Chapter 8 Saoirse
SAOIRSE
This unexpected alliance with Bruno might be exactly what I need, although the irony of teaming up with the son of the man I’m investigating isn’t lost on me. I have to be careful with what I tell him because anything I say might be passed on to the man in question.
Bruno is convinced someone is either setting up his father or simply using the family name to get some kind of leverage with the Triad. Keeping me alive surely puts Bruno in hot water with the Triads, but when we meet up a week later in the parking lot of a rest stop, he seems fine.
He walks toward me with his head held high and a cocky swagger that matches the light, amused smile dancing over his lips.
Dressed in dark jeans, a white Henley, and a black leather jacket, anyone would think he’s on his way to something casual like the cinema and not to raid a Chinese Triad address twisted out of the last informant Bruno had communication with.
“Surprised to see you alive,” I say as I push off from where I was resting against the hood of my car. “Didn’t think the Triad were forgiving.”
“I have my ways.” He smirks, but that smile quickly softens. “And by ways, I mean that they think I beat you and manipulated you into working for me to their benefit. Just in case you think I’m about to double-cross you.”
“I’m not worried. I told you what would happen if you did, and I meant it.
” Working with Bruno over these last few short days has been the perfect distraction from everything else.
While Cian tracks down everyone he can from the masquerade, the only thing stopping my mind from spiraling at the thought of my baby is focusing on work.
Doing everything I can to stop another Irish scandal is great for focus, and being around Bruno keeps me alert.
I don’t trust him, no matter how easygoing his sexy smile is now that he’s not trying to kill me.
That mistrust is like an adrenaline shot to the heart, though, and I’m embracing it.
Although that might also be his presence. Now that he’s not actively trying to kill me, he’s infuriatingly charming. As if I need any more trouble in my life.
“Don’t worry.” Bruno chuckles. “I fully expect you to honor that.”
“I will,” I reply nonchalantly. “Have you got the address?”
“Yep. It’s an apartment building a couple of miles from here.”
“And your contact thinks this is where we should look?”
“Well, after a few drinks, he was pretty open about where he’s been doing business and mentioned that a lot of dolls have been passing through there. He called it a halfway house before he passed out in a bowl of nuts.”
“Alright. How do we know this won’t come back to bite you?”
The wind picks up and lifts a few strands of Bruno’s hair into the air. They sweep down across his forehead when the wind passes and as he lifts one arm to push the strands back into his hair, his Henley rides up and a sliver of golden, toned skin winks at me from his waistline.
Fuck.
“I spent a couple of days with him afterward and he didn’t remember a thing. Everyone can handle their drink until I throw in a couple of shots of Sake. Better than any drug, I swear.”
“Alright, I believe you. It’s your neck on the line if we get caught,” I reply, fighting to ignore that perfect, teasing glimpse of skin that remains while Bruno continues to fix his hair.
“And it’s such a pretty neck.” He smirks. “So, your car or mine?”
“Mine.” I turn and walk back toward my vehicle. “I don’t trust you enough to drive.”
“What did he tell you about this place?”
Bruno stands behind me, stretching and casually hiding me from view as I kneel at the front door and carefully slip my lockpicking tools into the lock.
“Between hiccups and slurred words, he just said it was a doll holding house. He didn’t even provide context,” Bruno replies. “So if I didn’t know what dolls were, it would be terribly confusing.”
“And he just slipped you the information because…?”
“Because I’m an absolute charmer.”
I can hear his smirk from here.
“But in all seriousness, he was complaining about how far he has to travel just to check up on shit and mostly doesn’t even bother because no one’s ever here long enough for his absence to be an issue.”
“Sounds like a stand up guy,” I mutter.
A car drives by, making Bruno stand even closer to me, and my concentration wobbles.
Warmth radiates from him like some kind of sauna, and the scent of his slightly spicy yet slightly sweet aftershave mingles in the air.
It’s nice. Like walking through a field of flowers on a warm summer's day. I’m so hyper-aware of his presence that my back prickles with every soft rush of fabric shifting against his skin when he moves, every subtle audible inhale when he breathes, and the ever so slight creak of his leather boots.
