James #2
Graydon catches my eye, a question in them I’m not enjoying.
Who is Willa? How did she make it inside the room, and what did I miss?
The answer is simple: she is his reckoning.
I invited her, and I missed nothing. He might be a problem, one I’ll have to deal with outside of the FBI’s influence.
Accidents happen even to rich men. A fault in the brake line of their pretentious cars, a random mugging gone wrong.
“Don’t make me ask again,” Camryn snaps, the restraints held tight in her hand as she stands over me.
I finish my bourbon and stand to stretch my arms high in the air, lifting my T-shirt.
Camryn cocks her head as if I were anything but cute.
I like this about her. Sure, some of this is a well-rehearsed act between us, but she has zero interest in experiencing the dark side. She is law and order personified.
I offer my wrists.
“Behind your back.”
I obey, and the metal clicks into place.
Around us, the room continues to unravel. Owen screams threats. Graydon watches everything with narrowed eyes. Agents move between clusters of people, gathering statements and securing evidence.
Yet all I can see is the empty space where one terrified girl should be.
Camryn shoves me toward the doors and nods at Agent Thompson, a capable guy who has been with the bureau for fifteen years.
He has no issues working for a woman younger than him.
He sees her brilliance and lets it shine, which is refreshing and in complete contrast to the world I’ve been raised in.
He’s also the only other person in this room who knows I’m working for them, not against them.
I throw one last glance over my shoulder.
Fifteen. Still fifteen.
Camryn pushes me across the room as I give a devil-couldn’t-care grin to the men. She hustles me beyond the double doors, and the moment they swing shut behind us, the mask slips. “Left,” I mutter.
Camryn doesn’t waste time asking questions. We move quickly through the corridor, our footsteps echoing against polished floors.
“What is it?” she asks.
“One’s missing.” The answer leaves my mouth harder than intended, and I see the realization settle across her features.
“Shit.”
Exactly.
I lead her toward my office. “Code is one, three, zero, six.”
The lock disengages with a quiet click before she pushes inside and releases my restraints.
I’m already moving. The security system flickers to life beneath my fingers.
Camera feeds flood the monitors as I flick between hallways, guest suites, storage rooms, and service entrances.
Every second that passes tightens the knot in my chest. Nothing.
I cycle through them again, slower this time, refusing to believe she has simply vanished.
The longer it takes to find her, the worse the outcome becomes.
I’ve spent years around men like Owen. I know how they think. What they enjoy. The excuses they make to themselves while destroying another human being.
A corridor appears on the screen, and movement catches my eye, making me freeze. One of Owen’s security guards is dragging a girl by the arm. Her feet skid across the concrete floor as she struggles to keep up with him. Even through the grainy footage, I can see the panic in her movements.
The image flickers, and for a second, the screen goes black. When it returns, they’re gone.
“Where?” Camryn demands.
I pull up the building plans, and the answer makes my blood chill. “Basement.” It’s in the storage wing, hidden from the main house and rarely used.
I yank open the desk drawer and retrieve my gun. Camryn catches my wrist, and we stare at each other for a beat.
“By the time I explain, she’ll be dead.” The words scrape against my throat.
Camryn studies me before releasing her grip. “Let’s move.”
We take the stairs two at a time. The noise from the raid fades the deeper we descend until only the sound of our footsteps remains.
The air grows cooler. The smell of mildew clings to the walls. My pulse pounds harder with every second that passes. I know this part of the estate. Jonathan loved rooms like these. Hidden spaces where people could disappear without consequence. The memory leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
We reach the bottom floor and follow a narrow corridor lined with locked doors. Most haven’t been opened in years, but one hangs slightly ajar. A muffled shout drifts toward us, the sound punching straight through me. Camryn hears it too, and we break into a run.
The cry comes again, weaker this time, followed by a thud. Then silence that settles after a struggle. Silence I have learned to fear.
By the time we reach the door, my chest is straining.
I flatten myself against the wall and gesture for Camryn to do the same.
She offers me her weapon. I hand over mine without argument. No fingerprints. No questions later. She’s not one to shy away from pulling the trigger when it needs done, but there are enough ghosts waiting for her without me adding another. Mine stopped counting years ago.
He’s just another dead predator who made a fatal mistake.
I count to three, then shove the door open and assess the scene in a heartbeat. The guard has both hands wrapped around the girl’s throat. Her back slams against the wall as she fights for air. Her face is red, her movements weak as her body loses its fight.
He glances over his shoulder at the interruption. One glance. One mistake.
The shot cracks through the room, and the bullet punches straight through his forehead.
His grip disappears, and the girl crumples to the floor in a heap, coughing and dragging desperate breaths into her lungs.
Camryn shifts inside, takes possession of her weapon, wipes mine down for prints with her sleeve, and places it next to the body on the floor.
For a moment, nobody speaks. The only sound is her choking as she struggles to breathe.
Camryn is beside her in seconds, crouching down and speaking in a calm voice I know she reserves for victims.
I remain where I am, staring at the body. Another monster. Another man who believed he would never answer for what he had done.
A shadow appears behind me. Agent Thompson. His gaze moves from the corpse to the weapon and then to me. Understanding flashes across his face. He says nothing. Doesn’t need to.
I turn and place my hands behind my back. The cuffs bite into my wrists once more. It’s a familiar weight, one I’ll gladly carry if it means she gets to walk out of here alive.
“Leader James,” the girl whispers. I look over. Tears track down her cheeks as she stares at me. “You saved me.”
The words land like a punch because she believes them. After everything we’ve done to break these girls, she still looks at me like I’m something worth trusting.
I shake my head. “No.” My voice is rougher than I intend. “Agent Sinclair saved you.”
Confusion flickers across her face. “But—”
Camryn turns toward her. “Listen to me.”
The girl immediately falls silent. I close my eyes briefly before forcing myself to finish the job. “Stacie.” Her shoulders straighten at the sound of her name. “My last command to you is to listen to Agent Sinclair. Whatever she tells you, you follow it. Whatever she asks, you answer honestly.”
Her lower lip trembles. “If that’s what you want.”
My throat tightens. “It is.”
She gives a slow nod.
One day, I won’t have any influence, and that will be the day I rest. Until then, I’m the puppet of the state. Each life saved settles something in my tormented soul, but witnessing nights like this with the worst of humanity leaves a permanent stain.