38. Cam
Mid pull-up, arms burning with that familiar fire I’ve come to crave, I already know she’s behind me.
Talia doesn’t need to speak, I can feel her eyes drilling into the back of my skull.
“You need to see this.”
I drop to the ground, sweat slicking my palms, heart still pounding from the exertion. My body is still battered to hell, but I don’t care. I need to make sure I’m in shape to fight these bastards, no matter how hard I push my body to get there.
But it’s not the workout that has my pulse spiking now. It’s her voice—low, tight, and edged with something I don’t like.
Dread.
I wipe my hands on my shirt and turn to face her. She looks like hell. The dark circles under her eyes mirror my own—evidence of another sleepless night spent chasing ghosts through digital shadows.
We’ve been combing through the dark web for hours, trying to trace the last ping—an alert that new girls were ready for auction. Every lead feels like a thread unraveling in our hands. Every click takes us deeper into a world that makes you question if hell is already here, and we’re just living in it.
But we’re close.
I can feel it.
“We still haven’t pinned the exact location,”
she says, handing me the tablet.
“But it’s the same username posted again. Same phrasing. Same timestamp pattern. They’re active.”
I take the device, jaw clenched. The screen glows with encrypted filth—coordinates, usernames, coded language we’ve learned to decipher like a second tongue.
We haven’t cracked the source yet, but we will. Because they’re still moving her. And I’m still breathing.
“But there’s something else…”
Something worse?
“Show me,”
I order, handing her the tablet back reluctantly.
Talia’s eyes are locked on the screen, her fingers moving with practiced precision as she tunnels through layers of encrypted data. She’s navigating the dark web like a surgeon—cutting through firewalls, bypassing proxies, digging into hidden directories. Each click feels like a heartbeat.
Then she stops.
A video feed loads—no sound, just a grainy, flickering stream and a live chat window scrolling beside it. The interface is crude, and completely anonymous. A black background, white text, and a list of usernames that mean nothing on the surface. But I know what they are.
Buyers.
Predators.
People who treat human lives like collectibles.
The chat is already active, filled with coded language and numbers. Bids. Comments. Sick jokes. I’ve seen this setup before—too many times. It’s a digital auction house for the worst kind of trade.
And then—
She appears.
My breath catches. My heart doesn’t just sink—it plummets.
Nell.
Even through the low resolution, even with the hood pulled over her head, I know it’s her. I’d know the shape of her body, the way she moves, the way she tries to hold herself upright even when everything inside her is failing.
She’s stumbling, her balance shot. Her limbs are sluggish, her steps uneven. They’ve drugged her. I’ve seen this before—girls sedated just enough to keep them docile, to make them easier to parade, to strip them of resistance without taking away their value.
My grip tightens on the tablet, fingers digging into the edges like I could crush it. I want to reach through the screen. I want to tear the whole system down with my bare fucking hands.
“I found this in a buried cache,”
Talia says, her voice low, almost apologetic.
“It’s not live. Timestamp puts it at about six hours ago. I’ve got two of the guys working on decrypting the buyer’s metadata. But so far, it’s a dead end. They’re using a rotating VPN and a spoofed MAC address.”
I barely hear her. My eyes are locked on the screen.
The camera pans slowly, showing Nell from different angles. Her chest rises and falls in shallow, panicked bursts. Even drugged, she’s fighting. Her body is trying to resist, to stay upright, to stay herself.
And the chat keeps scrolling.
“$25,000. Virgin?”
“Look at her—barely conscious. Perfect.”
“#19’s got taste.”
I want to scream. I want to throw the tablet across the room. But I don’t. I can’t. I need this footage. I need every second of it.
Because this is the closest we’ve ever been.
We’ve got a timestamp. A buyer ID. A pattern in the way they post. We’re not just chasing shadows anymore—we’re closing in.
“She’s alive,”
I whisper, more to myself than to Talia.
“But not for long if they keep dosing her like that.”
Talia nods, her jaw tight.
“We’re not letting this trail go cold.”
I nod once, eyes still locked on the screen.
Every second of this footage is a knife to the gut, but it only fuels the fire. Because I’m not just going to stop them. I’m going to burn their entire operation to the ground. Starting with the queen bee. The rest? They’ll fall like ash behind her.
I force myself to look away, to sever the emotional tether before it drags me under. I can’t afford to lose focus. Not now. Not when we’re this close.
Rage won’t save her, but precision will.
“I’ve got an idea,”
I say, already moving toward the office.
Talia follows. “Shoot.”
“Send me in,”
I say.
