4. Emerson
Emerson
I hated these parties.
Men and women dressed to the nines.
Fake, lying bastards, the whole lot of them.
Even in their finest, with jewels dripping off the women, and money flying out of the men’s pockets, it couldn’t disguise the stink.
It was so foul they couldn’t wash it off in a hundred lifetimes. It clung to them like a second skin.
Women smiled. Men leered.
Greed.
Gluttony.
Hunger.
The room was so thick with it I could barely breathe.
Jefferson was in a foul mood. I assumed his meeting this morning hadn’t gone well.
Not that I gave two shits about his disposition but I did care about the reasons behind it.
I was so close to ending this sham I could taste it.
I knew he had a fresh stable of girls. I needed to get to them before they were moved.
Once they were on their way to Caracas, I’d lose them .
I prayed nothing had happened to the girls. The last time he did one of his inspections he was dissatisfied and had ordered the stable back to the sellers and called off the purchase. I needed Jefferson to finalize the buy, so I could be done with him.
“There you are,” Jefferson sneered and roughly yanked me to him. “Don’t wander off again.”
Irritation simmered to the surface and I had to fight not to rip my arm from his.
Come on, Emerson, you can do this .
“I’m sorry, my love. I went in search of the management. The bar was out of Beluga.”
I smiled sweetly as if I really cared the bar hadn’t stocked his favorite vodka.
“Come on, it’s time to go.”
My stomach clenched and my step faltered.
“What’s wrong with you?” Jefferson snarled and tugged my arm harder.
“I’m sorry, my heel caught,” I lied.
“Well, learn how to walk. We’re already late.”
Fucking dick.
“Sorry,” I mumbled and obediently kept my stride in perfect sync with his.
Over the last eight months I’d thought a lot about how I was going to end Jefferson’s life.
He wasn’t going to be one of the men I played and allowed to walk away physically unharmed at the end.
The men I simply needed information from, the ones that were low-level scumbags I worked over then disappeared.
But Jefferson Baldwin wasn’t low-level.
He wasn’t even one of the mid-level assholes that followed orders.
Jefferson was the boss, the one who gave the orders.
I’d have to be careful—he had full-time bodyguards that were always around. The only time they didn’t have eyes on him was when we were locked in our hotel suite. But that didn’t mean they were off duty. They’d be perched at every exit waiting to protect their boss with their lives.
The tuxedoed valet opened the door for me, and before I could thank the young man, Jefferson shoved me in.
The door slammed and the driver took off.
“Is everything okay?” I softened my tone, pretending I gave a fuck about his criminal empire.
“No.”
“What can I do to help?”
“Nothing. I just need you to stay by my side at the event. I have a meeting with someone important. I don’t want to be worried about you wandering around getting yourself into trouble.”
“Okay,” I cooed.
I’d gladly sit by his side during a meeting. The last place I wanted to be was in the open warehouse where the dog fights took place. It was too much to watch.
“I’m serious, Emerson. These men are street thugs. Disgusting pigs that wouldn’t think twice about hurting you. Do. Not. Leave. My. Side.”
Hello.
Pot meet kettle.
I knew all about disgusting pigs who didn’t think twice about hurting women or animals.
I was sitting right next to one, pretending I was a love-struck idiot who was so stupid I didn’t understand what was going on around me.
The charade had to end tonight. I’d wait until he confirmed the girls were on his yacht, then I’d end him.
It was time.
Beyond time.
I couldn’t stand to be in his presence any longer .
The town car rolled to a stop in front of a large warehouse, and in a moment of weakness, not wanting to witness the horrors that would be inside, I thought about lying and saying I was too tired to stay.
It was coming up on midnight; it would be a plausible excuse.
But I needed to see who Jefferson was meeting with.
My car door was opened and Jefferson nudged me to get out.
My heel dug into the dirt and I vaguely thought about how pissed I was the four-inch heel of my Gianvito Rossi Crystal-fringed sandal was now two inches into filth.
I was thinking this because I couldn’t get them dirty, I’d be selling the thirteen-hundred-dollar pair of shoes as soon as I could.
I’d probably only get a thousand for them but I need all the money I could squirrel away until I found my next mark.
Jefferson immediately started speaking to his head of security, asking if Mr. Brown was already inside.
Carlos confirmed he was, and the hostess was taking care of him.
The thought made me want to puke. The hostess would be a young local girl whose sole job would be to make sure Mr. Brown had everything he wanted. And I do mean—everything.
Disgusting prick.
I adjusted my balance, keeping most of my weight on the balls of my feet so my next payday wouldn’t be ruined with scraped-up heels.
Jefferson continued to pepper Carlos with questions, the conversation turned to the girls who had not yet been moved to his yacht because he wasn’t sure if he would accept the stable. They were too old for his taste.
Which meant they were mostly teenagers.
