36. Brian
36
brIAN
A light glowed through the trio of windows on top of the farmhouse door as I climbed the steps to the rickety porch. Two cameras probably announced my arrival—one facing the gravel driveway and the other under the roof of the porch not far from the front door.
A woman answered before I could even knock, giving me hope that maybe Fran was inside and had called the police.
“Oh,” she said, fear in her hazel eyes. “I thought you were my husband. I couldn’t see clearly through the cameras.”
“Mommy, is that Daddy?” A boy, maybe eight years old, came running to his mother’s side. “You’re not our dad. Are you from the farm next door?”
“Quinn, check on your sister in the kitchen,” the mother ordered, reaching to her left, no doubt for a shotgun.
I took a step back. “I don’t want any trouble. I’m looking for my daughter. I was told she might have come here to call for help.” I didn’t want to elaborate too much and scare either her or her son.
Concern replaced her trepidation. “I’m sorry, your daughter isn’t here. Did her car break down on the road?”
That wasn’t the answer I was hoping for.
A little girl called Quinn’s name.
“Quinn, go mind your sister. Now.”
The boy darted off reluctantly.
“Do you know anything about your neighbors, ma’am? I’m working with the police. We have reason to believe that my daughter and others are on the farm next door.”
She had her arm ready to grab her weapon. “I stay out of my neighbors’ businesses. But there has been a lot of activity over there. Lots of men. Not sure what’s going on. The new owner purchased the property about a year ago. That’s all I know.”
“Is there a shortcut from here to there?” I asked.
“Off the driveway on the side of the house, there’s a path that leads to a brook, probably bigger now with this rain. The farm lies on the other side of the brook.”
“Would you do me a huge favor?” I asked. “Can you call the local police? I know my daughter is in danger, as well as my girlfriend. My buddy at the Boston PD is also calling for backup, but I would like more.”
“I know the cops around here,” she said.
“Whatever you do, please don’t open the door like you did for me. I’m grateful you did, but there are some dangerous men on that farm.” I didn’t want to scare her, but she needed to know.
“I usually don’t. My husband has a flat tire about four miles down the road. He said he was walking home, and with this storm, I’m worried.” She revealed her shotgun. “I know how to protect my family. Good luck, sir. I hope your daughter and your girlfriend aren't harmed.”
You and me both.
I removed my flashlight from my jacket and jogged to the path, which wasn’t much of one. The ground was muddy, sparsely covered in pebbles and leaves. Thunder rolled as I picked up my pace. My boots sank into mud, each of my steps deliberate, each beat of my heart strong as I planned out the death of anyone who dared touch Fran.
I kept the flashlight angled downward, helping light the way. I couldn’t afford any injuries, and with this storm and the darkness, the forest was a battlefield waiting to annihilate me or anyone like my daughter.
If she wasn’t at Weeping Meadow, then she had to be somewhere between the two farms unless she’d gotten caught.
I sniffed the air for nothing more than to ground myself and focus, sharpen my senses, watch for movement, and listen for anything beyond the storm’s fury.
I reached the brook the woman had spoken of. It looked like a large pond. I swept my flashlight around. The only way to the other side was through the water.
I was already wet, so I trudged through the brook, and as soon as I cleared the water, a bloodcurdling scream cut through the air.
“Fran!” Her name tore from my throat before I could stop it. Amateur move—giving away my position—but this was my daughter, my blood.
I ran toward the sound, the flashlight guiding my way as I pushed through wet branches. I jerked to my left, where movement caused me to shine the light on a man who was restraining a blond girl. I couldn’t tell yet if it was my daughter.
I raised the binoculars from around my neck, confirming it was Fran. My blood boiled as I stalked toward the asshole who held my daughter in his grasp, with the word kill on my mind.
“Fran,” I said in a loud voice to make sure she heard me. To make sure she knew she wouldn’t be a victim of this fucker.
I swung my flashlight up to find that the beast of a man had his hand clamped over her mouth, his nose pressed to her ear.
Rage like I’d never felt before rounded my focus to a pinpoint target—his skull, which was where the first bullet would go.
“If I were you, asshole,” I said to the fat fuck holding my daughter hostage, “I would let her go.”
When her green eyes widened, the world came to a screeching halt, as did I. I slowly wound my hand around to my back for the gun but hesitated.
Fran was in his grasp. Nature's elements were against me, and I couldn’t afford to let my emotions get in the way. She was too precious, and while I was a good shot, even the best marksman couldn’t guarantee a kill, especially if this fucker decided to move or throw Fran forward to distract me.
“I paid a lot of money for her, and she’s mine,” he said.
I saw stars. Fuck emotions and the law.
I pocketed my flashlight. I needed my hands to rip his eyeballs from their sockets, but I had a better idea. With a predatory gait, I pulled out my gun and aimed it at the bastard’s head. “Say that line again. Go ahead. Say it.”
The whites of his eyes were shining through the darkness, the irises dots in a sea of terror.
“You’re not with the hunting party.” He released my daughter.
“Daddy,” she cried as she dashed in my direction.
That word was music to my ears.