It’s almost as if his intense presence is rewiring my brain so that all I can think of is how nice it was in those few moments last week when he was holding me up against the wall.
He’s lucky I didn’t start crying in his arms over the news I’d received at the hospital. I still need to apologize to Evelyn for ditching her like that.
The lock clicks just as my thoughts run away with themselves and the door swings open. “Bingo.”
“A woman of many talents,” Bruno says with what sounds like real admiration in his voice.
“You don’t get out much, do you?” I say, climbing to my feet.
“Prison, remember? This is the most excitement I’ve had in years.”
“And what an upstanding citizen you’re proving to be.” I shoot him a smirk and unholster my gun. “Come on, stay close.”
Bruno pulls out his own weapon, and I want to tease him about the gun I dismantled and trashed last week, but we’re inside now and silence is imperative. There’s no telling what we’ll find.
The hallway is dimly lit by a single light bulb flickering overhead.
Two closed doors line the left wall, while the right only has one just in front of the stairs.
Bruno and I exchange a glance and he moves toward the door on the right.
I take the one on the left. We might be here together, but it’s safer to split apart when we have no idea how the other operates.
One wrong move and we could get each other killed.
Behind my door is a dusty sitting room filled with furniture covered in dust sheets that have yellowed with age.
Threadbare curtains cling to the window, allowing several streaks of moonlight and streetlight to trickle through, painting an array of patterns on the walls.
Peeling wallpaper and a thin, worn carpet add to the sorry state of the room.
I wrinkle my nose against the stale smell of old cat piss that radiates through thick, dusty air.
No one’s been in here for years, it seems.
At the far end, on the other side of a worn sofa with the seating sinking so deep into the floor that the dust sheet has slipped, is another door. This one creaks loudly as I push it open with my gun held high, but the next room is as abandoned as the first.
The kitchen has an oven with the front door missing and a fridge with no door on the top section.
The bottom door hangs at an angle in the darkness.
Several countertops have been ripped out, exposing old piping and wires, and a single table on three legs rests against the far wall under two filthy windows.
Empty.
I drag my tongue over my teeth as footsteps outside the next door send my heart rate skyrocketing, but when I lift my gun to the door, it’s Bruno who sticks his head through.
“Anything?” he whispers.
I shake my head. “You?”
He does the same. “Old bedroom with a hospital bed. Like some oldie lived their last here and been empty ever since.”
Did Bruno’s contact lie? I shouldn’t be surprised. The words of a drunkard are hardly to be trusted, but I was hoping we’d finally make a breakthrough. Either that we’ve come on the wrong day and whatever we’d hope to find simply isn’t here.
Then, the floorboards overhead creak and a sprinkling of dust rains down on both of us.
Our eyes meet.
Tightening my grip on my gun, I follow Bruno out of the kitchen and up the very creaky, very rickety stairs.
Each step is slow and careful as we both try to balance our weight in ways that reduce the creaking of the wooden floorboards.
Luckily, we make it to the top without alerting whoever is up here, but I’m drenched in sweat by the time I join Bruno on the landing.
He shoots me a concerned look, and I wave him off with a roll of my eyes.
The air here is so thick with dust that it’s a wonder he’s not sweating as much as I am.
My heart continues to pound frantically as we approach the only closed door in the entire upstairs hallway.
The other two rooms don’t have a door and we clear them with a quick glance.
Bruno moves to the right side of the door and keeps his weapon close to his chest—whoever is on the other side is in for one hell of a surprise.
Hopefully, they’ll have answers.
I raise my leg and kick hard near the lock, sending the door crashing open with a creak of metal hinges and a splinter of weak wood. The door bounces off the opposite wall and shudders back toward me, so I throw out my hand to block it when we charge into the room.
There’s no threat here. No people with guns ready to fight back, no crates of weapons or misplaced drugs that shouldn’t be here. There’s nothing but six dirty, thin mattresses spread out across the floor. Each one holds a naked woman in various states of consciousness.
