I’m dumbfounded and not sure how to respond, but before I can do more than say, “Hi, and it’s nice to meet them,” we’re herded into the house.
“Thank you for coming. I know Mellie has been hoping for this reunion for years,” Trudy says as she ushers us into the kitchen.
Mellie wasn’t kidding about the big dinner. A huge roast and every side dish you can imagine waits for us.
“I hope you brought your appetites. Mother has been cooking ever since she heard you were coming,” Elmer says as we take our seats at the table.
“This all looks delicious. But you didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” I say, as Trudy fills my plate with slices of roast, a huge spoonful of mashed potatoes, green beans, corn, and biscuits.
As hungry as I am, I can’t rid my thoughts of the story Mellie shared. It might just be a story for me, but on some level it feels real, like some part of my brain is trying to remember. It’s enough for my appetite to wane, and my throat to tighten every time I try to swallow. Still, I push myself to eat and be social. Her family is so warm. I can’t even imagine what growing up herewould have been like. The complete opposite of the cold, quiet home where I tried to disappear into the woodwork.
By the time we finish eating and help clean up, I’m exhausted and all I want is a bed and to forget today ever happened. As promised, Mellie brings a bottle of wine upstairs to the bedroom we’re sharing. It’s been years since I slept in a twin bed, but it’s covered in a handmade quilt and lots of pillows.
We get ready for bed and climb between the sheets. Mellie passes me a Mason jar half-full of wine. I can’t help giggling.
“What?” she asks with a smirk. “Are you too fancy to drink cheap wine out of a jar?” Then we both break out into semi-hysterical laughter, and it’s like a dam broke as tears are running down both our faces.
I pull myself together first and wipe my eyes with the back of my hand, then take a long drink. It’s not bad wine, but it is perfect right now.
“Thank you, Mellie. For tracking me down, sharing our story, and being strong enough to survive our childhood.”
She slowly lowers her own jar, and our eyes meet. “You’re welcome. Thank you for not thinking I was a crazy woman and for listening. Tomorrow, we'll try to get those girls and make that fucker pay. Then the circle will be closed.”
“Yes,” I whisper and clink my jar with hers. “We’ll close that fucking circle once and for all.”
CHAPTER 9
TONY
We checked the abandoned warehouse for any sign of the women or the traffickers, but came up empty last night. It’s what I’d expected. The Stepanov Bratva has been at this a long time, and they’re like a fine-tuned machine. But eventually they’ll make a mistake, and we’ll be there to take them down.
For now, we’ll continue to chip away at their individual cells where we can. By the time we checked into our rooms at the hotel, we were exhausted, pissed off, and hungry but still too pissed off to relax. I’d let down all those women by failing to find them in time. The chances of us finding them now were slim, and it stuck in my throat like a sharp chicken bone. All I wanted to do was go home and make love to Providence.
Ordering dinner and a bottle of bourbon from room service took the edge off. Trying to sleep is futile. All I do is toss and turn. I doubt my eyes were even closed for half an hour when they pop open, and thoughts of Providence needing me fill me with dread. If it wasn’t zero dark thirty, I would call her, but no way am I waking her up because of a feeling, although my gut rarely is wrong.
Instead, I head toward the minibar to grab a bottle of water.
“Hey boss, can’t sleep either?” Mike asks from the sofa where he’s sitting in the dark with the rest of the team.
The only light in the room is from the streetlights shining through the parted curtains. Shaking my head, I open the water bottle and drain it before answering.
“Didn’t any of you yahoos sleep?”
“Not really. Couldn’t get over missing that fucking cargo ship,” Pat replies. He’s sitting in one of the club chairs, his head resting on the back of the chair and his monster feet propped up on the coffee table.
“Same,” Evan mumbles from his seat next to Mike.
“It’s fucked up,” Adam adds.
Honestly, I’m surprised he said anything at all. The man is definitely the strong, silent type.
“Then let’s head home. I need to see Providence, something’s not right.” No one objects or asks what I’m worried about. They’re used to my gut instincts.
I head back to my room to take a quick shower to fully wake up and throw on my clothes while the others do the same. It’s barely an hour later when we’re hitting the road.
The best part of traveling in the middle of the night is the lack of traffic. This trip usually takes almost four hours. With fewer vehicles on the road, we’re more than halfway home by the time the sun is clearing the horizon. Watching the time tick down has been torture, but I refused to text Providence before six.
The rest stop coffee was burning a hole in my stomach, and the breakfast burritos are a crime against humanity and a case of food poisoning waiting to happen. Evan interrupts my thoughts when he texts, letting me know they’re pulling over at the next rest area. I guess I’m not the only one who is feeling the results of those fucking burritos.
