Chapter 1
KYLIE
Ispotted him first.
Patrick Carmichael. Head of security for Grant Enterprises. I had formally met him once, and been in countless meetings with him when I worked for the FBI. He was the guy looming in the corner or logging into Zoom calls. Never spoke, but always listened.
He passed through the entrance to the Irish pub; a restaurant tucked into a corner of the casino in the hotel called Quad II.
Scanning for anything out of the ordinary.
He’d yet to spot me. In my notes, I referred to him as the blond one.
Dressed more casually than I’d ever seen him, in a tight black t-shirt and dark jeans.
He was a big man, but not imposing and not intimidating.
He blended into the background. However, the few times I had heard him speak, he commanded attention.
It was a weird mix, but made him good at his job.
From my own research, Patrick met Kyler and Josh in high school. They attended a year at NYU together before Patrick went his own way. Military service followed by a stint in corporate security before showing back up at Grant Enterprises in a top position.
The other brothers, Chandler, Randall, and Tyler, together ran this billion-dollar business. They were all the targets of an off- the -books operation authorized by no one but me.
My mission: infiltrate Grant Enterprises, expose their criminal operation, and free the women in their clutches. I had long suspected why Kyler Grant and his hotels often showed up in analysis reports and after-action briefings in the sex trafficking task force I was appointed to.
Being an FBI analyst was not my dream job.
They recruited me out of college and had all but told them no.
I wasn’t interested in a life in law enforcement.
Then my life changed. My sister, Becca, on a trip to Colombia, went missing.
Vanished off the face of the earth. The local police were no help.
The U.S. embassy had no ideas, and the State Department didn’t seem to care.
I had exhausted every outside lead, even spent a month in Colombia looking for her myself with no luck.
The FBI, with its unlimited access and connections with every other international law enforcement group in the world, was my best bet to find my sister and help other women along the way.
That was five years ago.
A month ago, an FBI raid had rescued Tinley Peterson from a trafficking ring out of Hungary.
They had brought her and several other girls to Paris to servicemen from all over the world in a Quadrangle Hotel.
We were told it was a situation of the right place and the right time; Josh just so happened to be staying at the Paris hotel at the time of Tinley’s escape and the subsequent raid.
After debriefing with her in New York, she accompanied Josh and the rest of the Grant group back to Las Vegas.
Patrick remained.
He and Agent Stanley spent a few days strategizing.
I wasn’t privy to these meetings. I had long suspected Stanley was involved somehow, too.
His targets never ended up captured; they were either killed off or left to continue business under the guise of seeking a bigger fish to fry.
I suspect that’s what Grant and his crew did to maintain their life and freedom.
They pursued their own interests while providing the FBI with sufficient information to eliminate their competition.
Approaching him would have set off all sorts of red flags. No, I took a sneakier approach. Infiltrate in plain sight. Get close with the ones I was determined to protect.
I handed in my resignation with the FBI and waited a month to put my plan into motion.
After hanging out at the hotel for a week, I befriended the staff, who were easily engaged but tight-lipped. Everyone I met loved their job. If the rumors were true, Quadrangle Hotel employees were thoroughly background checked and paid for their discretion.
It wasn’t until I found myself having dinner after a frustrating day of unsuccessful surveillance that I spotted them.
Apparently, Patrick was the front person because three minutes later, Rayna and Tinley arrived.
Five obvious guards, maybe more in the shadows, created a close perimeter around the girls.
It was overkill. Every casino in Vegas was saturated with surveillance; Grant’s own turf would be a fortress.
And if anyone attempted to get to Kyler and his minions on his own turf, they must have a death wish. I did not. I just wanted answers.
Rayna wore a black jumper tied with a white bow around her waist. She wore white knee-high socks decorated with black stripes and finished her look with a pair of black Doc Martins.
She skipped through the entrance, dragging Tinley along.
Tinley wore a simple blue dress with white ruffles at the hem and sleeves.
She wore tennis shoes but still struggled to keep up with her exuberant friend.
They both spoke animatedly, Rayna pointing and whispering as they made their way towards me.
The destination? A spot at the bar across from me.
After a week, I was finally in the same vicinity as them.
Besides the security team standing watch near the entrance, they were alone.
The counter had two wings that protruded from the restaurant facade in a V shape.
A polished mahogany top and antique brass fixtures added to the old-world pub feel.
The big, flat screens mounted overhead showed an old soccer game.
Rayna scrambled onto a stool in the middle and helped her friend onto the seat beside her.
The staff knew them already, pouring their drinks from the tap into clear plastic cups fitted with black lids and a little spout—adult sippy cups.
“Yummy!” Tinley smiled broadly.
“I told you,” Rayna took a sip. “It’s like apple juice with a kick.”
Then Patrick Carmichael returned. His brownish-blond hair was slicked back, but a few pieces fell across his eyes. I could more clearly see how his dark t-shirt strained against his broad chest. He had killer forearms dusted with light blond hair. He stepped up to the bar.
“No, Patrick,” Rayna whined. “You promise to let us have our girl’s night. And last I checked, you are not a girl.”
“I will leave you alone as soon as I remind Elizabeth that you two have a two-drink—”
“Minimum!” Tinley yelled out. Her pale cheeks immediately tinged pink.
Both Rayna and Patrick looked at her with wide eyes. Rayna exploded in a fit of giggles.
“Maximum,” Patrick finished his sentence. “Behave, Tinley.”
She pouted. He bopped her on the nose, which made her grin and giggle.
