“Bastards.” Not only did the pimps mark their prostitutes with fucking tracking chips like property, they made it as unpleasant as possible.
Taryn switched the scalpel to her left hand and grabbed the cream with her right. “I’m going to cut it out, but it’s going to hurt. A lot. This ointment will dull the pain some. It also has antibiotic properties.”
She handed the tube to Giselle. “Spread this over the scar and six inches around the area.”
“You want me to do it?” she whispered.
Taryn nodded. “This is the first step toward your new life.”
“Okay.” Giselle shook her head. “Okay,” she repeated, her voice stronger. She took the tube from Taryn and applied the ointment as directed. When she was done, she capped the tube and set it on the bed next to her.
“Do you feel the tingling?” Taryn watched her closely.
“Yes.”
“That means it’s working.” Taryn pulled the sterile scalpel from the wrapper. “It’ll help, but it won’t block all the pain. If you scream, it could bring attention that neither of us want. Do you want something to bite down on?” Personally, Taryn wouldn’t do it. She’d embraced the pain, accepted it as the price of freedom.
“No. I won’t scream.”
It was a vow. Taryn honored it as such.
“Okay, scoot back and lay down with your leg extended. I’ll make this as quick as I safely can.”
The girl did as she was told. Her fingers curled into the bedspread, but other than that she was still. Taryn hated to imagine the circumstances that had given her such control.
Taryn took a deep breath. She hated this part. Hated it every damn time. The only way she could get through it was to remind herself why she did it. She set up the rest of her tools, quietly narrating each step out loud. There was no need for Giselle to suffer and wonder what was happening.
Everything was in place. Taryn donned gloves and found her focus through steady breaths. She placed the tip of the scalpel slightly above the scar and pressed down. The skin beneath the blade resisted... until it didn’t. Giselle’s quick indrawn breath was the only sound she made.
Blood welled along the cut. Absorbent gauze clenched in her other hand, Taryn created an inch-long incision right next to the scar. With quick, practiced motions, she set the scalpel down on the sterile sheet she’d brought with the tools and picked up spreaders and a set of tweezers.
“This is the worst part,” she quietly warned Giselle. Every time she dug a tracker out of another woman, Taryn remembered the pain of digging out her own tracking chip.
Blood welled from the cut and she wanted to gag. She’d rather face down the most thuggish of pimps on the street than do this. But it was the most important step. She didn’t—couldn’t—trust it to anyone else.
“I’m sorry.” Her apology was the only indication that she was paying any attention to the girl on the bed. Taryn separated the incision with the spreaders, then blotted away the blood, revealing her first glimpse of the tracker. The tag was small, barely the size of her pinkie fingernail, and a mottled silver under the dark blood.
It didn’t look like the chip had been in long enough to grow into the muscle. God, she hoped it hadn’t. That was the worst. So many more chances to cause permanent damage to the girl she was trying not to hurt.
With a steady hold on the tweezers, Taryn forced everything but the task before her out of her mind.
The blood made the chip slippery and Taryn lost her grip on it twice. It had to hurt, but except for a hiss of pain, Giselle hadn’t moved. Taryn was damn impressed. In the worst of circumstances, the young woman was bearing up well under the pressure.
That strength boded well for Giselle’s ability to adapt. The steps from hotel room surgery to a brand-new life weren’t easy.
“Yes.” Taryn established a secure grip on the chip on her third try. She pulled it straight up, hoping to minimize Giselle’s pain. When the thin metal bit cleared the incision, Taryn set it on the towel. As much as she wanted to destroy it, the tracker was crucial to her plans.
“The tag is out,” she told Giselle. “I’m going to patch you up, then on to stage two.”
As she’d hoped, the mention of the next stage caught Giselle’s attention.
“What’s stage two?” Giselle’s voice was faint with pain, but carried a thread of that inner strength.
“After I seal up this cut, we’ll dispose of the tracker and get you somewhere safe.”
“How will you know it’s safe?”
How much to tell her? Taryn understood her doubt, but she wouldn’t risk the other women she’d rescued.
