The night is dark and humid, smelling of both mildew and rotting greenery, and I think for a moment that it’s no better out here.As I move further out on the balcony, though, coming to a stop against the stone balustrade under a sky washed with stars and a mere sliver of the moon, I realize I was wrong.Yes, it’s hot out here, but it’s also quiet.Dark.
Nearly peaceful.
And after a day full of the sobs of girls, the chatter of smugglers, and the constant thread of days and times and ports, I am ravenous for the quiet.
I let my mind skim across what I’ve seen–the girls in the club earlier, on their way into the smuggling ring, the chalkboard behind them, the strange decor–and then back to the mansion, where I was taken into some sort of war room, full of computers and grainy photographs on the wall.Screen after screen of information and more men than I could count typing at computers.Recording, I assume, the new girls and where they’re going next.
I marvel at the stupidity of my father, who has thrown me right into this mess without bothering to check in on how wiling I am, and then allow myself a small smile.
My father is dark and powerful, deranged to the point of insanity, but he never was the smartest man.
And he really should have started small with me rather than giving me access to everything.
I pull a paper from my pocket and glance down at it, thinking through what I saw and didn’t have time to record.I spent the last week trying to figure out timelines and names, and know now that every girl is given a timeline as soon as she comes into the ring.They’re put into groups, as I knew, and each group has a space of four days before they’re sent on.The multiple piers, though, that’s new.And actually knowing which piers they’re using?
Also new.
The thing I don’t understand yet is how they decide which girls are going to go where.Some of them are shipped out, and some of them are sent to auctions held in the city.But there are some who don’t seem to have an assigned destination, and I don’t understand that.The rest of the ring is run on such a tight schedule that it doesn’t make sense to have some girls existing outside of that.Are those girls just accidents?Are they for...something else?
And where does Aislyn fall into this?
I read quickly through the information on the paper, remembering the panic as I wrote it down.I’d come across Aislyn’s name in one of the databases I was looking at, and as soon as I saw it I grabbed pen and paper and started writing the details down.The thing is, this doesn’t make sense either.She should have been at the port for shipment last night, with me.She’d been in town for some time, and was reaching her expiration date.But according to what I’ve seen, she’s being moved again and again, and now has a new ship date, forty-eight hours from now.Why was it delayed, and why is she being moved around so much?
Most importantly, how can I get to her before she’s moved again?
Where is she rightnow?
That question brings another with it, because she’s not the only one who’s missing.
No matter how hard I’ve searched, I can’t find any mention of Lucien.Sure, he’s not a part of the smuggling ring, so he might not be in the databases, but surely someone’s seen him.Surely someone in the crew around me knows where he is or what’s happened to him.He’s a Boudreaux, after all, and a valuable hostage, for blackmail or ransom if nothing else.
But everyone is acting as if they’ve never heard the name ‘Lucien Boudreaux.’
God, is he dead?Is that why they’re not mentioning him?Did he get pulled out of the van only to be shot in the head on the spot?
My stomach flips at the thought and I shy away from it before it can bring me to my knees.Surely not.They wouldn’t kill him without at least asking Gemini for money for his life.
Surely.
But what if they did, and he refused to pay?
What if Gemini sent his son to his death?
I have a moment of pure panic at the thought, then move on to a new one: guilt at the idea that he’s more likely a prisoner in some underground dungeon while I’m up here standing under the stars, a free woman.
“You’re being ridiculous,” I tell myself sharply.God, not even a week in New Orleans and I’ve become paranoid.
You’d almost think I didn’t know how to handle myself down here without Lucien, and that thought is so offensive that I actually laugh.
Me, in need of Lucien?
Not in a million years.I’ve been running rackets on my own since I was a kid.Hell, I took my father on all by myself when I found those girls in the basement, and I’m older and stronger and better armed now.I don’t need Lucien.
I don’t needanyone.
The thought about the girls in the basement brings another on its heels, though, and I wonder again if there are girls in the basement right now.This was once one of the distribution hubs–at least as far as I know–and I doubt my father has moved on from that.The house is in a good location when it comes to the Warehouse District and Canal Street, plus the port, and my father is so self-centered that he must love actually living in the same house as girls who are being actively trafficked.
Christ, I’d never thought about it before, but I bet he actually gets off on that shit.
