13. Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Thirteen
Emily
I paced the length of Dion's living room, anxiety crawling through my veins like electricity. "We need to go now," I insisted, already heading for the door. "What if they're planning to take Zoe tonight—"
"We need a plan first," Dion countered, his voice calm but brooking no argument. He was already checking his weapon, movements precise and practiced. "Rushing in without preparation puts everyone at risk, especially Zoe."
"But—"
"Emily." Just my name, but spoken with such authority that I stopped mid-stride. "Trust me on this. My team knows what they're doing."
"What can I do?" I asked instead, forcing my voice to remain steady.
"Pack a bag," Dion replied, already typing a message on his phone. "We're going to Salvation, but you're staying upstairs there with Abby and Clare while we handle the Bennetts."
"Absolutely not!" The words burst from me before I could stop them. "Zoe knows me. She trusts me. I need to be there."
Dion crossed the room in three long strides, his hands coming to rest on my shoulders. "Emily, listen to me. If the Bennetts are part of a child trafficking ring, then they are dangerous people with nothing to lose. I won't put you in harm's way."
"But Zoe—"
"Needs you alive and well," he finished firmly. "Not injured or worse because you insisted on joining a tactical operation you're not trained for." He paused. “And you being seen anywhere near would get you fired.”
“I—”
“I know you don’t care about that, but what about all the kids who come after Zoe that need your help?”
I wanted to argue further, but the intensity in his blue eyes stopped me. This wasn't Dion the gentle caretaker or even Dion the Daddy—this was Dion the Marine, the man who had survived combat and knew exactly what we were up against.
"I hate this," I whispered, my hands clenching into fists at my sides.
"I know you do," he said, his voice softening slightly. "But sometimes the hardest part of helping is knowing when to step back." I hesitated again and he cupped my chin. "Do you trust me?"
"Yes," I admitted. Yes, I did.
Thirty minutes later, we were in Dion's SUV, heading toward what I'd assumed was the nightclub but was apparently much more. I sat silently in the passenger seat, my mind racing through every interaction I'd had with Zoe and the Bennetts, searching for clues I might have missed.
“You can’t just kidnap her though.” This was insane. I should call the cops, the FBI, but I had no evidence that anything was wrong, and it would give Susan even more ammunition to fire me.
“No, but we can make sure she’s safe. Plant cameras. Listening devices. Zoe will be guarded constantly. If they try to take her, we’ll move in.”
I nodded, twisting my hands quite violently.
"Tell me about Zoe," Dion said, breaking the silence.
I welcomed the distraction. "She's fourteen, but small for her age. Quiet, brilliant with computers. Her mother died of an overdose last year, father’s unknown. She'd been in three foster homes before the Bennetts, all short-term placements."
"The Bennetts requested her specifically?" Dion asked, his hands tightening on the steering wheel.
"Not by name, but they specified age and gender. They said they wanted a teenager. They were intending to home school as Mrs. Bennett works from home." I shook my head, frustration mounting. "I should have fought harder against the placement. Something felt off from the beginning."
"You did everything by the book," Dion reassured me.
"If they hurt her..." My voice broke, unable to complete the thought.
Dion reached across the console, taking my hand in his. "We'll do our best to make sure that doesn't happen."
The rest of the drive passed in tense silence. When we arrived at Salvation, I was surprised to find it wasn't what I'd expected. Rather than a flashy nightclub, it was an elegant building with understated security and a discreet entrance.
Dion parked in a private lot and led me through a side door, using a keycard to access what appeared to be a back entrance. We walked straight to an elevator and Dion pressed the top button after scanning his thumbprint.
Two women were already there when we exited—both technically redheads but completely different. One was petite with red hair in pigtails, and the other was taller with a deep wave of dark red hair down her back. They both looked up as we entered, their expressions concerned.
"Emily, this is Abby and Clare," Dion introduced. "Ladies, this is Emily."
Abby, the smaller one, approached first, her smile wide as she gave a little wave. "Hi! We've heard a lot about you. I wish we were meeting under better circumstances."
"Where are the guys?" Dion asked, already moving back to the elevator.
"Downstairs in the Daddy cave," Clare smirked. "Gideon said to send you down when you arrived."
Dion nodded, then turned to me. His expression softened as he took in my tense posture. "I need to go join them. Will you be okay here with Abby and Clare?"