Pointing to both girls before stepping away from the bar, he sat in a booth with a perfect view.
He took his phone out, but his focus was on Tinley and Rayna.
I bet his phone had a camera feed of the surrounding area. I doubt he was playing Wordle.
My view was perfect, too. Directly across the split bar. A couple of other patrons sat eating and drinking, but none paid any attention to me, or to the girls for that matter. Did the guests know to keep their distance?
From my vantage point, I could just see the top of Patrick’s head, which was a good thing, but a shame too. The light dusting of stubble on his chin made him look relaxed. Another tool to blend in, which I guess was the goal.
“What can I get you?” The bartender was a tall redhead wearing a black Quad II v-neck t-shirt and a matching skirt that hit her mid-thigh.
It twirled when she shifted around to face me.
Her name tag read: Elizabeth. She tossed a cardboard coaster in my direction, labeled with O’Malley’s above a horned bull’s head.
The same logo, created with colorful neon, hung at the point that protruded out into the walkway.
“What are they drinking? They seemed to be enjoying it.” I nodded toward the two women across the bar.
Rayna spoke with her hands, but quietly in Tinley’s ear. Tinley’s brow furrowed in concentration, trying to follow her friend’s rapid-fire words. Were they plotting their own escape? I hoped so. It would make my mission a hell of a lot easier.
“Cider, on tap.” Elizabeth’s nails click-clacked on the beer tap cover with the brand name in red block letters: Mitchells. The eye was dotted with a black-and-red apple with a bite taken out of it.
“Sounds good.”
She poured mine into a frosted mug and set it on the coaster in front of me. Why didn’t I get the sippy cup? I hid my disappointment by taking a sip.
“Are you eating?” Elizabeth held a glossy illustrated menu against her enormous chest. I nodded, and she handed it to me.
“What’s good?” I raised my voice in hopes that the women would chime in or at least acknowledge my existence.
“Everything,” Elizabeth deadpanned. “I’ll be back.”
Tinley and Rayna were still huddled up, but their eyes turned to me, only to avert when I looked their way. Maybe they were thinking of ways to signal me for help.
They both appeared well taken care of.
When Josh brought Tinley in, she was thin and malnourished.
Her bones were visible under her paper-thin skin.
Now her face had filled out, and she had gained some much-needed weight.
She still acquiesced to Rayna’s lead, as internal reports had stated, but she seemed more comfortable and sure of herself.
The things she had experienced were some of the most bizarre and horrific stories I had heard.
They targeted her because of her kink and marketed her as such, which, according to what she told us, may have saved her life.
The men seeking that type of victim took care of them. Not all of them, but some of them.
She survived until the opportunity arose for her to save herself.
When Elizabeth returned, she stopped at the girls’ first
“I know what Rayna wants.” Elizabeth patted Rayna’s hand.
“With extra— “
“Extra ranch. I know.”
Rayna giggled, carefree as a child. “Tinley, what about you?”
“I’m not sure yet,” Tinley said. “I can’t decide between the burger or the chicken sandwich.”
Elizabeth gave her an indulgent smile and a nod.
“You think on it and let me know.” Elizabeth turned. “What about you, hun?”
“I’ll have the chicken sandwich with fries, and hot honey on the side if you have it.” I passed the menu back to her.
“Hot honey.” Tinley perked up. “What’s hot honey?” She had the biggest, bright brown eyes.
“Hot honey is so good. If you like spicy and sweet,” I said.
“Oh, I want that. With the chicken sliders.” Tinley stared at Elizebeth. “Do you have it?”
“If not, we’ll find you some.” Elizabeth smiled at her the way you smile at a child, then glanced over at me and winked.
“They invented a whole new condiment?” Tinley sighed.
“I guess so,” said Rayna. “I’ve heard of it, but nothing could pull me away from my true love.” She covered her heart. “Ranch dressing.”
“Now, I haven’t tried both on a chicken sandwich, but on pizza, hot honey and ranch is like perfection for your tastebuds. They sing,” I said.
“Oh, boy. Now I want pizza.” Rayna frowned and squeezed one of her pigtails. “Patrick.”
“Irish pub tonight.” He stood. “No deviation from the plan, Rayna.”
“Oh, fudge.” She pouted. “Maybe we can send out for a pizza.”
“Instead of eating here?” Tinley frowned and scanned the menu. Like making another decision would be exhausting for her.
“No, just a slice. To taste.” She turned back. “This new concoction must be tested.”
Patrick exhaled in frustration, but there was no heat behind it.
He dialed a number and spoke into his phone.
When he hung up. His gaze shot straight to me, a flicker of recognition tightened the corners of his eyes.
We had been in the same room a little over a month ago.
Besides the more casual attire, I looked the same.
I ignored him, hiding my face behind my pint of cider.
He never acknowledged my presence, but with his background, I knew he had assessed everyone in the room, including me. My appearing here a month later, I hoped, would be enough time to fall within the realm of coincidence.
I mean, I was here on vacation. And, having worked with the Grants, it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that I would choose to stay at their hotel. Me, along with the thousands of other people who had booked a room at the Quadrangle in the last week.
I wanted him to recognize me. It was my opportunity, my way in. He didn’t need to know my true intentions.
All would be revealed once I had enough information to stop him and his boss from collecting women for their own personal harem.
You had to be crazy to go up against the Grants.
Maybe I was, but I was in the perfect position to risk it all.
I had lost my sister and given up my job. I had nothing else to lose.
Patrick Carmichael was going to help me bring down his boss whether he wanted to or not.