27. Scars Ripped Open
-Jade-
After Jamie leaves me full of his cum, I’m laying in bed, catching up on some trash TV, when my phone starts ringing. I feel around my bed for it. Where the fuck are you, stupid phone? I finally find it and see its Spade. Do I let it ring out, or do I answer it? I’m a bitch, so I put it down. Fuck him. It starts ringing again. Something must be wrong. I press the green button and answer.
“Hello Reid, what can I do for you?” I say in a sickly-sweet tone.
“Jade, I need you to meet me at the warehouse. It’s an emergency.” He says panic-stricken, which isn’t like him at all.
“What’s going on?”
“Just please, I’ll explain when you get there, but please hurry. I know you hate me, but this isn’t about me or us right now.”
“Alright, send me the address, and I’ll come now,” I sigh.
“Thank you, BabyGirl,” he breathes.
“Don’t start sweet-talking me, playboy.” I chuckle. He clears his throat.
“I sent the address; I’ll see you soon.” He blurts and then hangs up.
What the fuck could be going on now?
It takes about thirty minutes to get to Brimstone, considering his warehouse is right on the borderline of Brimstone and Blackstone Heights on the opposite side of Whitestone Lake; that’s how big it is. Pulling up, I see bikes parked and an opened U-Haul truck. This building looks so fucking run down and out of place. A barbed wire fence surrounds the property, and it’s too dark to see how deep the property line goes. I get out of my G-wagon and head for the front door. I ring the bell, and I’m immediately buzzed in. I pull the door open to–Is that crying children? ?I walk deeper into the warehouse, which is in pristine shape, considering what the outside looks like. This place is enormous. Someone grabs my arm, pulling my attention back to why the fuck I am here.
“Jade, Thank God! We need your help,” Ophelia says, out of breath.
“Where’s Reid? What the fuck is going on?” I ask. She leads me deeper into the warehouse. I see Bianca on the floor playing a game with a few kids. From what I gather, there’s at least twenty young kids and ten possible teenagers. Where the fuck did they all come from? Ophelia hands me a little boy with black hair and chocolate brown eyes. He’s so freaking cute. I give him a little tickle, and the biggest smile spreads across his face. Jesus, why does he look so fucking familiar? I do it again, and he giggles.
“O, how old are these kids? I need answers; I’m so fucking confused.”
“Their ages range. The teenagers have been a big help, but Reid will have the answers you seek. It’s not my place considering who the shipment came from.” She quips.
“Shipment? You mean these are trafficked kids? What the fuck?” I gape.
“I thought you knew about this? Didn’t Reid explain over the phone?” She asks, her brows narrowing with confusion.
“No, he just told me it was an emergency. Where is the fucker?”
“Go down straight back, make a left, and his office is the last door on the right.” She points towards the double doors in the back. I look at the little boy still in my arms,
“Do you want him, or should I take him with me? When was the last time he was fed?”
“Your guess is as good as mine, we are getting a care package for supplies. They need baths, clothes, and food. I’m assuming that’s what Reid is doing back there.” She nods her head in the direction I need to go. I take “little man” with me. He swirls my hair in his fingers, trying to eat it. I follow O’s directions and I come to the door and stop. I see a beautiful little blonde girl sitting on Spade’s lap. Her little head rested against his chest. I step in the doorway, and he looks over to me, eyes widening as he looks at me and the baby, then back up at me. I see a smile pull at his lips. Huh?
“So, Reid, you want to tell me what the hell is going on?” I raise a brow at him and sit on the couch in front of his desk.
“Well, Fallon, I got a call tonight for a shipment to intercept. It’s always been women, never once has it ever been children. Which makes me wonder about a lot of things, but we will get to that later. This shipment was from the Pierces,” he states.
“Wow, so not only are they into trafficking women, but they are also stealing kids and trafficking them too? Do we know who the shipment was being sold too? Was there any paperwork? Cell phones, anything?”
“Nothing; cell phones were all burners. Not a single trace of any names or connections, whoever the buyer is, is going to be fucking mad.”
“Wait, you and the others are the ones who intercepted the shipment a few months back?”
“Yes, we were setting up D’mitri to take the fall, which worked with the Triads but not with the Pierces. Nothing ever came from that. If you think about it, it’s been very quiet,” he speculates, tapping his tattooed fingers on the desk. The little one in his arms starts to stir. She picks her head up off his chest, and her big, bright eyes connect with mine. She hops off his lap and makes her way over to me. She climbs up onto my lap, placing her little hand on my scarred cheek.
“Tá tú go hálainn,” she says, my eyes widening at her words. I grab her little hand and squeeze it.
