He speaks low, like he wants to make sure his voice isn’t heard.
“I found the Prophet.”
Thank fuck. Maybe if she gets her revenge on the man responsible for her damage, she’ll go away.
“Where is he?”
A text message alert comes through on my phone, and I open it to find a picture that I really wish he had not fucking sent. It’s a man in his fifties, fucking a goddamnchild.
“Jack, I didn’t need to fucking see that. Don’t send me that disgusting shit.”
Jack is a machine—nothing fazes him. He has been working for us for years and never shows emotion. It’s one of the reasons he’s my favorite employee.
“You needed to see it, Kill. This place is a non-stop pedophile orgy. If you don’t do something soon, I will,” his voice breaks at the end of his sentence, and for the first-time ever, I wonder if a job is too much for him.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“No,” he whisper-shouts, “I’m not okay. I have three little sisters, and watching this shit is hard. Your girlfriend needs to speed this shit up. There are far too many of these pigs still alive.”
I sigh audibly as I try to get the picture out of my mind.
“You should’ve called sooner. I’ll text you our plan.”
I disconnect the call, and walk back to the lounge.
Clearing my throat, I say, “The Prophet has been located.”
They break away from each other, and I watch Heather get dressed, while Knox and Carter pull their boxers on.
“How did you find him?”
I take a seat on the sofa and she sits beside me, eager for information.
“I’ve had someone watching them, inside and outside. He spotted your-”
A pained expression crosses her face, and I change my choice of words.
“He spotted the Prophet, and sent me a picture.”
Knox sits beside her, while Carter takes a seat in the chair across from us.
“Can I see it?” Heather asks, and my first thought is to bark out a no, because no one needs to see this. Especially not her. I can only assume she knows the girl in the photograph.
I glance at Knox, and he nods his head, but he hasn’t seen the picture. I don’t think I’d want to see this if it were my family. Hell, I don’t want to see it, and it’s not my damn family. If I knew the people in the photograph, it would be so much worse.
“The photo is of the Prophet with a little girl. It’s graphic, and I don’t know that you need to see it.”
Rising to her feet, she stands in front of me and places her hands on her hips, with a scowl on her face.
“Show me the picture, Killian. I have every right to see who it is.”
I pull my phone out and hand it to her.
“It’s your eyes, Killer.”
She grips my phone in her hand tightly, as she stares at the image on the screen. Her knees buckle, as if her weight is too much to bear, and falls to the ground, never taking her eyes off my phone.
“I don’t understand. S-She hasn’t had a period yet. Delilah is only five. I don’t understand.”