“Get behind me, sweetie.”
“Daddy?” the man asked.
I was a foot away from him as he plastered his back against the tree, raising his hands.
“That’s right. I’m her father, you fucking asshole. In what universe do you think it’s normal to purchase young girls for your deranged sex games?”
His thinning hair was glued to his head, but that was the only part of him that was soaked, given the high-end rain gear he was wearing.
I tucked the gun away. A bullet would be too kind. He needed to feel pain, torture, agony—the same feelings he inflicted on innocent girls who had no way to defend themselves from a man of his size.
“I won’t do it again. I promise.” I believed he was pissing his pants. He was large in width but not in height.
“Of course you will do it again. That, I have no doubt. It’s an addiction with men like you.”
He was shaking like a leaf. “Please don’t kill me. I have a family too.”
I lost it. “You fucker.” That criminal side of me came out to play, and before I could stop my actions, my first punch landed on his stomach.
He howled.
“That was for touching my daughter. This”—I shot an elbow to his throat—“was for thinking you could buy her.”
His hands flew to his throat as he shook his head.
I grabbed the collar of his jacket and shoved him in Fran’s direction. “Apologize to my daughter and make it real.”
He stumbled forward, clutching his neck, and his foot caught on something that caused him to fall forward.
My daughter’s face showed a complex mix of emotions—fear, yes, but also something else. Understanding, maybe. Or acceptance. She’d just watched her father become someone else entirely, who moved with a precision that came only from years of violence.
Right now wasn’t the time to process my daughter’s emotions.
I pulled the gun out and pressed it to the back of the man’s skull. “Get up!”
He sat on his haunches, pleading and praying.
“Apologize.”
“I… I’m sorry,” he said to her.
Anger like I’d never seen before washed over Fran. “That was weak.”
I stood behind him, ready to attack if he so much as thought to run or hurt Fran.
The fucker began to cry. “I’m so sorry. Please, I don’t want to die.”
I watched my daughter in quiet fascination. Her blond hair was soaking wet. Mud covered her clothes. She studied the man, deciding what to say or do. Then she kicked him in the stomach. Not once but three times.
He cried out in pain, sounding like an innocent wounded animal.
“That’s for putting your hands on me.” Her voice was steady despite what she had witnessed and what she was going through.
Then she leaned down, close enough that he had no choice but to look at her. “You think you’re strong because you can have your way with a teenage girl?” Her eyes blazed with indignation. “You’re a pathetic man. A demented human being with no heart. Do you have a daughter?”
He bawled.
“Answer me!” she commanded.
“My daughter is eight.”
What the fuck?
I jabbed the gun into his head. “I should tie you up and bring you to your family.”
“No, please. Please don’t.”
“Tell me your full name.” Fran’s tone brooked no argument. “And occupation.”
I nudged him with my gun. “Tell her.”
“Gra… Grayson Ca… Carvalho. I own…” He cried.
Fran looked at me as though she wanted me to hit him again.
I grinned. “I have a lot of bullets in this gun, Grayson.”
“I own Motel 8 franchises.”
What a twisted son of a bitch. “And you use them for sex trafficking.”
Fran slapped him across the face, hard. “You just lost your business. And your daughter will learn what a monster of a father you are. I will make sure of it. I will tell the world who you are.”
The steel in her voice made me proud and broke my heart at the same time. She shouldn’t have to be this strong, this fierce. But she was. And watching her now, I saw something I’d always dreaded and hoped for simultaneously—my daughter understanding the darkness in the world and facing it on her own terms.
Through the rain, the thunder, and the lightning, I could see both my little girl and the warrior she could become. After this, I would teach her everything I knew about self-defense—how to break a hold, where to strike, when to run. I would train her until she was better than me, stronger than me.
The world had too many monsters, and while I prayed she never faced them again, I wouldn’t leave her unprepared.
Her eyes met mine, and there was a silent understanding between us. The rain had washed away the last of her childhood innocence, but it hadn’t broken her. If anything, it had tempered her, like steel in a forge.
“We need to save Grace, Dad. We’re done here.”
I laughed, only because it was kind of cool how she took charge, but Grace needed us.
I hauled the man to his feet. “How many more of you are in these woods?”
I needed to know what Fran and I were up against.
“Four more like me who are clients, Josh Kinley, Drew Lopez, and a crazy guy named Harris.”
“Guards?” I asked.
“A handful, maybe.”
“Dad, we need to go to the barn. That’s where Grace is. She can’t save the girls alone.”
“Where’s the barn from here?” I kept the gun trained on him.
“Not sure, but it’s east of the house.” He shook.
“One last thing before I let you run for your life.” I drove my knee into his balls. “That’s one for the road, a reminder that if I learn you’re involved in sex trafficking and buying young girls again, I will personally shoot off your dick. Now, get the fuck out of here.”
As Grayson held his junk, screeching in pain, I grabbed Fran’s hand. “We need to move. Stay close to me.”
As we trekked deeper into the woods, the storm raged on, nature’s fury matching the violence still to come because I wouldn’t be so kind to Josh Kinley.