Chapter 1 Brooks
Brooks
The van goes skidding around the corner, tires squealing and metal grinding like we’re in the midst of a car chase, someone hot on our tail and about to catch us.
The truth is somewhat different, of course.
We aren’t in a car chase and no one is racing after us. The only people who might have come after us are another van, and they’re probably just as tied up as I am.
No, we’re not running from anyone, because this isn’t a chase. It’s a kidnapping.
And I’m getting really fucking tired of being in this situation.
The van hits another turn at that point–what are they doing, turning on every street they come across?
–and Lucien and I go flying to the other side of the van, where we hit the wall with matching thuds.
Lucien comes down first, then rolls to get underneath me–presumably to try to break my fall and protect me.
News flash: It doesn’t work.
Falling hurts just as badly when someone is underneath you. Even worse when your head hits theirs in the process.
“Ouch!” I hiss. “Lucien, stay out of my way!”
He looks at me like I’ve just insulted his mother, the hurt and betrayal so strong on his face that for a moment, I almost laugh.
God it’s fun to piss him off.
But this is also not the time, because we’ve just been kidnapped and we’re in a load of trouble right now.
Actually, scratch that. I’ve been in trouble since I got to New Orleans a week ago, intent on finding Sloane’s cousin Aislyn, who’s also been kidnapped by unknown entities.
Sloane herself has hired me to find the girl, but I’d do it for free if she asked.
First because Sloane is my best friend and I would flat out die for her if it meant saving her one moment of trouble.
Second because all signs point to Aislyn having been thrown into a sex trafficking ring, and no one deserves what happens to the girls and boys in those situations.
Sold to men who want to use them for the most despicable things, or worse, to those houses where they’re given to a different man every night, to be used again and again.
Against their wills.
Regardless of how sick or broken they might be.
The moment Duca told me he thought traffickers might be involved, my commitment to the case increased. Because no one deserves that fate, and I wasn’t going to let Sloane’s cousin fall to it.
When Lucien showed up and told me he thought he might know what was going on, I managed to get over the fact that he was making demands I had no intention of satisfying and follow him back to the Big Easy. Because I wanted to find the people responsible for this and stop them.
Kill them if I could.
Since then...
Well, things haven’t exactly gone like I planned. I’ve been kidnapped, nearly sold, betrayed, and almost killed more times than I can count. I’ve found friends in the ring I didn’t expect and I’ve failed at saving the girls I was supposed to save.
Partially because my father showed up when I was in the middle of my mission and kidnapped me again. Along with Lucien and several of his men.
I bite my lip at that, as a strong and very intense memory comes of the moment my father found us, and I can feel the flush rising up my neck and into my face. We might have been in the middle of a mission to save the girls, but I’d been hurt and had taken shelter, and when Lucien found me...
Well, we weren’t exactly bothering with anyone else when my father walked in.
“Are you blushing?” a voice hisses in my ear. “I didn’t even think that was possible.”
I jerk out of the memory and find the man in question staring up at me looking far more pleased than he should, and wonder momentarily if he knows what I was thinking about.
He’s told me more than once that I can’t keep secrets and that my face shows everything I’m thinking, and if he’s looking at me assuming he know what’s in my head, and that it warrants the smirk he’s now wearing. ..
He wouldn’t be wrong.
And that makes me even angrier.
“Can you be serious for more than half a second?” I snap. “We’re kind of in a bad situation here. It’s not time for jokes.”
He gives me his best side eye, damn him, then moves quickly to shift us into sitting positions.
Another quick adjustment and our backs are to the driver and the men in the seats of the van.
And that’s as much privacy as we’re going to get, considering we’re tied up in the back of a van that belongs to my father.
On our way to some unknown destination.
I’ve been in a lot of bad positions, but this might be one of the worst. I don’t trust my father with anything–haven’t since I was ten and my mother went out of her way to get me away from him, then insisted on sending me back to visit once a year–and I trust him even less now.
I got to New Orleans, coming home like some fucking prodigal son, and almost immediately discovered that the trafficking ring that had taken Aislyn was indeed centered in NOLA.
And that my father was involved.
I’d found him trafficking girls when I was thirteen, but had put it behind me when I moved to New York permanently. Being back in that world now, and realizing that it’s so much worse than I realized...
Girls snatched off the street every day.
Held in underground distribution centers where they’re abused and ‘tested’ for how worthy they are.
Sold at auction to men they’ve known in their day-to-day lives and forced to serves as slaves. Or worse, sold to the international market. Put on ships and sent away from the city where they grew up.
And my father is involved. I don’t know what his position is or how much control he has, but the fact that he’s taking part in this makes me want to kill someone. Preferably him.
“Right,” I say at the thought, my brain suddenly deciding it’s time to get down to business. “What the fuck are we going to do about this?”
Lucien leans in, his body warm and reassuring, and I have to fight the urge to press myself up against him.
I’ve known this man since I was twelve and he’s saved me more times than I can count.
When I started visiting the city after my mother escaped to New York, Lucien was one of the only solid friends I had here.
If I called, he came for me, and never complained or made me feel bad about it.
If I needed a friend, he was the one I went to.
At one point, I was going to call this man husband.
Now...
Now we’re not in a position to even think about that.
