She scoffed and cut me off. “How do you become wrapped up in sex trafficking?”
I shrugged. “I have no idea.”
Seriously, how did people find the fucked-up things in our world? I had a general clue, but crazy shit went on behind closed doors. Rich people had been making weird deals for lifetimes.
“My brother’s new girlfriend worked in a financial department of a bank, and she somehow ended up with a thumb drive of evidence implicating a bunch of rich people doing scary and sick shit in Maine. His crimes now have reach.”
“What happened?” she asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.
“That’s her and my brother’s story to tell. But it was a lot of drama, and apparently we got sucked into it. I’m not sure how involved the Grandmaster is. He says he doesn’t sell women, but you can’t trust the mob. His story is his top guy, Bernard, went rogue. But you don’t leave the mob with your life, and since Bernard is still breathing, I don’t trust it.”
Only the future would tell us what really happened.
“It’s still doesn’t make sense. Why?”
I couldn’t answer that question either. “They took me because they thought I’m my twin, Corbin. They need him to erase the evidence he sent to the FBI, but they don’t understand. It’s too late for that, and I’m not my brother.”
We weren’t dealing with the most sophisticated high-class criminals, leaving me to believe the Grandmaster wasn’t involved. From the stories we heard, he’d never let things get this out of control. None of it made sense.
“As for you, I really don’t know, Imogen. I think it was a case of the wrong place at the wrong time.”
She nodded. “That sounds like my kind of luck.”
I held the bar door open for Imogen, letting her walk inside with me right behind her.
The smell of greasy eggs hit my stomach hard, and I grumbled. The two of us took a seat at a small round table in the corner. I never felt like a bigger failure in my entire life than sitting across from Imogen and realizing I couldn’t get her a plate piled high with food. I’d never been unable to provide for someone before, and it made me worthless.
A waitress who reminded me of my grandmother with her stern look and white hair back in a low ponytail approached us. “Can I get you two anything?”
Imogen looked at me, and it was the hardest thing to do, but I shook my head no. I had no money. They took my phone and my wallet before they threw me on the boat.
“Just water for the two of us, please?” At least we’d hydrate. “A pitcher if you have it.”
The older woman looked down and shook her head at me. “No offense, but it looks like the two of you have had a rough night. Are you sure you want nothing else?”
“We have no money,” Imogen said so softly I barely heard it, yet it still cracked my heart in two.
The older woman scoffed at me and placed a hand on Imogen’s shoulder, giving me a nasty glare. “Honey, today the eggs are on me, but you need to find yourself a new man before this one runs you into the ground.”
For a few seconds, I considered arguing. I’d done the best possible with the crappy situation, and I was the right man to keep Imogen safe and happy.
Yet.
The waitress had a point. Things weren’t going as planned. I was a piece of shit. At least with her kindness, Imogen would have food. That was the most important thing.
“You have a phone I can use?” I asked before the older woman walked away.
She shook her head and her lips fell into an even deeper pinched scowl. “Behind the counter.”
An older gentleman who looked like he’d been married to the woman for so long they were morphing into the same person handed me a cordless phone when I approached.
I dialed Corbin’s phone number but only heard a dial tone.
“Does this phone work?” I asked, turning the phone off and then back on again.
“There’s no long distance on that line,” the older man said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Are you trying to call out of state on my phone?” He ran his fingers through his long, crinkled beard and I handed the phone back.
I’d do many things for Imogen’s safety and her honor, but I didn’t have the strength to get into a brawl with the man behind the bar. “Can you call the police, please?”
