I have no weapons.
My hand goes quickly to the hair tie around my wrist, and that’s intact, at least.
I’d feel a whole lot better if it was lethal.I never go anywhere without at least one weapon on me.Then again, I’ve never been kidnapped.I probably should have realized they weren’t going to let me keep my things.
I turn my eyes to the girls around me, and start to take stock of the situation.They’re all very young, and very scared.They’re milling around the room, asking questions of each other like someone might have the answer to what’s going on.Some of the girls are sobbing, some are handcuffed.Everyone is terrified, but some of them look more defiant than others.
Every one of them is too dressed up for a dripping room in the catacombs.Some have on fancy dresses, like me, and I wonder abruptly if we all came from the same party.I assumed my father had the ball to meet with his contacts, but what if it was more than that?
What if it was a way to gather high-society girls?
I start to push through the girls, looking at their faces and trying to figure out whether I recognize any of them.There were definitely other girls at that ball, but I wasn’t looking at them.I was too busy watching the men watch me, and trying to determine where their alliances were.Who might be in charge of the ring we were trying to bust.
Aside from that first girl, any female in the room was just background noise, and now I’m kicking myself for not being more observant.I know better.I was there to do research and yet I only looked at half the people.
Stupid.
I do recognize some of these girls for different reasons, though.They weren’t in the files Lucien gave me, but they’ve been in the newspapers since I got here.Society girls, out to party, who’ve had their pictures taken for the press.Daughters of politicians who were photographed doing appearances with their fathers.Daughters of lawyers and businessmen and even the mayor.These girls are the crème de la crème of New Orleans society.I start asking for names, and though most of the girls are too terrified to speak, some of them do.Laura Hannaby.Sasha Johns.Mika Collins.
Kate Fontenot.
I stop when I hear the name.I hadn’t asked anyone, but someone had answered, and when I look up, I find the blazing black eyes of a girl I know.Her hair is as dark as her eyes, her face sharp and pointed like she’s some sort of pixie, and I’d recognize that smirk in my sleep.
I fly to her—as well as I can, given the crowd—and take her in my arms, my mind rushing to catch up.
“Kate, what the actual fuck are you doing in here?”
She looks rough, and I look closer, wondering if she’s okay.Her eyes are darkened by shadows and she’s even paler than usual, which is saying something.I also see a bruise forming on her left cheekbone.
And she’s the only girl in here wearing normal clothes.She looks like she was on a run to the market or something.
“Well I didn’t come here on purpose, if that’s what you’re asking,” she says wryly.
I have to smile at that, because Kate is one of the only people I know who could be in a situation like this and still crack jokes.She and Sloane would adore each other.Not that I’ve ever had them in the same space.Kate is one of my one and only adult friends in New Orleans, and used to be one of my first stops whenever I came back to town.Camille introduced me to her early on, and we’ve been fast friends ever since.
Honestly, I don’t know how Camille even knows her.They certainly don’t move in the same circles.
Kate is, to put it nicely, the daughter of one of my most infamous madames in New Orleans.If you want to be more blunt, you could say Kate’s the daughter of the woman who runs the best meat markets in town.She’s not the kind of person you want to make an enemy of, and she doesn’t fit with the profile of the girls we’ve been looking at.
I grab her arm and pull her to the side of the room, intent on finding out what’s going on.Is there more to this story than we realized?
Is her mother involved?
I don’t want to think that.I’ve known Kitty Fontenot–yes, their names are almost the same–as long as I’ve known Kate, and I adore her.Big, boisterous, and not afraid of anyone, the woman lives her life the way she wants to, and has more respect for women than most people in the world.Despite the fact that she runs a business where they sell their own bodies.She takes care of her girls, makes sure they get the money and medical care they need, and I can’t imagine her ever selling anyone into a smuggling ring.
Though lately I’m starting to think I don’t read people as well as I once thought.
“What’s going on?”I hiss, pulling Kate up against the wall.“What are you doing here?How long have you been in here?Do you know who runs this thing?”
She puts up a hand.“God, Brooks, one question at a time.I haven’t slept in about three days and my brain’s not moving as quickly as it used to.I don’t know what’s happening or who’s running it but it’s not hard to guess what ‘it’ is.”She looks around the room and then back to me, her eyebrows lifted.“Doyouknow what’s going on?”
“Probably more than you,” I say, and give her the very short version of what we’ve discovered.“I went to a ball at my dad’s house with Lucien and–”
She grabs my arm.“Lucien?Lucien Boudreaux?”
My heart sinks a little bit at the way she says his name, but I nod.“It’s sort of a long story.”
“I bet it is,” she drawls, the corners of her mouth turning up.“You two never do anything the short or easy way.”
