Ten
FANG
“We’ve managed to get in touch with your sister,” Marty, our steel-balled sheriff, tells Nandi. “I would have rather you’d presented to emergency last night to get your head injury checked than come here, but we can take you for assessment now.”
“I’m fine,” she says, a hint of frustration in her tone. “Thanks.”
He huffs, clearly annoyed with being challenged in his evaluation of the situation.
The guy showed up shortly after dawn, swiftly followed by an army of colleagues as though we were an unruly mob in need of control.
The women were reluctant to give up much more than their names at first, but when Mila’s mother could be heard sobbing down the line of the deputy’s phone across the room, they willingly handed over their trust to the Temperance Sheriff’s Department.
Names, places, and methods of control. They detailed it all.
And with every story they told, the muscles between my shoulder blades grew tighter, my teeth gritted harder.
I’m not naive. Far from it. Grew up in this world and believed things that the average Joe would balk at were normal before I could even talk.
Speaking of which…
The Kid still won’t utter a word. The women say that’s all they’ve called the child since she joined their group, labeling her with the blatant wrongness of it all in place of her name.
I can’t stop looking at her, thinking that in a few years that could be Molly if we don’t get this shit shut down.
Apparently, there’s another person, too—Eleanor—who the keepers took prior to us arriving at the house. I didn’t miss the way Freckles’ face tightened, lips rolling together, when they mentioned her absence. Told of how she gave herself up to protect the child.
Nor did I miss how Freckles’ shoulders curled inward, gaze averted, when they spoke of the dead woman who left the blood on the floor—Mary-Beth. Interesting. Maybe they knew each other.
Maybe it’s darker than that.
“Are you sure there isn’t anyone you’d like us to contact?” Marty asks Darla, the bitey brunette, again.
She shakes her head. “I’m sure.”
“We’ll organize financial assistance for you once the case is charged, but I need to stress that if we don’t have a forward contact address or number for you, we cannot offer any protection or assistance should these men find you again.”
“I’m aware.” She seems as though the idea of disappearing from the face of the earth is the only thing she has left to hold on to.
I shift my weight to my other foot, changing how my ankles are crossed where I stand at the front of the room, back against the wall. Less than four hours of sleep does not a happy Fang make.
Freckles flicks her gaze my way, expression blank, before returning to her surveillance of Kathy.
Her trauma-sister stands shadowed by our Road Captain, Circus. The scary motherfucker would make most people cross the room to put adequate distance between themselves and him, but she seems to find comfort in his twisted presence.
A fact we learned when Jinx’s woman, Kyra, freaked out this morning after discovering them in the spare room together.
Whatever the lady needs, I say.
My gaze finds Freckles again—or should I say Jenna, as revealed during initial interviews—seated on a footstool near the smoldering fire while she listens to everything Marty has to say.
Hands cloaked in the sleeves of my knitted sweater—the same one I wore last night—she rubs the tip of her index finger across her parted lips.
Her dark hair holds a natural wave, with a pixie-like line of earrings on display from how she has her hair tucked.
I trace the slight indent to her cheek, the light bruise highlighting her cheekbone.
What did she do to warrant that? Was it bravery or stupidity that got her assaulted? Does it even matter when either way it’s wrong?
“Will they know where we are now?” Mila, the frail one, asks. “How to find us?”
Marty straightens in his seat, chest puffing out. “It’s likely they saw the club’s patch last night. But my department will ensure that they don’t have any connection to you again.”
“How?” I ask, curious how this motherfucker thinks he can stop an intricate web of career criminals with a handful of deputies and an ego the size of Texas.
He sets a scathing glare on me. “We’ll assist the women with the transition back into everyday life via Victim Services. With the information they’ve given us, I’m confident we can shut the operation down within a reasonable timeframe.”
“Bold words,” Chaos says, drawing Marty’s attention his way. “You do realize that the Devil’s Breed have run this operation in some form or another for the past three decades. That plenty of men before us have tried to do the same and failed.”
“That was their error, not mine,” Marty grits through a stiff jaw.
