I get out of the car with my breath lodged in my throat and butterflies running crazy in the pit of my stomach. It’s ten p.m., and it’s dark out. There are no streetlights in this part of town and only scant illumination from the crescent moon in the sky. My hands are clammy, as I clutch the brown paper envelope in one hand, and walk across the debris-strewn ground toward the entrance to the dilapidated warehouse. My eyes adjust to the dusky night sky, and my vision becomes clearer. Part of the corrugated iron roof is missing, and most of the windows are cracked or boarded up. The door creaks as I open it, and blood rushes to my head as adrenaline courses through my veins.
My sneakers crunch over something hard on the floor as I step inside. It’s pitch-black and creepy as fuck. My heart is racing a hundred miles an hour, and I’m having a hard time containing my fear. “Hello?” I call out, hating how my voice quakes. “Clay?” I add, purposely shouting louder and with more confidence than I feel. I step forward, my feet crunching over the uneven ground, clasping the envelope to my chest. I purposely didn’t bring my cell, as I’ve no doubt Clay would just take it off me, so I have no flashlight.
All the tiny hairs prick at the back of my neck and bile pools at the base of my throat when I sense a presence behind me. I move to spin around, but a hand juts out, wrapping around the front of my throat. “Hello, baby sister,” Clay hisses, his warm breath fanning across my ear, making me shiver. “Did you come alone like I said?”
“Yes,” I croak, unable to hide the tremor in my voice.
“It’s clear,” another voice says from the far right. A light shines in my face at the front, and I shield my eyes from the sudden brightness. Clay moves his body up close behind me, and I fight a full body shudder, repulsed at having him so near.
But I have a role to play, and it’s too important to mess up, so I shove my repulsion aside, concentrating on doing what I need to do.
Pushing me forward with his hand tight around my neck, Clay thrusts me into the arms of a much older man with a long straggly dark beard. I recognize his face from the mugshots the FBI showed me. He’s one of the guys who raped Kent, and it takes everything in me not to lunge at him and gouge that sneering smile off his mouth.
The asshole manhandles me into a chair, tying my hands to either side of the wooden slats while Clay grabs the envelope. He dumps the contents on a small dirty table on the left, grinning at the bundles of cash. Two other assholes sit on crates in front of me while a fourth man counts the money with Clay. They are all holding flashlights, shining them over every part of my body, making my skin crawl. Ignoring the panic racing through my veins, I jut my chin up, keeping my gaze focused straight ahead. I can’t examine my surroundings because it’s too dark, and I pray the FBI is in place and that their technology is working.
I clear my throat. “Why are you treating me like this?” I ask, angling my head in Clay’s direction. “I came here to help you. I’m not your enemy,” I lie.
Clay lifts his head from counting the money, narrowing his eyes. “That’s to be determined, li’l heartbreaker.” His eyes lift to the man with the long grubby beard. “Pat her down.”
“It would be my pleasure.” He guffaws, and dread washes over me. I swallow my distaste, schooling my expression into a neutral line, as he comes around in front of me and starts checking my body, his disgusting hands lingering too long in places they shouldn’t. His hands dive into the pockets of my jeans, and I almost puke as his fingers dig into my pussy through the denim. The assholes on the crates laugh, their eyes firing up as they devour me with hungry gazes. Ice creeps up my spine because it’s clear they don’t trust me. If their behavior didn’t give it away, the guns poking out of the pockets of their jeans do.
“She’s clean,” Beardy says, and I breathe a silent sigh of relief he didn’t find the microphone.
“Put that in my bike,” Clay says, shoving the envelope at the man standing beside him.
He nods, walking off behind me, and I’m guessing they have their bikes somewhere in here.
“Ten K won’t last long, but it’s a start,” Clay says.
“It’s all I can spare,” I lie. “But I’ll try to get you more.”
Clay kneels in front of me, gripping my chin. “Why are you here, li’l heartbreaker? What’s your agenda?” His face has healed well in the three weeks since Kent beat him up, but he has a couple of new scars on his face, just under his left eye, and from the way he’s holding his upper torso, I can tell he’s still in pain. Kent broke a few of his ribs, and they will take longer to heal. At least I know where to kick him if I get the chance.
I prepare to put on the show of a lifetime. My lower lip wobbles, and tears fill my eyes. “I’m sorry for what Kent did to you. I’m sorry I didn’t go to you straightaway, but he tricked me. Told me lies and had me confused. I’m going to make it right now. I’ll help you get overseas. You just tell me what you need done, and I’ll make it happen, but you have to hurry, Clay. The FBI is asking all kinds of questions, and they have Anna and Gerald, and they are making up all kinds of horrible lies.”
“What kind of lies?” Clay asks, straightening up and hovering over me like a dark menace.
“They are saying you raped boys. That you were involved with the Cateses in abusing all the boys they took in.”
An evil glint flickers in his eyes, and his mouth curves up at the corner. “I did love you, you know,” he says, running his fingers across the top of my head. “Even if you are a dumb bitch.” He laughs, and the sound raises goose bumps on my arms. “You are so fucking naive. The things we did in that house and you never knew.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Presley
A chorus of chuckles rings out as the assholes laugh at my expense.
“It’s true?” I croak, keeping up the ruse even though it’s most likely futile. It seems he came here already knowing I’ve washed my hands of him. Clay has always worn arrogance like it’s something to be proud of. I’m betting he asked me to meet, knowing I was no longer playing for the same team, because he wants the opportunity to gloat. To break me apart for betraying him.
Grabbing my hair, he yanks my head back, stretching my neck at an awkward angle. “Let’s quit the pretense, Pres. Even you’re notthatdumb.” Forcing my knees apart, he steps between them, lowering his face to mine. “Do you want to know the real reason Chris and I stopped speaking?” He doesn’t wait for my reply. “It was at Gerald and Anna’s. A couple of weeks after you lost your beautiful little baby.” His mocking tone has the desired effect. I want to yell at him and kick out with my legs, but they didn’t tie my feet and I figure I’ll need the use of them if I’m to get out of here alive, so I swallow my pain and focus on the big picture, ignoring his attempts to bait me.
“We’d just finished fucking your precious Chris six ways from Sunday.” He smiles as a single tear rolls down my face. “He was supposed to have left after we showed him a good time, but he decided to be a hero. He chose to sneak back in, to try to find some evidence to use against us.” He scoffs. “Fucking dumbass.”
I guess that explains why Chris went back to that house. Tillie’s death must have forced him to confront all the shit that had been done to him, and he decided to do something about it. Poor Chris. I hate he went through all that abuse and couldn’t tell me about it.
Clay tilts his head to the side, easing his hold on my hair, running the tip of his finger down my face.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” I hiss, done playing games.
