"What kind of threats?" Coin asks, his voice tight.
"He says she owes him money. Years of debts from when she was using. He wants to collect." I pause, forcing the words out past the rage that wants to choke me. "He also threatened the baby. Said if she doesn't do what he says, he'll cut it out of her."
"Jesus fuckin’ Christ," Bracken mutters, his lighter clicking faster.
Maddox's hands curl into fists on the table.
The wood creaks under the pressure.
He doesn't speak—he rarely does—but the look in his eyes says everything.
He's ready to kill someone.
Just point him in the right direction.
"He alsotouchedher," I continue, my voice flat. Emotionless. If I let myself feel this right now, I'll explode. "Put his hands on her body. Her throat. Between her legs. Over her clothes, but—" I have to stop. Breathe. "He violated her. Made it clear that if she doesn't pay up, he'll do worse."
The silence that follows is deafening.
Every man in this room has a mother, a sister, a daughter, or an ol’ lady.
Every man in this room understands exactly what I'm saying.
And every man in this room is thinking the same thing I am.
This cannot and will not stand.
Ruger leans forward, his forearms on the table. "This Virgil. What do we know about him?"
"Small-time dealer. Been working the Morgantown area for years. Had his hooks in Vanna when she was using—kept her high, kept her dependent. That's all I've got so far."
"I know him."
The voice comes from my left.
Ounce.
He's been quiet until now, watching and listening with those sharp eyes of his.
But when he speaks, everyone turns to look at him.
"You know him?" Ruger asks.
"I know of him." Ounce's expression is dark, shadows pooling in the lines of his face. "Virgil Sykes. He's been around for a while. Started out dealing, small stuff, worked his way up. But dealing's not his main business anymore. Hasn't been for years."
"What is?"
Ounce meets my eyes, and I see something there that makes my blood run cold.
Something that tells me this is about to get so much worse.
"Girls," he says. "He runs girls. Trafficking."
The word lands like a bomb in the center of the table.
"You're telling me this motherfucker is a trafficker?" Ruger's voice is deadly quiet. The kind of quiet that comes before he’s about to shed blood. "And he's threatening one of our own?"
"That's what I'm telling you." Ounce turns to address the table, his voice steady despite the horror of what he's describing. "I ran into him a few times, back when I was in that life. He's got connections—pipeline runs through here to bigger cities. Pittsburgh, Philly, sometimes down to DC. He finds girls who are vulnerable. Addicts, runaways, women with nowhere else to go. Gets them hooked, gets them in debt, then puts them to work. By the time they realize what's happening, they're too deep to get out."
