Chapter 23
STALK HER
KOEN
Now
What the fuck happened?
I’m standing in the alleyway that runs beside Briar’s apartment building, concealed by shadows, watching her pace the length of her bedroom through the wide, dirty windows of her shitty-ass apartment.
She lives here. In this hellhole disguised as an apartment building.
I’d gained access to her room in two seconds with a simple switchblade. The door to the building itself doesn’t even have a lock. Security is a joke. The drug addicts passed out on the first floor landing, the ones with needles half-stuck in their arms, even more so.
Last time I saw Briar, she had it all. Money, opportunity, dreams, and the ambition to bring them to reality. But something happened… Life had rolled her, tested her, drained the spark from her eyes.
Her edges are sharper, her voice colder, but that fire—that bold, beautiful fire that drew me to her in the first place, is still there. Hidden, buried even, but it still simmers inside her like an ember, flaring back to life when you’ve stoked it.
I’d seen it last night at the warehouse, in the way she refused to be a victim, and tonight after I’d held her by the throat and stared deep into her eyes. She didn’t cower, cry, or plead for her pathetic little life.
No.
My little Rose has thorns and she’s not afraid to use them.
What the fuck happened? How did she end up here? In this neighborhood, in the warehouse, in this life? And don’t get me started on her fucking back.
It takes everything in me not to storm back up into that apartment and chastise her for not taking better care of the wounds. That piece of shit. He’d struck her four times. Guilt weighs heavily on me every time I think about it.
We’d been watching the warehouse, my brothers and I.
It belongs to Matteo Carroza. Aidan had his reasons for wanting to fuck up his day, and I saw no reason to stand in the way.
I was sure the Russians were the ones responsible for the sudden boom in the human trafficking business in the city the last few months.
But, last night confirmed one of my worst fears: the Italians had jumped into the game too.
The night raised a lot of questions and I’m going to need some answers. I plan on continuing the Irish’s long-standing fuck you to the human trafficking industry. And I don’t give a fuck if it’s Irish, Russian, Italian, or whoever the fuck’s territory, it doesn’t have a place in my city.
Briar lives here. They weren’t just bringing girls through the city, they were picking them up right off the street here. The moment they did that, the second they touched my girl, they made it fucking personal.
I watched them drag her out of that van, and I recognized her immediately.
Almost couldn’t believe my eyes. Aidan had wanted to move in right then, but I stopped him.
Attacking on the street, out in the open like that, wasn’t good odds.
I’d opted to wait. And that decision cost Briar.
Those marks on her back… my fucking fault.
I walked away from her, all those years ago, to keep her safe from this world, and here she was, drowning in it. I thought I was protecting her by staying away, but did I really just abandon her to face it alone?
Now that I know, I can’t make myself leave. I can’t leave her unprotected. The men who targeted her before… they could be back, and the thought of them touching what’s mine…
My hands tighten into fists.
Briar can’t sleep. Even after spending hours drilling herself in that shitty little dance studio up the street, she’s restless.
I suppose I didn’t help matters… breaking into her bedroom and all, but she needs to know I mean business. And I do. Nothing is more important to me than family, and right now Briar is holding a match that could light mine up.
I still don’t have any answers to my questions.
How did she end up in the warehouse last night?
The traffickers we’re up against have been successful because they’re smart, especially if they’re taking girls from Boston.
They can’t be random, but rather targeted— ones no one will miss.
The girls we pulled out of the warehouse last night, most of them fit that profile, broke with no family who would miss them.
But Briar isn’t someone no one would miss, I would know.
I eye the decrepit building she calls home.
Her room is not what I’d expected. Mismatched furniture, mattress on the floor.
That’s a big fall from grace... What happened over the last five years?
Did she get herself into a bind? Owe money to the wrong people?
She doesn’t look like she’s on drugs, though that could be it.
God, she really did pick the worst fucking place to live. Her apartment sits on disputed territory between the Irish and the Russians. It’s one of my uncle’s neighborhoods. I’ll have to remember to speak to him about ensuring we restake our claim on it.
Just because we took out one warehouse, doesn’t mean anything.
This won’t end until we cut off the head of the snake.
And we still have no idea who’s calling the shots.
If the Italians have jumped into the game, I know for certain Cole DeLuca has nothing to do with it.
Like us, the Italian Capo doesn’t fuck around with selling bodies.
The people running this are smart, and connected. We’re talking police, government officials, and money. This whole operation screams money.
The city’s restless. My father drew a hard line on selling bodies, and he made sure everyone knew it. But ever since his death, it’s been a free-for-all. Seems like one hell of a fucking motive if you ask me.
Kostalov, the Russian Pakhan, has been making a lot of moves, running a lot of shipments, but he keeps it tight. We had a guy on the inside, but he’d been made, unfortunately before he could get close enough to find out anything of use.
It’s almost dawn. Briar hasn’t moved for almost half an hour, finally laying down on the bed and I’m hoping… falling asleep.
I have to go. I’ve got shit to do. Picking up the phone and ringing Mac, I tell myself how we need to make sure she doesn’t go to the police or the news. The last thing we need is an exposé on two Boston Breakers players wanted on suspicion of murder.
“Rí?” Mac answers with a yawn.
“I need you to run surveillance on someone today.”
A groan sounds out over the phone. “That’s a fucking shite job and you know it. Can’t you get one of the recruits to do it?”
“No.” My reply is hard and firm, and Mac stops his grumbling on the other end. “I need you to do it.” While my brothers would be my first choice, I know none of them are free this morning.
“Fuck, Koen. Fine. What time?”
“Now.” I hang up the phone as a string of far more colorful curses erupt out of my best friend, texting him the address and the picture of Briar’s license I took before I gave it back to her. I stare at her picture, those blue eyes piercing through me, dredging up everything I’ve tried to bury.