“Mar sin an bhfuil tú cailín deas,” I whisper, and she smiles.
“Is this what you needed me for?” I raise a brow at Spade.
“Yes, I knew the language sounded familiar. Then it clicked: I needed you—she needed you.” He whispers.
“We need to find their families. How can we help them for the time being? Do you have a plan yet?” I ask, holding both kids tight in my arms. This is a surreal feeling, and as much as I am pissed at Spade and the others, I can’t walk away from these kids.
“I’ve got people working on getting beds and the essentials for everyone. I called a catering company to feed everyone, but we will need more supplies in order to provide for the toddlers. I have to call The Brotherhood and see what they say. This is a shitshow, and I’m out of my element when it comes to kids.”
“Well, whatever you need, just say the word. Do you want me to call Flynn and see about missing kids in Ireland? This little one is an Irish native, she must belong to someone. ‘Little man’ over here, I’m not sure where he’s from, but he looks so familiar, and I cannot for the life of me put my finger on it.” Spade gets up and rounds the desk. He crouches down in front of me and places his forehead against mine.
“Thank you for coming, I know I don’t deserve it, but thank you. For what it’s worth, they look good on your hips.” He smirks.
“I’m doing it for them,” I turn my head, kissing both children’s foreheads.
“I’m sorry, Babygirl,” he whispers so low I swear I imagined the words. Our eyes connect, and my chest tightens. He starts to lean in, and I look away, staring down at the little blonde beauty who fell asleep on me.
“Let’s get them settled, then figure out what to do next.” He nods and takes a step back.
“Her name is Harper, by the way.” He divulges with a sad smile.
“Good to know. Can you take her so I can get up?” I smile at him. He takes her from my arms, and she starts to cry. He holds her tighter, whispering sweet words into her ear as she settles.
“She really likes you,” I breathe. Spade puts his hand out, and I take it; he pulls me up gently, careful not to wake the little boy sleeping in my arms. He places his hand on my cheek. I try to pull away, but he doesn’t let me. He caresses my scar.
“You’re still as gorgeous as ever, Babygirl.” He gently kisses my lips. I spin away and get out of there as tears spill from my eyes. Why does he always have to be so emotional? Everything with Spade is heavy. He shouldn’t forgive me. He should have killed me for what I did, but maybe because of tonight’s events and being in this little bubble with these children, it made us—I don’t know.
“Jade, stop running from me.” He calls out. I spin, walking straight for him.
“I’m not running, but we cannot hash this out right now.” I whisper-yell, holding the tiny head to my chest, covering his ears, hoping not to wake him.
“Stay with me tonight?” He grabs my hand, and I let him. Of course, I let him. My brain, as always, is telling me to stay the fuck away; but my heart is yearning for his touch, for his obsessive love.
“We will see how the night goes.” He nods, and we both head out where everyone else is.
Getting an obscene number of blow-up mattresses, blankets, and pillows takes a few hours. The snowstorm is approaching fast, so we need to be prepared here with these kids or find their parents immediately. Spade already placed a call to his people, and it seems that while many of these kids are in the database, a few aren’t. Harper and Little Man are not in the databases, so I’m unsure what we will do with them now. I’m exhausted and decided to stay the night with Spade. Between Harper and Little Man, they both haven’t left our sides, and I couldn’t bring myself to leave them either. Spade has a few bedrooms here, so we are staying in his with the kids. Ophelia got a “pack-n-play,” and we set it up for the baby. Harper wanted to stay with him, so we put them both in the pack-n-play to let them sleep together. It must be a comfort thing. I know they are not siblings; they look nothing alike, and she told me he is not her brother. Spade gave me one of his shirts to sleep in. As I climb into bed, he comes out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel. Jesus fucking Christ. This man is built like a god. He walks over to the closet and gives me his back. I gasp, seeing the scars I caused. I place my hand over my mouth; his back is mutilated, and they look fresh. Does he keep reopening them? I climb out of bed. I don’t know what I’m doing, but before he can turn around, I wrap my arms around his waist and kiss his wounds.
“I’m so sorry, Spade. I’m so fucking sorry.” I continue to kiss his flesh. His body sags and I’m not sure what that means. He hasn’t touched me yet. I just keep kissing him, wishing somehow, I could take everything back. I know I can’t. Why is this so hard?
He turns in my embrace and cups my face. He bends down and kisses me softly, backing us up until my knees hit the bed. I fall onto the bed but sit up. I look up into his steel gray eyes, and he gets on his knees before me and smirks. He turns around between my legs and hands me a bottle of cream.
“Rub this on the scars,” is all he says. I take the bottle, squeeze some on my hands, and rub them over his muddled skin.
I’m so fucking sorry.