As if that’s the important thing.
I turn and walk away before I kill someone.Because Brooks called Camille, which means she has a phone.She’s able to communicate with anyone.
And she called them but not me.
She fucking calledCamille, instead of calling me.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and glare at the screen, then scroll through the recent calls, looking for anything out of place.There’s nothing, of course.The only people who call this phone are the ones specifically given the number, and I’ve never given it to Brooks.
I also don’t know the number she might be calling from.
But I’m furious at the thought of her calling anyone other than me–though I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.
I’m out the front door and on the way to one of my motorcycles before I remember the other thing Camille said before things got jumbled.
She said the Brooks told them if they were ever in trouble, they could come to my house to be safe.
And I didn’t think it was possible.My body is burning up with fury at the thought of her calling them instead of me, particularly after what happened last night.I’m angrier than I’ve been since yesterday, when I found out she went to the port by herself.
But the thought that she told her cousin to come to me if she ever needed a safe space?
That makes it a little bit better.
Brooks
We enter the warehouse by the river like it’s a fucking tunnel right into hell.Outside, the sun is bright and clear, the day warm and welcoming.
But when we walk into the building, I have only one thought: This is where sunshine and happiness come to die.
This is where freedom ends.
And I’m standing on the wrong side of that battle.
My father takes my arm then, distracting me, and threads my hand through the crook of his elbow like it’s always belonged there.I cringe, but then force myself to walk beside him, remembering that I’m here to do a job.I’m here on a mission, more or less.Find the girls.Figure out how and where my father is taking them, and then where he’s holding them.Catalogue the process, figure out how the ring actually works, and locate any patterns I can use.
Yes, I’m working with the lowest human beings on the planet in a role that makes me want to slit my own throat.
But I’ve got plans to end that, and if I can find way to tear this smuggling ring apart from the inside, it will all be worth it.
“This,” my father says smoothly, as we walk out onto a catwalk over the main floor of the warehouse, “is our main holding center.The building where we keep the bulk of our merchandise.”
My God, I’m going to have to murder him, and sooner rather than later.
“Merchandise?”I ask, glad that he’s looking below our feet rather than at my face.
Because there’s no way I can control my expression right now.
“Look below you,” he says, pausing to give me a grin.
I don’t want to.I would literally sell my soul tonotlook below me.But I remember what I just told myself, and then go a step further: If I’m going to stop this ring the way I mean to, I have to know what’s going on.All the pieces of the operation.
I need to know how to tear it apart, block by block.
And I’ve never been a coward.
So I take a deep breath, build a steel wall around my soul, and then look down, already knowing what I’m going to see.
It’s even worse than I expected.Below us, I see what looks like a maze.Room after room, all connected together, with halls running around them.Every room has several girls in it, with beds and dressers pushed against the wall.The girls are all in the same uniforms–colorless sack dresses that don’t give them any privacy at all and make them look all the same.They’re sitting on the beds or staring at the walls, quiet and despondent, and the despair hangs over the place like a fucking fog.