Bitterness stirred and memories started to take over. But before they could fully immerse, Jefferson tugged my arm making me stumble in front of him. He held me so tight, I could feel the buttons of his suit jacket denting the bare skin of my back .
I knew it annoyed him I always chose backless dresses that showed off my tattoo. But it was the one thing that made me feel better. No matter where I was, who I was with, or what I was doing, Thaddeus’ name was on display.
My touchstone.
My moral compass in the murky water I now lived in.
The reminder that life can change in the blink of an eye and there is nothing you can do to stop it.
I couldn’t see his name. I didn’t need to; I could feel each letter as if they had been singed onto my soul.
“What’s—”
My question was cut off when I saw the green dots bouncing. One on Carlos and when I looked down, one aimed on my heart.
I was right. There was nothing gentlemanly about Jefferson Baldwin. He was using me as a human shield.
So there I was, secure in the knowledge I’d been correct about the shitbird all along and I was going to die in his arms, him using me as protection.
The laser continued to shift around my chest then it disappeared.
Before I could figure out where the dot had gone, I heard a snap as something whizzed by my ear and I fell to the dirt.
Landing mostly on top of Jefferson, I wasn’t sure what was going on but I knew I needed to run before whoever was shooting at us took aim again. A split-second later, Carlos collapsed, his head colliding with mine.
With birds chirping and bells ringing in my head, I pushed at Carlos with all my might. Warm, sticky blood oozed from his wound, dripping onto my cheek and into my mouth.
Oh, God.
Oh, holy fuck.
I was going to vomit.
Carlos was yanked off my prone body and tossed aside like he was nothing more than a child’s toy and I was snatched off the ground by a black-masked man. Two strong arms went around my waist and as I was jerked up, I lost it.
And by lost it, I mean, I lost the contents of my stomach.
The taste of Carlos’ blood mixed with vomit, and my gut revolted again. The man’s grip on me didn’t loosen when I tried to turn my head to spew. The result was, in one word, messy.
I tried shoving against the man’s chest, however, my hands practically bounced off the solid wall of muscle, and the two steel bands that were the man’s arms tightened.
Why wasn’t I screaming my head off? Because I didn’t want Jefferson’s guards shooting at the man holding me. I had a better chance of escaping if my body wasn’t riddled with holes.
A car door opened and I was literally thrown into the back seat. I didn’t waste any time and quickly scrambled to the other side, opening that door so I could get out and run. A second masked man filled the open space and I moved back to the middle.
Fuck.
Think, Emerson, think.
I couldn’t let them get me to where they were taking me. Men kidnapped women in this country for one reason and one reason only—to sell them.
Both men climbed in, sandwiching me between them, and fear threatened to take over.
They were huge. Covered head to toe in black, both had rifles balancing in front of them, and they had on military-style vests, complete with a bunch of shit strapped to the front.
I scanned the objects fastened to the webbing, trying to negotiate a weapon.
Before I could complete my search, the front doors of the SUV were opened, slammed closed, the back hatch of the SUV was opened and shut, then the driver sped away at a speed that whipped my head back.
Shit.
I went back to looking for anything I could use to get myself out of my current predicament, when the man ripped his black mask off.
My world spun.
No, my universe tipped upside down as Thaddeus Bench’s deep brown eyes took me in. I understood the look he was giving me. I’d hidden that same look every time my gaze had landed on Jefferson Baldwin.
Revulsion and hatred, clear as day.
“What the fuck?” he exploded.
I was shocked into silence. Even if I wanted to speak, I couldn’t.
The first words he’d spoken to me in over ten years were spat at me in disgust.
“Motherfucker.” He slammed his palm into the back of the seat in front of him, causing the man who had the unfortunate luck to be sitting in it to turn his head and look over his shoulder.
“Calm. The. Fuck. Down,” the man demanded.
“Christ,” the driver growled. “Someone better explain who the fuck the girl is and why she’s in this car.”
“Garcia’s woman,” Thaddeus answered.
“I’m—”
“Shut it, Emerson.”
Well, with a little help from Thad’s dickish command, I seemed to have found my voice.
“Don’t you dare tell me to shut up, Thaddeus. I don’t know what the fuck is going on but I do know you and your friends just screwed me over. So you mind telling me where you’re taking me? ”
“ We screwed you over? Are you fucking kidding me with that bullshit?”
“Never mind. I don’t want an explanation,” the driver weirdly said. “But I am asking for a goddamned raise. Totally get Z’s perpetual bad mood. Swear to all things holy, this woman fucks up my op, it’s your ass, Bench. You snatched her, she’s your responsibility.”
I had no idea what the driver was talking about, who or what a Z was, or why he thought I was Thad’s responsibility.
And I didn’t care.
The fear I’d felt had morphed into anger.
I’d spent eight months working Jefferson Baldwin. Eight damn months and I had nothing to show for it.
Not a single damn thing.
“You can let me out here.”
No one said a word. No one even acknowledged I’d spoken.
Shit.