I smile. “Hey Connor.”
“I’m taking a shower, then I need my wife back in bed, Ellie,” he shouts as he disappears off camera.
“For orgasms?”
“Yup. Many, many orgasms,” he responds.
“You’re so lucky,” I mutter.
She smiles at me. “We will get you there, Ellie. Small steps.”
“Having an orgasm in front of someone seems like a giant step.”
Her grin widens as she blows on the top of her coffee, steam billowing in front of her face. “No orgasms. In fact, let’s take sex off the table completely. Unless, of course, someone sweeps you off your feet. Then go for it.”
“Okay. While my hair goes gray waiting for my Prince Charming, what do you want me to do? Because I don’t think I can go to the toilet in front of anyone.”
“I want you to have an honest conversation with someone. In a bar, a restaurant, on a plane—no stakes, no stipulations, no expectations. If it helps, pick someone you aren’t attracted to, but challenge yourself to reveal at least two things you haven’t told anyone before.”
I open my mouth, ready to disclose two things to her. She holds her hand up, halting me. “Not me, Ellie. Two honest things to someone other than myself or your uncle.”
My brows lower. Honesty is what gets me in trouble.
Chapter Five
Eleanor
Roadmaps & relationships.
“Flight 421 to Chicago is now boarding. All passengers please have your boarding passes ready and proceed to Gate 18. We would like to invite our first-class passengers to board at this time.”
I grab my bag and proceed to the boarding line, as instructed. I quickly reach the front, scan my pass, and continue down the jet bridge.
I thrust my boarding pass at the snub-nosed redhead who directs passengers to their seats upon entering the plane. She glares at me as she glances at my pass like I’m a piece of shit she trod on in her stilettos. Who wears heels to work? Psychopaths, that’s who. She hands my pass off to a male attendant, and as he leads me to my seat, I wonder if she gets orgasms. Do all flight attendants join the mile high club? Does the captain watch? Is it private, or are passengers invited?
“Miss Austin? Your seat,” the attendant says, interrupting my internal dialogue.
“Thanks,” I mutter as I drop into the plush leather reclining chair. The flight is only four hours and one minute long, but I still need my space and privacy. My thoughts flit to Gail’s challenge, and I take in my fellow passengers as they fill the surrounding seats. Too young. Too attractive. Too closed off—ironically. What about her? No, headphones already in—universal sign for fuck off and don’t speak to me. What would I even say?Hi, my name is Eleanor Austin, and I am a cult survivor. I distrust men, and I find women operate in bitchy cliques I struggle to understand, which has led me to lead a lonely life—and if I’m honest, I prefer it this way. You can only truly count on one person, and that is yourself.
Except for Fox Alderidge. I met him when the government snapped me up after I hacked into the NSA. I only did it to see if I could. I tried explaining I meant no ill intent, but they didn’t understand it was a challenge not a threat. Governments don’t enjoy being bested by outside operators. I was clever enough to get in, but not enough to erase my trail. Computers, code, and math are languages I understand. None of this nuance, facial expressions, and tone. Fuck that white noise.
Both Fox and I served our time, seeing and doing things neither of us discuss. Growing up in a cult was brutal. The military and government offer me the boundaries I need to stay on the rails. After having so many rules, freedom was a scary thing. I found footing in their routine. It grounded me as I navigated a world I never knew existed.
Honor is Fox’s new wife. She blew into his life and upended Mr. Uptight and Controlled himself. She’s my first female friend outside of Gail. Honor survived her own horror at the hands of the late New York City DA. He met a fiery end… which I had everything to do with.
I sigh as I recall his face when he realized he was screwed. Fucking awesome.
My friendship with Honor is still in the early stages. I don’t feel the need to hide who I am with her, which is a rare and wondrous thing. We have a standing weekly gaming date and a monthly virtual movie party. She’s patient, understanding, and uncritical—like my vibrating silicone friend. I like her a lot.
I balance my bag on my lap, retrieving my tablet and phone. Sleep is impossible in a crowded public space, so I may as well check on work. My freelance work makes for sixty percent of my income, and ten percent of my time. Companies pay me to test their cyber security and give them a report on how to tighten it. I’m also on retainer for The Haven Foundation, a charity headed up by Honor. It helps people escape domestic violence situations, gives them refuge, and when the time is right, builds a legal case against the guilty.
Then there’s my side project, my true passion—hunting for Jonathan Carver and his elusive organization that, unbeknown to the women and children in his little cult, is a front for a sex ring spanning the globe. But as I hunt him, I’m more than aware he hunts me in return, which makes things tricky. He can’t ever realize who is snapping at his heels, not until the last minute, not until I end his reign of terror.
Navigating the criminal underbelly while remaining undetected is an art form. 27.6 million people are victims of human trafficking worldwide, and it’s on the rise. How, in a world where we send our leaders to meet and devise plans to slow down climate change, where we send people to space, do we still have such a large prevalence of slavery? It baffles the mind.
Money, of course, is the driving force. Flesh is worth approximately one hundred fifty billion dollars a year, and it’s a slice of criminal pie many want in on. There have been numerous lawsuits against major hotel chains for ignoring signs of human trafficking, turning a blind eye to malnourished anddistressed girls, men visiting without luggage, excessive requests for towels, and many other indications something is amiss.
Victims are often lured by their family members and romantic partners who never register them as missing. Law enforcement is missing huge chunks of the picture with no hope of bringing together the strands of the puzzle to unpick the network and dismantle the major players.
