11. Chapter 11
T he house was a massive stone Tudor in North Potomac, Maryland. There was no fence, and it sat on about two acres of land with a shit ton of trees. Trees made for excellent cover. There were other houses around, but they were all off on their own plots of land. No nosey neighbors close by.
I had spent two weeks scoping out the area, along with the bank, keeping tabs on Mr. Davenport, more so than Mrs. Davenport.
The timing was everything, and I had to make sure I caught them completely unaware at the most crucial moment.
And I couldn’t just go into the massive home with guns blazing.
Every minuscule plan I made equated to lengthening my life expectancy and lowering theirs.
Now, after learning their patterns between working, shopping, and spending time at home, I was ready. When they were gone, I would spend the evening testing for weakness around the house, seeing if they left something open. When no one was home, I knocked on the door and didn’t hear barking.
Men like Mr. Davenport tended to have the best security.
That was where Layla came in. If their system was on Wi-Fi, then she could tap into it and shut it down.
But I had no intention of breaking in. Breaking in was my plan B.
A simple knock on the door would be enough to get me in once they opened the door.
There were house servants that had to be dealt with too.
I chose this particular night because their staff had the evening off until tomorrow.
The fewer innocents I had to deal with, the better.
“Does this house look familiar?” I asked Luca, who sat in the passenger seat clutching his rabbit. I tried to convince him to leave it at home but fuck it. It brought him comfort where I couldn’t.
“Vaguely. I think so, but it’s hard to tell in the dark.”
“They’ve had this house long before you were taken, so they’ve been living here since.”
“Well, I don’t remember much. It was all beaten out of me, leaving me to only focus on what I needed to do to survive.”
His voice was snippy with an attitude, but I didn’t reprimand him or take offense. This was highly stressful for him. Besides, I didn’t need him cowering at me. He needed to stand up to those who wished him harm, not that I did.
“M-maybe this isn’t such a good idea. I’m not sure I want to know how much they didn’t want me now. Can we just go home and curl up on the couch together and eat popcorn while watching a movie?”
He was looking out the window, so I couldn’t see his face, but he rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand, so he was probably crying. Fuck. His pain only brought about my own and what my prick of a father did to me.
“Hey, look at me.”
He shook his head and refused to turn, so I grabbed him gently by the chin and made him. His eyes glistened with tears in the dim lighting of the car.
As the days went on, the more I softened for him. He smoothed out all my jagged edges without even trying. It got to the point that I didn’t even mind caring for him anymore, and I had gotten used to him climbing into bed every night.
My soul remained dead, and my heart was cold, but not for him. Never for Luca. Not anymore.
I still hadn’t kissed him again despite his best efforts to talk me into it.
There was no inappropriate touching other than stroking his hair while watching TV.
He grew more and more independent, learning to care for his body.
And I had been teaching him how to grocery shop, cook, and take care of the house.
All the things that he needed for independence.
The sooner, the better. But even now, I knew that the day he left to be on his own would leave a hole in me. A small void would replace his absence.
I swiped at a stray tear on his cheek. He was trying so hard not to cry, which I knew stemmed more from fear and doubts.
“Listen to me. Unless they’re innocent, they don’t deserve your pity or ignorance.
If guilty, they’ve gotten away with this for far too long.
And that makes them complicit in the trafficking of children.
You aren’t the only child who has gone through this.
Stopping those who hurt you won’t end trafficking, but fuck it will feel good to make some of them pay.
I think you’ve suffered long enough. It’s their fucking turn. Are you with me?”
He took a deep, shuddered breath, and when he let it out, he nodded. “Yes, you’re right. This is why I hired you. I’ve suffered for too long. They should pay.”
“Yes, exactly. Do you want to stay here? Or do you want to be there while I question them? It won’t be pretty, Luca. There will be blood.”
“I think I should be there. I mean, I killed a man without a thought other than to protect you, so I think I can handle it.”
“Shooting someone isn’t as personal as torture.”
He thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “If… can I leave if it’s too much?”
“Yes, as long as you don’t stop me.”
“I won’t.”
We stepped out of the car and walked down the long, tree-lined driveway.
I adjusted the duffle bag slung over my shoulder as the house was hit with floodlights with our approach, but it didn’t matter.
We were getting in the normal way, looking like guests.
I tucked Luca behind me and rang the doorbell.
The evening was just past dinner time, but early enough before bed.
“Stay behind me until I say so.” I ignored him, fingering my shirt from his nerves.
It took a moment before a woman with blond hair, looking just like fucking Luca, answered. Her face was confused as her mind tried to recognize me. “Can I help you?”
“Hello, are you Mrs. Margaret Davenport?”
“Yes, it’s a little late for visitors.”
“I understand, but I’m here on an important matter. I’m a lawyer who represents your son, Luca.” It was a risk, but I needed to see her reaction.
Her eyes grew wide, and her hand went to her mouth. “Luca? But… he’s dead.”
