Chapter 19 Brooks
Brooks
It’s official. I can’t leave here without all these girls in tow.
Even if I just met these ones.
Because Kate and I have now been separated from the group of girls I took the last couple of days getting to know.
Gone is the blond who cries all the time and the one other redhead in the group, who looked like she might be willing to join in on any plan I came up with.
Gone are the brunettes who all look so much the same, and the lone girl from Atlanta, who missed her sister so much she cried for her every night.
I worked for endless hours getting to know those girls and trying to bring them some comfort, and now they’re all gone.
Worst of all, I don’t know what that means.
When Kate and I were moved, the other girls were being ‘tested’ for how sellable they were.
I glance across the memory of what that included—because no matter what they say, I’m a coward sometimes—and start trying to figure out what that means.
Were they taken right to a ship, to be sent out to other cities? Are they still sitting in that room being put through their paces?
Are they still alive?
I think they must be. This organization wouldn’t go to all the trouble and expense of kidnapping so many girls just to kill them.
It wouldn’t make sense, and from what I’ve seen and heard, it would go against their standard MO.
I still don’t know what their goals are, but I’ve talked to enough of the girls to know they always follow the same pattern.
They kidnap a certain number of girls any given week, and at the end of the week, they get rid of those girls.
This mean there’s a constantly revolving cast in any holding room, which I suppose makes it harder for girls to build alliances and plan for an escape.
By the time they realize they need to escape, they’ve already been drugged and beaten up and have one foot out the door.
Trying to plan anything has to be even harder for girls who aren’t used to doing things for themselves in the first place.
And then I came along and disrupted everything. I’ve gotten to know some of the girls and have, against all the odds, found an old ally amongst the group. Together, we’ve been making some noise and I’ve even picked up some additional information.
Which is exactly how we find ourselves here, in a new building with a new group of girls.
I glance around, taking stock, and find that these ones are exactly the same as the others.
Perhaps a little more worn around the edges, like they’ve been in the ring longer.
Or maybe they’ve been hired out for a little extra cash.
They look more tired, their skin paler, to the point that I wonder if they’re sick.
And God, they’re all so young.
The older part of me harps on that for a long moment. These girls need to go home to their mothers and be taken care of for two months, at least. They need the love and gentle hands of their own families, and instead they’re about to be shipped to shores unknown to become slaves for terrible men.
I want to kill every one of those men with my bare hands. I want to kill the people running this smuggling ring.
But since neither of those things are possible, I’ll settle for getting the girls the fuck out of here. I can come back and kill the men responsible for it after the girls are safe.
I look from them to the apartment around us, trying to figure out where we actually are. This one is a lot like the one we just came from, though: velvet on the walls, gold in the curtains, and lots of chaise lounges lying about the joint. Nothing useful. Nothing that tells me anything.
Except we’re above ground, now, and I can hear the sounds of a city street outside.
Cars on the road and the occasional horse-drawn carriage, which tells me we’re in some sort of tourist neighborhood.
Lots of shouting. Street vendors, though that’s no different than many neighborhoods in the city, so it doesn’t help me much.
Then I hear the sound of a trolley, and I freeze.
There’s a trolley on the street outside, and that means a couple of things. The streetcar lines in the city serve as some of the most popular forms of public transportation, but they require a wire, just like trains require a track, and they can’t exactly go off-roading.
They have to stick to the route they’re given.
I listen closely, trying desperately to shut out the noises from within the room itself. If there’s a trolley and it stops somewhere in this block, I should be able to hear–
“Does this one go out or in?” someone asks from right outside the window.
“Out,” someone else answers.
Out or in. They’re directions, because the trolley travels up and down this street, and if you get on it when it’s going the wrong way, you’ll be stuck for a while before you can get off and look for one going the other way.
Only one line goes out or in.
Canal Street. I’m on Canal Street. The guy at the last place said we were coming here, but I didn’t know if he was lying, or if it was code for something else. But we’re actually here.
We’re actually here.
I almost break into tears, I’m so relieved. It feels as if it’s been years since I knew where I was, and I’m giddy at the thought that right through that window, on the other side of this wall, is a street and neighborhood I know like the back of my hand.
Then I realize that this is the opportunity I’ve been waiting for, and it’s back to business.
I look around the room again and watch the guards for a moment.
They’re talking about the girls and something about bidding, but they haven’t given us any details.
And Kate and I are being left out of the preparation they’re putting the girls through.
Everyone else is dressed in slinky formal gowns, while we’re still in the rough trousers and t-shirts they gave us at the last stop.
I wonder if they’re going to move the rest of the girls–and how long the doors are going to be open when they do.
I wonder if Kate and I can make a run for it.
Though that brings me back around to the thought that I’m not leaving here without those girls.
I skip that and progress with the plan. If I can get out of here and out onto the street, I can check the building for an address and then go find help.
Once I have people on my side, I’ll come back.
Yes, that’s what I’ll do. I might have to leave the girls behind now, but I’ll come back as soon as I find someone to help me break them out.
Who can I go to? Camille’s no good. She may still be in my father’s good graces, but she doesn’t have any power of her own. My brother?