Bile rises in my throat at the sharp, acidic stink clinging in the air and the lack of reaction from the women to our presence.
Bruno darts forward immediately and presses his fingers to the throat of an unconscious woman.
The relieved slope of his shoulders tells me what I need to know.
Everyone is filthy and bruised, with messy hair and streaked faces from countless tears.
They’re all drugged, judging from their lack of reaction and the track marks on their arms.
So. These are the dolls.
“Shit,” Bruno says, and he sounds pained as he climbs back to his feet. “I knew and yet… it doesn’t prepare you.”
“No,” I reply stiffly as I glance at each victim in turn. “It really doesn’t.”
It didn't take long to get my people here and each of these women is taken straight to the nearest hospital. One woman in particular, a blonde woman with rose tattoos down one arm, takes a liking to Bruno and latches on to him when he carries her out of the house and into the waiting ambulance. Her frantic distress when he tries to leave her inside only amplifies the pain he can barely keep from his face, so he agrees to ride with her to the hospital. I have my people search the house from top to bottom to make sure no one is left behind, then I follow the last ambulance in my car. Within two hours, the place looks completely untouched. It’s like we were never there.
The doctors have their work cut out in treating the victims, and since none of them are in any fit state to talk, I put them all on my card to ensure they get the best treatment possible. Bruno waits for me out in the parking lot looking as drained as I feel.
“You good?” I ask as I approach.
He rests against the hood of my car, minus his leather jacket.
Last I saw it, he’d placed it around the shoulders of the blonde victim.
His hair has lost a lot of its volume and he reminds me of a sad puppy left outside for too long.
It pulls my heart in a different direction, but when his eyes meet mine, he smiles softly.
“Fine. Seen worse.”
“So have I,” I say, then I scold myself. It’s hardly a competition. “It doesn’t get easier.”
“No.” He sighs deeply and rubs at his eyes.
“I knew, though. I heard them talk about dolls. I heard that guy say it was a holding house so I knew, but I just didn’t expect them all to look so…
” He rubs at his bearded jaw while he searches for words.
Failing, he puffs out his cheeks. “It’s like being aware of something terrible and then really facing it for the first time makes it feel unreal. Like, how can it possibly be real?”
The cocky man with the swagger and smirk has been replaced by a deeply troubled guy struggling to wrap his head around the true dark depravity of what we’re dealing with.
“Focus on the positives,” I say gently. “We saved them. We got them out. They’ll get treatment and…
sadly, it does prove what I feared. There’s human trafficking going on right underneath our noses.
” The Russians made a huge spectacle of cleaning up this kind of filth a few years ago when Anastasia took over.
Is it possible she’s gone back on her word?
Doubtful. She wouldn’t be working with the Triads, that’s for sure.
“Is that a positive?” Bruno fixes me with an earnest look. “Is that really how you see it?”
I shrug as casually as I can. “If I look at it any other way, I risk spiraling down a dark path. We all do fucked up shit in this life, but the moral line of people as product? We don’t cross that line. And someone is. So, we’re going to stop them.”
“We are,” Bruno agrees, although it sounds more like a question than a determined decision.
“Cheer up.” I smirk, elbowing him lightly. “Your hair is getting as flat as your mood.”
“Oh, no!” Both his hands sink into his hair and he tries to ruffle the strands enough to return them to their original voluminous look. “Shit.”
“Don’t tell me the volume was fake?” I gasp. “Our trust is crumbling.”
“It’s true,” he replies with mock sadness. “It’s all mousse and a teasing comb.”
“Old school. I like it.”
“Oldies are the goodies.”
“Fair.”
“Saoirse, let me buy you a drink.”
I stop dead a foot away from my car door. It’s an innocent request and after a night like this, I need one. But is it so innocent when I’ve already entertained that glimpse of his waist and enjoyed the coyness in his smirks?
Fuck it. I need something good.
My hand lingers on the door as I turn back to where he still leans on the hood of my car.
“One drink.”