29. Camilla
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CAMILLA
I feel sick.
After years of training, being forced into situations no child or teenager should ever see, and being tortured to strengthen my resolve and make sure I’d never give up information under pressure, I thought I had a strong stomach.
But this is too much.
Hell, the minute I opened that cooler containing a set of human lungs on top of half-melted ice, I thought I’d hit my limit. But nothing could have prepared me for finding twelve women, some of whom I’m certain are underage, huddled inside a shipping container, terrified for their lives.
As soon as Crew found me and told me what they had found, I cleared the ship and the docks, leaving just myself and the men of the Legion.
Leighton is on her way, as is Storm Saint James, but he’ll take a little longer to get here from Chicago. Plus, I called Bonnie and Chloe to bring some clothes and toiletries to the docks. My father always kept them out of this side of our business, but I’m not willing to leave the women, and they can’t stay in the soaked clothes we found them in.
If I had it my way, we’d be on our way to somewhere with beds and a shower because I can’t imagine any of them have slept since they got on that ship, but I can’t ask them to put their trust in us so easily when we’ve done nothing to earn it.
I carry a handful of bottles of water toward where the women are sitting on the chairs the dock workers use to have lunch, but they’re looking anywhere but at me.
I drop into a crouch a few feet away from them, taking a moment to look at each of them. They’ve all been beaten to some degree, but some are worse than others.
If Charles Davenport wasn’t already at the top of my kill list, this stunt would get him there, even if we still have no logical reason for why he would do this in the first place.
“I have some water here for you and some food is on the way,” I tell them softly. “I can’t imagine how scared you must be, but I promise we won’t hurt you. We’re not going to let anything happen to you.”
“That’s what they all say,” one of the women sobs. Her blonde hair is stuck to her cheek with deep crimson, and her eyes are downcast, so I can’t see them.
“I know,” I agree. “I don’t expect you to trust us immediately, maybe ever, but I want to help you. Can any of you tell me where you came from? Where you were put on the ship, perhaps?”
There’s a symphony of silence, and I sigh. They don’t trust us, and why would they? We’re criminals. Every single person standing before them has killed people without so much as blinking. We’re ruthless killers, and these women need someone soft and nurturing to help them.
I move a little closer, thankful for the Converse Kaos had in his trunk for me, before handing out the water bottles. “I’ll go grab some more bottles, and the food will be here soon? Are you hungry?”
“You’ll probably just drug us like they did,” the one who spoke out before says, and I hear one of my men curse behind me. Being lumped into the same category as human traffickers stings more than I care to admit, but these women are entitled to their own feelings, and I’m not going to try to deny them of that.
“Does pizza sound okay?”
No one responds to me, and I push myself to my feet. I move toward the guys and don’t hesitate to lean against Bishop when he lifts his arm to accommodate me.
“How are you doing, love?” he asks softly.
“What the fuck is their play here? Show us exactly why the Syndicate put these bylaws in place?” Anger radiates off me in waves, but I force it down. My own anger isn’t going to help these women. They need calm right now, and until we can get someone here who knows how to help them, I’m the only person they’re likely to let near them.
“I don’t know,” Crew admits. “None of this makes any sense.”
“Okay, what do we know so far?” Kaos asks. “We know every woman who has spoken so far is American, which means the ship would have originated from somewhere within the United States.”
Crew nods. “We know the ship wasn’t at sea for long. There’s ice still in those coolers with the organs, but until Rogers gets here, we won’t know if any of them are still viable.”
“The lungs aren’t,” Bishop chimes in. “They only have a short window for transplant between four and eight hours.”
Kovu’s brows raise as he stares at him with the same surprise the rest of us are. “I thought I was meant to be the psycho that knows shit like that?”
“I Googled it, okay?” Bishop rolls his eyes.
“Mm-hmm,” Kovu teases, and a small smile tugs at my lips. How do they manage to bring a smile to my face in the midst of hell?
“We need to get them talking,” Crew says.
“We can’t force them to do anything they don’t want to do. That just makes us look as bad as whoever put them on the ship, and then they’ll never trust us,” I argue.
“Camilla’s right,” Bishop agrees. “But we do need to find somewhere safer for them. Keeping them out in the open like this is just asking for trouble.”
I nod and glance over my shoulder to where the women are huddled together with their heads bowed. “Let’s get them some food and into some fresh clothes once Chloe and Bonnie arrive, and then we can go from there.”
“Where are we going to take them?” Kovu asks.
“The De Marco estate?” I look at Crew for confirmation.
He nods. “More than enough space with plenty of security. Seems like our best option.”
“But won’t Davenport and Caleb be expecting that?” Kovu replies.
“They’ll be expecting just about any move we make. We could send them back with the Saint James family, but I don’t like our chances of getting twelve traumatized women onto a plane with strangers who also happen to be well-known criminals.”
Another sigh escapes me, and I brush my fingers down my face. Fatigue weighs down on me, but I force myself from under Bishop’s arm and make my way back to the office to get some more water. I may be tired, but I can’t begin to imagine what these women are feeling, and I refuse to let them down.