No. I’m not convinced he’s on my side, and a large part of me still believes he might be involved in my father’s activities.
And that leaves...
Lucien.
Who’s the one person who’s always been there when I needed someone, and stepped up to the plate. Damn him.
The problem is, of course, that I don’t know if he’s even still alive or whether he’ll help me this time.
He hasn’t exactly broken down the door searching for me since I was picked up.
Part of me knows it’s unfair to think that, of course, and I’ve been through this one hundred times.
The tracker in the hair tie must have stopped working, and without that, how the hell is he supposed to find me?
We don’t exactly have a way to communicate.
But being angry at him is better than believing he’s dead, and that’s the other option.
What if I can get all the girls out with me? Then I can hide them all and take more time finding someone to help me come back here and take down the men that kidnapped us. And then I don’t have to leave the girls to fend for themselves. I like that plan better.
It’s still not great, and there are a lot of things that could go wrong. I could really use some help.
I could really use a Lucien.
I also haven’t yet found Aislyn. It would have been terrific if she was in this new group, waiting for me, but she’s not here, either.
The fact that I’m now in my second group–maybe third, if you count the girls who were in the first room in the catacombs–makes me think that there are many groups around the city.
Aislyn must be in one of those. Unfortunately, I don’t have addresses for any of their other outposts.
I have to admit that I’m starting to panic. My time is running out, both to find Aislyn and save myself. I have less than twenty-four hours until I think my timeline is up, and once I’m on a ship, I’m not going to have any escape route at all.
I have to get out of here. And I have to do it quickly.
Before I can dwell on that, another man enters the room. Not one of the guards. This one is dressed in some sort of matching shorts-and-shirt outfit that looks like it belongs on a child. The material is bright blue ombre, with a smattering of...
I stare, sure that I must be wrong.
Are those smiley faces?
They are. There are about a million bright yellow smiley faces spread over the blue background. His hair is slicked back, which just emphasizes the fact that he’s going bald, and he’s wearing sunglasses that went out of style twenty years ago.
What. The actual. Fuck.
He stops to speak to a guard and then looks at one of the girls, his expression full of curiosity.
I follow his eyes and see one of the weepy blonds, and my body turns hot with rage.
He’s a buyer. He must be. The way he’s fingering something in his pocket–a stack of cash?
–and staring at the girl like he’s looking at a porn magazine he wants to buy all make it obvious.
I don’t know why they’ve left him alone, but maybe this is how it works?
They come in and pick the one they want, then the next buyer comes in?
I don’t care.
I. Don’t. Care.
He’s not taking any of the girls I consider my wards.
I get up and walk toward him, taking in his height–he must be around 6’3”–and his weight. He’s heavy, with some musculature but more fat, and I’m guessing he’s dense but not nimble on his feet. Strong but not clever.
I don’t know what I’m going to do with him until I do it. I pull up behind him and slip my hand from the middle of his back down to his ass. “You don’t want her,” I whisper in his ear, making my voice low and dusky. “She doesn’t know what she’s doing, yet.”
He turns to me, half a smile on his lips, but frowns when he sees that I’m not dressed or made up like the other girls.
“What are you, the scullery maid?” he snorts. “You’re not on the menu.”
Oh my God I’m going to kill him. My body lights up with fire at his words and I barely manage to control my tone when I answer.
“I’m not for sale,” I say with a shrug. “I take care of the men while they’re making their choice.”
I don’t know what it means, but it sounds good, and the man seems to take it in stride. In fact, he suddenly looks a lot more interested in what I might be able to offer him.
“Take care of them?” he asks, his tone suggestive. “How do you do that?”
I lean even closer to him, repressing the need to gag at the body odor wafting off him. “I do whatever they want.”
His grin grows as big as a Cheshire cat, and when I slip my hand into his and lead him away, he comes willingly. I’ve been watching the guards long enough to know the hallway outside the room will be empty right now, and I take the man out there, hoping for a bit of privacy.
He doesn’t take long to flip me around, shove me against the wall, and try to shove his hand down my pants, his fingers sharp and grasping.
I gasp, shocked and disgusted, and shove him backward.
When he trips over his own feet, I take advantage of the movement and jump on his back, then practice my new favorite trick.
It’s called Break a Man’s Neck With Your Bare Hands.
I wrap one hand around his cheek and brace the other on the opposite side of his neck, then jerk, using every ounce of strength in my shoulders and arms. I feel a very satisfying crunch and hear him gasp-slash-groan, and he goes limp, falling out from under me like he’s a sack of potatoes.
I land on my feet and grin down at him, far too pleased at how easy that was. Then I realize that I’m standing in the hall with a dead body while men who think they have the right to sell me are in the next room.
“Stupid,” I mutter.
I grab Blue Ombre Smiley Face Man under the arms and drag him quickly down the hall and around the corner, where I shove him into the first closet I come to. Then I go through his pockets for cash and weapons. He doesn’t have weapons, but he does have a lot of cash.
And something even more important: a key card.
Once I’m done I slam the door on him, wishing him a speedy trip to hell, and run for the room we came from, trying like hell to remember where Kate was when I left.
Because I’ll come back for the girls. But I’m not leaving Kate behind.