ‘Don’t mess up the product, asshole, just keep her quiet.’ Like we’re not even people. Just stuff to move around.”
A bitter taste crawled up Naomi’s throat. “Have they sexually assaulted you?”
It came out too flat, clinical. She hated herself for phrasing it like that, but Angel didn’t flinch.
“No.” Her voice was pinched. “Not yet.”
Said like a girl who expected nothing more from her life. Naomi wanted to wrap her in a blanket and fight anyone who looked at her wrong.
“They’re waiting for somebody,” Angel continued. “And I think they’re scared of whoever’s coming.”
God, they were trafficking women.
The knowledge drilled that pit in her stomach even deeper, hollowing her out.
She wished she were shocked, but she’d suspected it, hadn’t she?
All along, she’d known there was more going on here than a rash of runaways.
She’d even mentioned her suspicions of widespread trafficking through the Bitteroot Valley to her superiors, but they’d brushed her off, same as the sheriff.
The tribal council hadn’t been much better, giving her the equivalent of a there, there pat on the head when she’d voiced her concerns to them.
But now she had proof.
She had witnesses.
If she could free them.
“Angel, look at me.” She waited until the girl’s eyes met hers. “Do you remember how you got here? Did you drive through town? Over a bridge? Through the mountains?”
Angel’s brow furrowed. “I... they put something over my head. A hood, I think. But I could smell the river. We went over train tracks and then drove on a dirt road for a long time.”
Train tracks and the river. That narrowed it down to the east side of the county, but it was still a lot of ground to cover.
Naomi nodded, encouraging. “That’s good. What else?”
“I heard a dog barking. Like, really loud. It sounded big and scary.”
Shit, were there guard dogs here? If so, the poor animals were probably starved mean, and that would make escape even harder.
Naomi looked around, mapping every inch of the stall they were in.
The hay bales. The gate. The mesh wire stretched across the ceiling to keep them from climbing out.
The air stank of old diesel and urine and sweat, but underneath it was the sharp, almost metallic tang of animal blood.
Probably a slaughter barn before it became a prison.
She flexed her wrists again. A little more slack now. If she could pop her left thumb out of joint, she might be able to worm her hand free.
It would hurt like hell, but she’d take pain over helplessness any day.
But before she could shift her weight to work on her bonds, a metallic clink sounded outside—a key in a lock.
She froze, heart hammering. Angel scrambled backward into her corner, knees pulled tight to her chest. Even Tariah seemed to sense the danger, her glazed eyes moving sluggishly toward the door.
Naomi twisted her body, positioning herself so she could at least see whoever entered. The deadbolt slid back with a heavy thunk, and the door swung open, letting in a blast of cold air that raised goosebumps on her skin.
A stocky man stepped inside. Just as Angel had described—broad shoulders, a bit of a gut hanging over his belt buckle, black hair cropped close to his skull.
A bandana hid his face, except his eyes, which were blank as he carried in a tray of food.
She’d seen that stare before on men who’d made too many bad choices and had stopped caring about the cost.
Men like Ghost.
Except that wasn’t entirely fair.
Ghost had never stopped caring. He cared too much, which was why he’d walled everyone out, brick by brick, to keep the world at a distance.
But, with him, there was something alive behind those walls.
She’d glimpsed it when he’d called her late at night, voice raw with a vulnerability he’d never show in daylight.
She’d tasted it in his kiss, felt it in the desperate grip of his hands.
Ghost was nothing like this man, whose eyes were just... empty. There were no walls because there was nothing left inside for this guy to protect.
Without a word, he set the tray down and slid it to the center of the stall with one dirty boot, then turned to leave.
Oh, no. He wasn’t just going to throw food at them like they were livestock and walk away.
“Wait,” Naomi said, the word scraping her dry throat. “I need to talk to you.”
The man paused at the door, shoulders tensed. He didn’t turn around.
“My name is Naomi Lefthand,” she said, keeping her voice level despite the fear clawing at her insides. “I’m a federal agent. People are looking for me right now. If you let us go, I can make sure you get a deal.”
He let out a harsh laugh and glanced back. “You ain’t a fed no more, Rabbit.”
The floor seemed to drop out from under her.
He knew her nickname. Of course, it wasn’t a secret.
Almost everyone on the reservation called her that.
But, still, the fact that he knew it made her skin pickle with unease and her breath stall in her lungs.
The way he said it was personal, like he’d heard it straight from the source—her grandmother or maybe Julius running his mouth at the casino.
Or maybe he’d been watching her long before now.
Naomi forced herself to match his stare, even as cold sweat crawled down her spine.
“You’re making a mistake,” she said. “Let us go. Walk away now, and you can still salvage something. There’s always a deal on the table if you’re smart enough to take it.”
He laughed again, but it wasn’t real laughter—it was cracked, the sound of a man who’d broken something inside himself and just kept going. “You’re not in a position to bargain.”
She tested the paracord, twisting just enough to bite down on the ache in her wrist and keep her expression even.
“That’s where you’re wrong. You’re not the one in control here.
You’re just a delivery service. You take orders.
You’re scared of whoever’s coming to pick us up, aren’t you?
That’s why you keep dosing the girls. You’re scared they’ll get out and make you look incompetent. ”
A flicker of something in his eyes. She’d hit a nerve.
Angel gaped at her, round-eyed. Tariah made a low, animal sound and thrashed weakly against her bonds. The man didn’t react. He waited, arms crossed, letting her dig her own grave.
Fuck it. She’d dig. “I know your type. You sign on thinking it’ll be easy money, but it always, always gets messy.
You start out running errands, but then somebody higher up the food chain gets greedy and you end up with blood on your boots and a target on your back.
And for what? A couple grand and the chance to pretend you’re not just a disposable thug. That sound about right?”
His fist cracked across her cheek. The world stuttered, then went white-hot with pain. Naomi hit the floor hard enough to bite through her own tongue. Blood flooded her mouth, thick and metallic.
He wrapped a hand around her braid and pulled her head up. “Rabbits are only good for one thing. Getting hunted. You’re nothing but prey.”