When I look up at him, though, knowing that my heart is in my eyes, full of unspoken fear and insecurity, he’s looking at me with such tenderness, such concern, that I actually catch my breath.
He puts a hand up to my cheek and brushes it softly, his fingertips rough with wear but so warm, so gentle, that I catch my breath.
For a moment, the world around us fades away and all I can see is Lucien Boudreaux, all sharp lines and dark shadows, his lips too lush for someone so crafty, his cheeks too dimpled for someone so corrupt.
God, I want to slow down for long enough to actually talk to this man. Hear what he has to say about the world around us. His plans for the future. Whether he still likes raspberry pie more than anything else in the world.
But at that moment, the world jerks sideways again and the van around us screams in agony.
A crunching, grinding presence slides down the side of the van on my side and Lucien yanks me away as the van crumples, the metal screeching with pain.
We roll to the other wall and tuck in around the wheel well, Lucien’s arms around me and his larger body moving to shield me from the shattering glass.
I don’t know what’s happened, but I suspect someone else has hit the van–though I don’t know whether they’ve done it on purpose or on accident.
The driver has been swerving and steering like a drunk, and there’s every chance that he ran a red light and just got hit.
My brain is screaming, though, that it might be something else. Kate and Camille are still out there, and though some of Lucien’s men were taken at the port in the battle with my father, surely he still has men free.
Maybe they’ve found us. Maybe they’ve come for us and figured out how to get us back.
My heart is jumping at the thought, pounding against my ribs like it’s trying to fight its way out of my body, and my mind is flying with hope.
If our friends have found us, they might get us out of this alive and take us back to Lucien’s before my father can do anything about it.
He’s not in this van with us, and if they kill his men, he’ll never know.
I’m moving before we come to a shuddering stop, spinning up onto my knees as I get ready for whatever’s coming. I don’t have any weapons on me–my father took those when he found us–but those idiots handcuffed my hands in front of my body, and that leaves me quite capable of breaking out of here.
If there’s no one left to shoot me.
“Lucien!” I shout, shuffling for the back doors of the van.
“Right behind you,” he says, his voice far closer than I’d expected.
I realize suddenly that I can actually feel him against me, his warmth seeping through the back of my shirt, and for a moment, I let myself believe that everything might be okay.
Lucien and I have never met an enemy we couldn’t take down together, and if we’re given the chance to escape, we’ll snatch at it with both hands.
When the back doors fly open and I see Luke Boudreaux, Lucien’s younger cousin, I nearly cry with relief. Oh God, Luke is here.
Luke is here.
We’re saved. They’re going to get us out and take us home, where we’ll have time to sit and plot our revenge. Figure out how to take my father down and get those girls back. Get them to safety.
We’re going to be okay.
I barely finish the thought before Luke’s giving me one look that stretches for what feels like years, his eyes so sad that I actually draw back.
Then he’s reaching right past me, grabbing Lucien’s shoulders, and yanking.
Lucien is a big man but Luke is bigger, and Lucien goes flying past me, pulled out of the van so quickly that my mind is several steps behind.
By the time I realize what’s happening, he’s gone and the doors are slamming behind him.
And I’m screaming in both rage and fear, because not only did Luke just leave me here, he also took my best friend with him, out that door and into the night beyond, like this was all a coordinated attack.
Outside, gunfire breaks out and people are shouting in both Creole and Italian–strange–as well as a language I don’t recognize.
It’s guttural and terrifying, as if they’ve been possessed by demons, and it’s painted against the backdrop of gunfire, in colors I don’t understand, which makes it even more frightening.
What the fuck is going on here? Why did they take Lucien? Who has him? Luke was there, but why would he leave me behind? Why did they crash into this van and then break in, but leave me here by myself?
I drop to all fours and start scrambling for the doors, suddenly realizing that my father’s men are distracted.
They’re busy shooting at whoever’s outside, and though I don’t love the idea of running out into the middle of a gunfight without so much as a shield, it’s better than staying in here by myself.
I’ll deal with Luke and whoever else decided to leave me behind later. Right now, all I need is my freedom.
I reach the doors and grab at the handles, trying desperately to get them open, but they’re stuck, like someone has locked them from the outside.
Did Luke fucking lock me in here?
I upgrade my level of hatred for him by several notches and whirl, thinking that I’ll try the side door to the van, but freeze when I realize I’m no longer alone.
Andre Landry, my father’s right-hand man, has appeared out of nowhere, his eyes as cold and dead as ever and his mouth twisted into a terrible sort of smile that makes me me think I’m in even more trouble than I realized.
He cocks his head like he’s considering how to kill me, then shakes it slowly, and my heart drops into my stomach.
I know that head shake. It’s the way he always greeted me when I was in trouble with my father and about to be punished.
I start to scramble backward, desperate to get away, but I’m not quick enough.
He grabs my arm, slaps another handcuff on my wrist, and then attaches the other to a loop set into the van’s wall.
I glance down, wondering who the hell has loops set into the walls of a van and handcuffs on hand, but don’t get the chance to ask.
Because he puts a hood down over my head, slides something quickly around my neck, and then hits me.
And as the darkness comes spiraling in, taking my conscious away from me, I have two quick and brutal thoughts.
One, I don’t know if I’m going to live through the night, because I’ve just been deserted by my only ally.
And even if I do survive, I don’t know how I’m ever going to get free.