Interesting. Perhaps they had no involvement after all. This was good for Luca, who worried about his parents giving him up. Bad for me because now my trail was cold in finding his tormentors and abusers.
“May I come in?”
“Yes, please.” She stepped aside and didn’t even ask for my business card, believing me so readily.
When I stepped in, I eased Luca from behind me to face his mother. I needed to see her reaction to him. My hand was on his arm, and I could feel the trembling beneath my fingers coursing through his body. He kept his eyes down in his submissive way.
I pressed my mouth close to his ear. “Look at her, so she can see your face.”
He did, and his mother scanned him before recognition hit. He was eleven years older, but surely she would still know her own son. Sure enough, her eyes welled with tears, and she reached for him before he stepped back.
“Oh, god, it is you. I… I don’t understand.” A sob escaped her, and she tried to reach for him again, but he wouldn’t let her near him, so my protective nature suddenly flared.
“Step back and give him some space. He’s… been through a lot.”
Her hands fell to her sides in fists, but she couldn’t take her teary eyes off him. “Luca, what happened? They said you were dead. I grieved for so long. I don’t understand.”
“Let’s talk about that. Is your husband home?” I already knew he was.
“Yes, he’s working in his study.”
“Please take us to him, so we can find out exactly what’s going on.”
Mrs. Davenport tried once more to go to Luca, but I stepped between them. “Please. He’s my son. I… is this real?”
I ignored her question. “He’s not comfortable. Please take us to your husband.”
With disappointment on her face, she nodded and led us to the study. When she knocked on the door, Mr. Davenport told her to fuck off. I hated him already.
With a sigh, she tried again. “There’s someone here about Luca.”
“He’s dead,” said the deep voice from the room.
“Seriously,” she hissed and opened the door anyway. “What is wrong with you? This is about our son!”
The tall, brown-haired man with wavy hair like Luca’s stood and was about to scream at her before he saw his son and paled. Oh, he was so going to die. Painfully. He was definitely involved. I read people well, and he oozed fear, not guilt.
“Uh, son. It’s… good to see you. I, ah, thought you were dead.”
“That’s it? That’s all you can say? Our son, who was supposed to be dead, is standing right here! You told me he was dead! It’s been eleven years!”
Her rant only verified her lack of involvement. Hubby here had lied to her. All the while, Luca remained stiff as a board and silent, so I leaned into his ear. “It’s going to be okay. Go sit down. Let me take care of this piece of shit for you.”
He nodded and walked over to a single chair away from his parents. Once he was situated, I pulled out my gun. “Now, let’s get this show on the road. Mrs. Davenport, please make yourself comfortable on that loveseat over there. Mr. Davenport, sit.”
“Who the hell are you? What’s going on?” Mr. Davenport demanded.
I aimed the gun at his temple. “Sit. If you make me tell you again, I'll shoot off a pinky.”
Without taking my eyes off him as he sat down, I addressed Luca’s mother. “Margaret. May I call you Margaret?”
“Y-yes.”
“You see, you’ve been lied to. Obviously, since you see your son sitting across the room. He’s clearly not dead. While I feel your response to Luca is genuine, your husband’s reaction is not. But I still don’t trust you, so you have two choices.”
“Please… anything. I just need my son back.”
I nodded. “I’m here per Luca’s request. He hired me to find out what happened to him and to destroy those who hurt him.
So, you can either sit back and let me extract answers from your husband, and I hope it’s painful, or you can join him because one way or another, I’m going to get answers.
You’re both our first stop in a long line of people who have hurt your son. So, what’s it going to be, Margaret.”
“Just… Do you have to hurt him?”
“If he sold your son to rapists, then yes.”
“R-rapist?”
“Time is ticking, Margaret.”
“Get answers,” she said quickly with no more hesitation.
“Now, hold on! I was not involved in anything of the sort! Someone took our son, and I was told he was dead!” Mr. Davenport barked with a complete lack of empathy or remorse.
I walked over to Luca and handed him my gun. “This is like the last time. Aim it at his head, but don’t fire it unless you have no choice. But keep it steady on him, so I can work without being attacked.”
He nodded and took the gun from me as his eyes flicked back and forth from his mother to his father.
I pulled off my duffle bag and quickly opened it, pulling out some duct tape and zip ties. Mr. Davenport kept his eyes on his son with the gun, probably debating if he could take me or not before Luca fired a round. Luca would probably miss, but that wasn’t the point anyway.
The man finally looked at me as I stepped behind him. “What are you going to do?” he asked.
I said nothing as I yanked one of his arms down, making him grunt.
I zip-tied his wrists to the armrests, then I wrapped his body with duct tape.
Once he was stable and unable to get out, I walked over to the large windows and drew the curtains closed.
Then I pulled out plastic sheeting for the floor and desk. The less clean-up, the better.
“Shall we begin?”