Chapter 21 Brooks
Brooks
I get to the top of the main floor and through the door with several thoughts in my mind.
First, I need to figure out what I’m going to do an dhow the fuck to do it.
Because this just got a whole lot more complicated than I’d expected.
I thought things were bad with hundreds of girls in need of rescuing, and hundreds more across the globe to find.
A father to stop and a trafficking ring to undermine.
But I didn’t have a fucking clue. Because now I also have a girl being kept on her own in the basement, for a rainy day–whatever that means–and my own brother guarding her like his life depends on it.
In a room equipped with cameras, which is going to make it a lot harder to get them both out of there.
And yet I have to.
Because I have to get out of here before someone figures out what I’ve been doing, and I’m not leaving without my brother or Corinne.
Until I figure out what I’m going to do, I have to play good daughter who’s following the rules, even when I want to slit my father’s throat.
When I look up, ready to run to my room and find some space to think, I realize that I’m in even more trouble than I realized.
Because everyone who was in the garden is now in the foyer, and they’re all staring at me. Probably because I just came running out of the servant’s stairwell like someone is after me with a knife.
Or like I just discovered prisoners in the basement.
I stop so suddenly that Simon should run into me, but he doesn’t, and when I glance over my shoulder I realize he’s disappeared like smoke in the fucking wind.
Honestly, I’m not even surprised by that.
The man is an outlaw and a low-level crook.
He’s the least trustworthy person I’ve ever met.
Aside from my own father–who, now that I’m looking, isn’t standing with everyone else.
I see Samantha and a bunch of his guards, but no Dominick Landry, and I don’t know whether that’s a good thing or a bad one.
I don’t exactly want him to see me coming out of a set of stairs I’m not supposed to be using. But he seems to have an almost manic need to support me, lately, and that’s come in handy on more than one occasion. Particularly when I run into people who don’t like me.
Like Samantha Duhon.
She looks me up and down now like she’s disappointed in everything about me, and I stretch myself up, seeking strength in the fact that I’m at least a foot taller than her.
“Samantha,” I say smoothly. “I didn’t realize you were here.”
“I’m always here,” she replies, her voice just as smooth. “Your father actually called me to the mansion. He wants us to coordinate your first collection experience. Says he’d like you to choose the target personally.”
Choose the target personally.
Awesome. That’s exactly what I want to do: Go out there and choose a girl to kidnap. Having Samantha there will make it even more fun. I bet she’s a ball of laughs on road trips.
“Of course,” I say. “When shall we start? I’m rather busy tonight, but perhaps tomorrow.”
I see the shock cross her face at my words, and have to stifle my smile. She thought I’d back down or let her dictate when we were going out, but she doesn’t know me.
Obviously she doesn’t realize that I never back down from anyone.
She collects herself quickly, schooling her expression to something more stern, and nods once. “I’ll be here at 9 sharp.”
She turns on one tall heel and marches toward the door, the men following her, and I nearly sag with relief.
Christ, I hate that girl. One of the best things about leaving my father’s house behind is going to be getting rid of her.
In the meantime, though, I have planning to do.
I want the quiet of my bedroom and a pad of paper, so I can start writing down everything I know.
I’m tempted to take the servant’s staircase upward, but head instead for the main stairs, thinking the house is now empty and safe.
I’m caught off-guard when I hear the shouts coming from my father’s office.
Moments ago, the space was quiet, but now someone is screaming in a language I don’t understand.
Though I do recognize it.
I’d recognize those harsh consonants anywhere.
Russian.
The voice is deep and booming, harsh and commanding, and my flesh crawls at the sound of it as though my body knows he means dangers.
I can’t understand a word he’s saying but it doesn’t matter.
My nervous system recognizes danger when it hears it, and the man doing the screaming is furious about something.
When he switches to English, I learn why.
“A breach in security!” he shouts. “How the fuck could you be so stupid? No guards on the warehouse! No cameras! You didn’t even have security on the inside! Hundreds of thousands of dollars, down the drain! And the girls here, don’t get me started on the girls in your basement!”
“I cannot have cameras, I’ve told you that!” my father shouts back. “The risks of having something like this on camera–”
“So you have no proof of anything!” the Russian shouts, his voice drowning out my father’s. “You have nothing to tell you what’s happening to these girls!”
I creep closer to the door, though it’s not necessary. I’d be able to hear them if I was anywhere in the vicinity, and don’t need to be close. There’s an alcove near my father’s door, though, and I want to get close enough to hide if anyone shows up.
I might be the second-in-command here, but people might still frown if they found me listening at doors.
By the time I get closer, my father is shouting at the Russian again, and honestly I’m shocked at how brave he is.
That man doesn’t sound like he takes kindly to disrespect, and though I don’t know what their agreement is, I suspect it includes the Russian having the money and power while my father handles the day-to-day operations.
I also secretly agree with the Russian. It’s incredibly irresponsible of my father to not have some security on the warehouses. I understand his point about the video proof of girls being trafficked, but given the danger of the enterprise, it’s crazy not to at least have guards.
Though it certainly made breaking the girls out easier.
I nearly smile at that, but freeze when the Russian continues.
“We’ve invested millions, Dominick. Millions! And you lose it as though it’s nothing. Do you want Vladimir to get involved? He will be here within days if you don’t tighten your organization. You have a mole, a breach in security, and if we have to handle it ourselves, it will go badly for you.”
“Handle it yourselves?” Dom screams. “This is my operation! This is my house! I’m in charge of the daily operations, and you know it! We have a contract that says as much, and Vladimir would never–”
His words end in a scuffle and a strangled yelp, and something thuds against the wall, directly next to my own head.
I jump back and hit a rack of umbrellas next to me, and they clatter to the ground, making so much noise I’m sure even the neighbors could hear it.
I turn and tense to run, convinced that my father and his Russian friend must have heard, but they’re having some sort of physical fight in there now, and the bangs and grunts must have distracted them.
I pause, torn between running and waiting to hear more of what’s going on, because this is exactly what I’ve been waiting to hear.
Vladimir must be the man in charge of the money, and therefore my father’s rich partner, and though I don’t know what we can do with that information, if I can get it to Lucien. ..
I wait a moment too long. The door opens so suddenly that I freeze and the Russian is standing there, his broad back to me and his voice still carrying loudly across the room. He finishes what he’s being saying and turns before I can run.
The moment he sees me, I know I’m in trouble.
“The spying little bitch,” he snarls, grabbing at me like I’m nothing more than a cockroach. “She is not the girl you think she is, you fool.”
Fuck.
There’s no way to misunderstand those words. He knows I”m a plant. Somehow, he knows that I’m spying on them.
Maybe because I’m standing outside the door literally listening to their conversation.
Or maybe because he’s seen all the things my father has been refusing to acknowledge.
I jerk against his hands, trying to get away, but it’s already too late. He slams me against the wall, wraps his fingers around my throat, and starts to squeeze.