The driver’s shouting now, while another man inside the van slides the door open to grab the girls. Big mistake. I sprint out from behind my cover, bullets be damned, and fire three quick rounds at him before firing three more into the windshield. Spiderweb cracks bloom, and the driver’s silhouette slumps forward. The man I hit in the shoulder scuttles toward the alley wall, leaving a wet red smear as he tries to reach the pistol he dropped. I step forward without a word and put a bullet through the back of his skull. No hesitation. No flourish. Just trash removal. With a quick press of a button, I release the magazine while my other hand is digging into my pocket for a fresh one. Slapping the mag in, cocking the Glock,is second nature while my body pivots on muscle memory toward the van. I know Gerald’s still here. Cowards don’t die first; they hide. And rats always pick the gutters. My eyes sweep the alley. There, a flicker of movement near the front passenger wheel. I approach slowly with my gun raised, my boots crunching on the glass and blood-slick gravel.
"Gerald," I call out in a quiet voice, almost conversational. "You got thirty seconds to make peace."
A panicked snarl follows a low grunt as he springs out from behind the bumper, knife in hand, charging me like a wild dog. Pathetic.
I shoot him, but not to kill. No, that’s too easy for a piece of trash like him. He deserves to suffer. Something inside me that I’ve kept clipped and clean for years—the part that savors the smell of fear, the part that likes stories to end with silence—uncoils like a spring. Up until tonight, I’ve been efficient: locate, disable, disappear. Personal never made it onto the ledger. But seeing him put his hands on Sophia snapped something wide open. The disciplined soldier slid back, and something raw stepped forward, fueled with a hunger for blood that I know deep down will never be satisfied. I want to spend hours with him. I want him to beg and count it out loud, second by second. I hardly recognize the voice that answers that want; it sounds older, crueler, and it answers to her name.
Regrettably, there’s no time for hours. The van’s engine rattles, the girls are crying, and sirens sound in the distance—someone must have called the cops—reality issnapping at my heels, bringing me back to the present. One round takes out his left knee. He screams and collapses sideways, the knife skittering from his hand. I walk toward him slowly and deliberately, like death itself, then kneel beside him.
"You traffic women," I say in a low, calm voice.
He gasps, his hands grasp at his ruined leg. "You—fuck, you don’t know what you're interfering with?—"
"I do," I interrupt. "I know exactly what you are."
I lean in and grab his face, forcing him to look at me. "Do you know what it’s like for a girl who disappears into one of your basements? For her family? Her sisters? Herbody, if she ever comes back?" He flinches. Good. "You’re not just a pain in the ass to my boss, Gerald. You’re an infection."
He starts blubbering. Begging. "I don’t touch them. I didn’t—I just move the girls. That’s all, I just?—"
I make a tsking sound, before I shove the barrel of my gun into his mouth. His eyes bulge. I lean in and whisper, "Your kind doesn’t bleed enough for what you take."
I pull the trigger.
The shot’s muffled, but the silence afterward is thunderous. I wipe the barrel on his jacket and rise. The girls slowly reassemble from where they scattered, hugging each other, whispering. Their teary eyes look wildly around as they step over the bodies I left on the ground. But all I see is Sophia, her wide eyes locked on me. Nothorrified, but watchful. She doesn’t show any fear when I approach. I give the alley one last scan and call it. We're clear.
"Come on," I tell the girls, even though my eyes are glued to Sophia. "I’m getting you out of here."
She takes my hand. Hers is so small, so fragile and trembling.
"Thank you," she looks up at me with those crystal-clear green eyes, and I'm done for.
"Yes, thank you," Camilla sidles up next to me, batting her eyelashes, a deep, luring smile spreads over her lips. But I don't care. I only have eyes for Sophia, even as the other two girls approach me, each one a beauty in her own right.
"I have to call this in," I tell them. Their faces fall. They know they fucked up, and they know they'll catch hell from their fathers and brothers. But that's not my problem. I'm not about to leave this mess behind. They wanted an adventure; they got caught. Now it's time to pay the piper.
A few minutes earlier…
Gigi laughs and tugs my arm. "Come on," she says, trying to pull me off the dance floor. She points at the booth we picked for ourselves, and my eyes land on Lex Carter.TheLex Carter, grinning his YouTube grin.
"Oh my God, is that…" I yell at Gigi.
She laughs, "The one and only."
I expect my heart to pick up a notch at seeing him here in real life. We've been fawning over his YouTubes for months now, like every other hot-blooded teenager in NYC and, probably, the whole country. But there is nothing. Well, there’s a small, weird flutter in my stomach, but it's not like what you would expect. Not even close. More of a nervous tick, really, like when daddy dearest introduces a new business partner, and I have to be on my best behavior.
"Let's go." Oblivious to my less-than-enthusiastic mood, Gigi pulls me toward the booth, and I let her. That's why we're here after all, right? To see and be seen? That's the beauty of NYC, you can go to anyInclub and find a celebrity or two.
Up close, Lex Carter is even more gorgeous than on camera. It seems a bit surreal to see him sitting across from me after having seen his face plastered on billboards and screens. Disappointingly, my heart remains stutter-free. He smiles his ten-million-buck smile at me, and I smile politely back.
"This is Sophia Orsi," Gigi introduces me as she flings herself toward him, pushing Camilla and Izzy to the side. Their laughter is bright, stupid, and careless. Shots arrive, and I grab one because the others do. My friends are laughing and cheering; we clink glasses, and I participate, but my heart is not in it. Damn him anyway. Why did Raf have to be there when I snuck out? Now he's on my mind, again.
Three older men approach our table. I don't pay them any mind. Not until Izzy blanches. I look up. One of them pulls his jacket to the side to expose his sidearm.
"Easy now, ladies. We don't want to make a scene." One of them says. "Just get up and follow us."
I'm not really scared. I've been around men with guns all my life. I rise from the booth and look at him, "Do you have any idea who we are?"
"Hot, that's what you are, and you're going to fetch a good price," the man replies loudly, and the others fall in. Lex looks a bit uncomfortable in the booth as he scoots out. He holds out his hand, and the guy who has done all the talking slips him a package with white powder. Seriously?
