38. CHAPTER 33 #2
That leaves us with the guards. Five are alive, and only one dead so far.
They’re all going to die, but not until we see what we can get from them.
At least we don’t have to worry about cleaning up the bodies.
We’ll leave that to the owners of the building to sort out.
It’s obvious they won’t be calling the cops anytime soon.
The five breathing ones are zip-tied and lined up on their knees in the lobby. A couple of them are bleeding from their wounds.
Tate stands in front of them. He’s pulled a chair from behind the desk and sits in it backward with his arms folded across the top of it. Fox is leaning against the wall, while Priest and I stand behind Tate with our arms folded.
“Here’s how this works,” Tate says. “You’re going to tell me who runs this operation.
I want fucking names. And then you’re going to tell me who your clients are, how the membership works, and where the other locations are.
” He pauses. “The ones who talk won’t start losing body parts.
My brother and I will be happy to compete and see who can make one of you fucks scream the loudest.”
Fox pulls a knife from his pocket, grinning. “That sounds like a fun time.”
None of them talk. They look at each other, then at the floor. The one with the arm wound is shaking, but he keeps his mouth shut.
Tate sighs and stands up from the chair. “Priest.” He points at the one he wants—the dipshit who looks like he’s about to fucking piss himself.
Priest steps forward and grabs the guard by his zip-tied wrists, dragging him away from the line. The man fights it, but he’s no match for Priest. He shoves him onto his back and puts his boot on the man’s chest.
Tate stands beside him. “I’ll let Priest start with you. We’ll consider this part of his training.”
Priest chuckles and cracks his neck before focusing on the guard. “Which hand do you jack off with?”
The guard stares up at him and doesn’t say anything.
“I’ll just start with the right then.” Priest crouches and grabs his pinky finger. “Odds are he’s right handed, right guys?”
Priest snaps the man’s finger. Then takes his knife and slices off his thumb while he’s still screaming about his pinky.
The man is wailing, feet kicking and trying to move from Priest’s hold. Priest picks up the severed thumb and rubs the pad of it on the man’s bottom lip. “Are you ready to use this mouth for talking, or do you want me to see how many of your severed fingers I can fit inside? Maybe your dick too?”
Tate grins, obviously approving of Priest’s fucked-up creativity.
“No. Please.” The words come fast through labored breathing. “It’s a membership. The men pay monthly. They get a client code and book through the system. We don’t know their names, only codes and time slots.”
“Who set it up?” Tate asks from the chair.
“I don’t know. I swear to God. There’s a few of them. We get paid in cash every two weeks.”
“Who are they?” I ask.
“I don’t know their names. The last one drove a black Mercedes.”
I look at Tate. That’s what David Carter was driving when he brought the girl.
“Keep going,” Tate says. “I think you know more. And you’ll piss me off less if you just tell me what you know.”
The guard’s eyes dart to the others on the line. Two of them are staring at the floor. One is staring at Priest’s knife.
Fox steps over and stabs one of the men in the eye. He clutches his face and screams. “Anyone else feel like they might have something to say? We want fucking names.”
The one next to the man starts talking as soon as Fox steps in front of him.
“The one with the Mercedes is David Carter.”
We fucking knew that already.
“And now the others,” Tate says.
“Randall Hawthorne.” The man blurts out, eyeing Fox.
The name sounds familiar, and I’m trying to remember where I heard it.
“And the third?” Fox asks, wiping the blade on the stabbed man’s shirt.
“Travis Keller. He built the booking system and manages the client side.”
That name sounds familiar too. But I can’t put my finger on it. Crew just returned from helping the women into the van and is already pulling out his phone, typing away. He’ll run them both and get everything we can.
“How many other locations?” Tate asks.
The man shakes his head. “I don’t know. They don’t tell us shit about anything beyond this building. But I’ve heard Travis on the phone talking about shipments to other sites. At least two more. We don’t know where they are, I swear.”
Tate looks at Fox, then back at the line. “Anything else?”
There’s nothing but silence. The one missing his thumb is barely conscious. The one with the knife wound to his eye is moaning into the floor. The rest have given us what they have. I’d bet on it. We’ve done this enough to know when someone is holding back.
I keep running those names through my head.
Fuck.
Those were the other men at David Carter’s house that night at dinner.
I was so focused on Saylor that I never spoke to either of them or their wives.
And it makes me wonder how well my father knows them since he and my mother were invited to that little dinner I crashed.
Nothing about this sits right. Especially the part where my girl has been living in a house where traffickers come and go.
“Take the computer, the phones, and anything else with data on it,” Tate says to Priest, then turns to face Crew. “I want everything you can pull on Hawthorne and Keller by tomorrow.”
“Already on it,” Crew says without looking up from his phone.
“What about them?” Priest nods at the guards.
Tate faces the men on the floor. “Did you all think these women were here by choice? Were the chains around their ankles your first clue? How many of you fucked them yourselves as part of your employee benefits? Did they willingly spread their legs for you, or did you force them?”
The men look at each other, and the answer is obvious. None of them deny it.
Tate’s lips curl in disgust. “You can buy willing pussy. They’ll even pretend to fight you if you get off on that shit. But you all like to take what you want, don’t you?”
They still don’t say anything and don’t look at Tate either. This is only going to end one fucking way.
“Yeah, I fucking thought so. I have one more question, and then I’ll decide what we do with you.” Tate stuffs his hands in his pockets and paces in front of them before stopping in the center to face them. “Have any of you ever associated with Jenson Donaldson?”
Jenson was his wife’s father. I don’t know everything he did to Reese, but I know enough.
We’ve helped Tate hunt down associates of the man, but I thought we’d gotten them all.
Then Thorne’s wife was taken, and they knew the trafficking was still going on.
Jenson is dead, but if anyone who was associated with him is still alive, Tate will want their head.
Plus anyone connected to Jenson would likely lead to the heart of the operation.
David Carter never struck me as someone who would be the brains.
One of the men flinches while the rest look confused.
“That one,” Tate says, nodding to Priest. “He’s coming with me, and we’re going to spend some time getting to know each other. Go ahead and put him in the trunk.”
Priest drags him across the floor. Kase appears at the other end of the man to help.
Once they take the man out, Tate pulls out his gun and motions to me. I get mine out too. He points his gun at one of the men, and I point mine at the one next to Tate’s guy.
Tate cocks the weapon. “The rest of you are dead. I’m ready to get home to my wife.”
We execute each of the men and leave them there. Then we grab the computers and everything we need so we can leave. We’ve got a lot to sort out, starting with the names we learned tonight—and whether my father has anything to do with it.
By the time we’re done, the sky is shifting from black to gray, and I’m sure Saylor is wondering where the fuck I am. I pull my phone out for the first time in hours.
Not a single message from her. I growl to myself, pulling up the cameras to our room. The feed loads and our bed is empty. She isn’t there. I don’t see her anywhere in our room. I switch to the bathroom view, and she isn’t there either.
I try her phone. It goes to voicemail. I call again and get the same thing. Then I send a text.
Me: Where the fuck are you, little heathen?
I’m beyond losing my patience, so I pull up the phone tracker to confirm she’s at the mansion. She could’ve gone to watch movies with Kynlee in Justin’s room or something. When I get the app open, I see she’s not there. Her last location is her father’s house.
Why in the fuck is she there? And why didn’t she fucking tell me? I don’t want her anywhere near her father’s house after what we discovered tonight.
I need a shower to wash off the blood from these dumb fucks. Then I’m going to get my girl. And she’s going to beg on her knees for me to forgive her.