I wanted to insist on going with him, but I knew it would be futile. "I'll be fine," I said instead, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
He stepped closer, his voice dropping so only I could hear. "I'm going to do my best. I promise."
Before I could respond, he pressed a quick kiss to my forehead and was gone.
The elevator doors closed with a whoosh behind Dion, leaving me alone with two strangers who apparently knew more about me than I knew about them. I stood awkwardly near the entrance, unsure what to do with myself.
Abby seemed to bounce on the spot. "Would you like some ice cream?"
I blinked. “Umm.”
Clare chuckled. “Or you could go with tea or coffee.”
Abby pouted. “But ice cream’s way better and Daddy got me some with toffee bits in it.”
“And Daddy Gideon said you’d already had some, so you had to wait,” Clare said.
“But I was just being super polite,” Abby argued, toeing the ground with some sparkly pink sneakers.
“Uh huh,” Clare said doubtfully. “We both know if you have any more, you’ll get a spanking.”
Abby pressed her lips together as if trying not to laugh. “Which would be the only thing better than ice cream.”
Clare shook her head with a fond smile. “We’ve got juice boxes as well.”
"Tea would be nice," I admitted, feeling a little like I’d walked into some sort of alternate universe. The apartment was beautiful—open concept with high ceilings and comfortable furnishings that somehow managed to be both elegant and inviting.
Clare busied herself making tea, and I chose a raspberry one while she went with regular. Abby got a juice box, then ran into another room and came back with a large white bear. “This is Big Bear,” she said.
“He looks well loved,” I responded, and suddenly I wished desperately that I’d brought Barnaby.
“You look like you could do with a glass of wine, but there isn't any up here.”
I nodded, accepting the mug Clare handed me. "Is it that obvious?"
"Only because we've been there," Clare said, her voice gentle. "The first time Maddox went out after we met, I nearly wore a hole in the carpet pacing."
"How do you handle it?" I asked, sinking onto the couch opposite her. "The waiting, the not knowing?"
Abby joined us, setting a plate of cookies on the coffee table. "You never really get used to it," she admitted. "But it helps knowing how capable they are. Daddy and the others—they've done this kind of thing before."
"Many times," Clare added. "And they always come back."
I wrapped my hands around the warm mug, drawing comfort from their quiet confidence. "So you're... with Gideon and Maddox?"
Abby nodded, a soft blush coloring her cheeks. "Gideon is my Daddy," she said simply, without embarrassment. "We've been together just over a year now."
"And Maddox is mine," Clare added. "Though our dynamic is a bit different."
I nearly choked on my tea. "You're both... I mean, you're..."
"Littles?" Abby supplied helpfully. "Yes, though we express it differently. I’m Little most of the time."
"And I fluctuate more," Clare explained. "Some days I'm closer to a middle, other times I can be younger than Abby."
I set my mug down carefully, my mind racing. "I'm sorry, I just... I've never actually met anyone who..." I trailed off, unsure how to continue.
"Who lives the lifestyle?" Abby finished for me. "It's okay. Most people haven't. It's not exactly something that comes up in casual conversation."
"Maddox mentioned you might have questions," Clare said, her expression understanding rather than judgmental. "About what it means to be a Little. About how it works in the real world."
I felt my cheeks heating. "Dion told you about me?"
"Our Daddies don't give out personal details," Abby hastened to assure me. "Just that you might be exploring that side of yourself and sometimes people are mean. Of course,” she added, “sometimes sneakers are just way better."
I waited for the explanation, but Abby just beamed at me, then she saw me looking at her and groaned, then giggled. “I did it again, huh?”
Clare chuckled. “This is about that woman at the charity thing?”
Abby nodded. “Yep. I’m trying, but sometimes I speak a whole sentence and pieces of it stay in my head, but I think I’ve said it out loud.”
I understood immediately. “You went to a charity gala in sneakers, and a woman was mean?”
“See, Abby?” Clare said. “It’s not like you’re speaking a foreign language.”
“She was a bitch!” Abby blurted out then smacked a hand over her mouth, looking around to see if someone had heard her. I had a feeling her Daddy didn’t like her saying cuss words.
“Well, if they were the sneakers you’re wearing, I’d say she was jealous.”
Abby cautiously lowered her hand. “Do you wanna see the room we made? It’s not our own personal room, well Margaret made it, so it is.”