I catch a couple of the girls exchanging looks with one another, tension in the room palpable. Marty’s biggest flaw has always been his ego, and it’s apparent they’re catching on pretty darn quick to that.
Jenna stares at the scuffed floorboards before her, hands fisted inside the knit and pressed to her mouth. She was restless in her sleep, legs pedaling beneath the sheets, rolling from side to side. When I asked her about it after she woke, she denied it, telling me I must have been mistaken.
I know nightmares when I see them. Had a father who’d tell me I was talking shit when I’d ask about his, too. Pretty sure I understand now why he had them.
“Once again,” Marty says, rising to his feet, “I want to thank you, ladies, for your time today. I know this has been exceptionally hard on you, but it’s important to record as much as we can while your memories are fresh so that we can bring these people to justice.
” He flicks a pointed stare Chaos’ way before looking back to the women—a warning to back off.
“We also need to acknowledge that a suspicious death occurred in your time held there. I’ll require you all to be available should I have more questions related to that until the case is solved. ”
“Do you think you’ll find them?” Darla asks. “The men who kept us captive?”
Marty presses his lips together before answering.
“I don’t make promises until I’m one hundred and ten percent sure I can deliver on them.
But I will promise I’ll do all I can. We have the complication of them not being directly associated with the Devil’s Breed to overcome, but I’m certain once we find who they are associated with, it won’t be long. ”
“We gave you their names, though. A full description,” Darla says.
He nods. “Indeed you did. But in most of these instances, they don’t use legal names while in earshot of the victims to protect their identity.”
She looks away, muttering something indecipherable under her breath.
“What protection will you give the women who return home?” Jenna asks. “If Nandi’s sister is in Illinois, and Mila’s mom is in Nebraska, then how can you be so sure you can protect them? Isn’t that outside your jurisdiction?”
Marty bristles, hooking his thumbs over his utility belt. “You’re right: it is outside my jurisdiction. But there’s this little thing called an interstate liaison that keeps us informed. Engaged.” The man keeps a tight rein on his anger yet does a fucking terrible job of hiding his dislike of her.
I straighten, pushing off the wall.
“You didn’t really answer my question,” Jenna presses. “How can you protect them?”
The room falls silent, all eyes on the sheriff for his response. “We’ll liaise with their local PD,” Marty explains with a stiff jaw. “Have someone check in on them at regular intervals until we’re sure they’re no longer in harm’s way.”
“And when exactly is that?” Jenna’s eyes narrow on the man. Seems a lack of sleep has made her particularly prickly.
“When we decide it is,” Marty retorts, over-enunciating each word.
She doesn’t know the man as we do, but she reads him well, zipping her lip in response to his heated tone. I relax a little when it becomes obvious their standoff has passed, folding my arms.
These women have been manipulated, abused, and traumatized.
All they want is to go home with a reassurance they don’t need to spend their lives checking over a shoulder.
Jenna’s question was fair, given the circumstances, but at some stage it won’t be the law’s problem anymore—Marty wasn’t wrong either.
Hell, it’s barely ours.
Five women and a child—and at the end of it all we’ll still have two and The Kid hanging round our halls.
Not a bad percentage, but if this becomes the norm, we’ll collect transients with every raid until the clubhouse becomes a damn rehabilitation center.
Fuck, I don’t deny the women what they need, but I also don’t think Chaos has fully thought it through.
We don’t have the resources. The knowledge or the experience.
I glance toward my president and find him in a wide stance, his arms folded high, a nonchalant stare pinned on Marty.
He hates the guy with a passion, but he’ll never let the sheriff have the power over him by showing it.
He’d rather antagonize the bear by baiting him with quick wit and smartass retorts every time they cross paths.
The sheriff gathers his notebook and then indicates to Chaos he’d like a private word with a swift jerk of his head toward the foyer.
Child Services remain with The Kid, separated from the others at the dining table while they run through the necessary protocol.
Marty’s Chief Deputy, Keller Frees, keeps watch in the corner of the parlor while their Peace Officer, Maisie, goes over the next steps with the women again to be sure everyone understands what is happening.
Medical evaluations. Psych evaluations. Victim support meetings.
Escaping was only half the battle.