“I’ll pose as a buyer. Get close. Embedded into their fucked up little world. And when we’ve got eyes on Nell, I’ll extract her.”
She stops cold.
“Cam, that’s suicide. If they even suspect you’re not legit, they’ll destroy you and vanish. And we’ll be back to nothing. You’re too close to this.”
I turn to face her, jaw clenched.
“How long have you known me, Talia? You know I don’t back down. I can’t lose her. If diving into the fire is what it takes, then that’s what I’ll do.”
Her eyes flash with frustration.
“You’re talking about pulling one brick from the wall when we’ve spent years trying to bring the whole thing down.”
“I know,”
I say, softer now.
“But I’m not thinking about the wall. I’m thinking about Nell. She’s not just another piece of evidence. She’s a person. And she’s running out of time.”
Talia exhales, torn between logic and loyalty.
“I can do this,”
I press.
“I know how they talk. I’ve studied their patterns, their language, their rituals. Hell, I’ve seen more of their world than I ever wanted to. I can blend in. But I can’t do it with a tactical team breathing down my neck. I need to go in alone.”
She stares at me, weighing the risk while the silence stretches between us.
Finally, she agrees.
“If we do this, we do it smart. No cowboy shit. You get in, you get her, and you get out. No heroics.”
“No promises,”
I say.
“But I’ll bring her home.”
Talia shuts the office door behind us, locking it with a quiet click. The hum of monitors and the soft glow of screens wrap around us. Maps, data streams, and surveillance feeds flicker across the walls—evidence of years spent chasing shadows.
She moves to the central console and pulls up a secure terminal.
“If we’re doing this, we do it right. No improvising once you’re in. We build you a legend from the ground up.”
“I’m ready,”
I say, stepping beside her.
She glances up at me, eyes scanning my face.
“You don’t look ready. You look like hell.”
“I’ll clean up,”
I mutter.
“Just give me the tools.”
Talia nods and starts typing.
“We’ll need a new identity. One that fits the profile—wealthy, discreet, morally bankrupt. Someone who’s been in the market before.”
She pulls up a database of known buyers—blurred faces, encrypted aliases, transaction histories.
“We’ll piggyback off a dormant account. Someone who disappeared off the radar a few months ago. If we’re lucky, they won’t notice the ghost in the system.”
“Make me someone they’d trust,”
I say.
“Someone who doesn’t ask questions. Someone who pays in crypto and doesn’t blink at a girl chained to a wall.”
Talia’s fingers fly across the keyboard.
“Done. You’re now Taylor Hale. Most of your accounts are offshore. History of ‘purchases’ in Southeast Asia. You’ve been off-grid for a while—makes your reappearance believable.”
She whips her head up, eyes fiercely boring into mine.
“We’ll need to dirty you up. New clothes, burner phone, encrypted wallet. You’ll need to memorise the lingo—how they talk, what they expect. No hesitation. No empathy.”
“I’ve been watching them for years,”
I say.
“I know how they breathe.”
Talia hesitates.
“And Nell? What if she doesn’t recognise you? What if she’s too far gone?”
I pause. That thought cuts deeper than any bullet.
“She’ll know,”
I say quietly.
“Even if she doesn’t see me, she’ll feel it. I’ll get her out.”
Talia nods, but her eyes are still heavy with doubt.
“We’ll need a signal. Something subtle. If things go sideways, I need to know when to pull you.”
I think for a moment.
“If I say, ‘The price is too high,’ that’s your cue. Get me out. No questions.”
Talia logs the signal phrase into the protocol system, her fingers pausing just long enough to make sure I’m listening.
“You can’t kill the buyer. Not yet.”
Her voice is firm, but there’s a flicker of unease beneath it.
“Please—whatever you do, don’t blow the op. Get her out. That’s the mission. Nothing more.”
When I don’t answer she shifts in her chair.
“I mean it, Cam,”
she presses.
“We’ve spent years building this case. If you go rogue, we lose everything. But if you stay close—if you play the part—we can use it. We can take them all down. Together.”
I meet her eyes.
“Then we burn the place down. Just not yet.”
She exhales slowly, the weight of what we’re about to do settling between us as thick as soup.
Then she reaches beneath the desk and pulls out a secure case. She flips it open with a soft click.
Inside; a burner phone containing my crypto wallet, a flash drive loaded with surveillance protocols, and a discreet earpiece. Everything I need to become someone else.
“Suit up, Cam,”
she says, her voice low and steady.
“There’s an auction in twelve hours. And your name’s already on the list.”