“Is it porn?” Abs grins, practically bouncing in his chair, and I shoot him a look of contempt. Damn obvious we won’t be watching porn. I’m guessing surveillance video of some sort.
“No! It ain’t fuckin’ porn,” Savage bites out, with a tone he doesn’t use often. It’s bitter and full of disgust. My spine straightens as a little blonde-haired girl comes into view on the screen. She has to be around eight, lining crayons up in some sort of liquid while panting noises take place in the background.
The camera moves to the side, and the liquid gleams as it does.
“That blood?” Raider asks.
“The kid is lining crayons up in blood like it’s nothin’,” Slash states.
As the camera turns slightly, a man in a suit comes into view, the one making the panting noises. The woman he’s fucking over an expensive-looking desk is dead, her throat slit, and the kid is playing in her blood, like it’s an everyday occurrence.
For some reason, I’m grateful I couldn’t see the kid’s face. I don’t want that searing into me so deep it’ll never let go. I’ve witnessed too much childhood trauma, and it feels like there’s no escaping it. It’s like you’re suffocating from their pain, and even worse when it’s your own face reflected at you.
The camera falls to the floor, and the person behind it moves, and when she does, every cell in my body pulls tight, and the room feels like it’s spinning. I’d know that person anywhere. She’s the other half of me.
Holy shit.
No.
“Is that Alisha?” Malice chokes out, and I scan over her cut, the one with our patches.
My mouth goes dry, and my heart lurches. All I can do is nod.
The man pulls out of the lifeless woman and tucks himself away before smacking Alisha hard across the face, and a pained sob whooshes from me. Someone hurt my sister. Hit her.
“This is old.She’s young here, Killa,” one of my brothers points out, but I simply nod.
He’s right; this footage is old. It has to be at least five years old, and my sister has been perfectly fine since then, but it doesn’t stop me from hurting.
The man who hurt her is a dead man walking, but we barely get a glimpse of his face.
The screen goes black, and when it flickers back on, it’s of a young boy’s tear-streaked face.
“What the fuck is this shit?” Dagger spits out, pushing out of his chair and tugging on his hair.
“Sit the fuck down!” Savage demands, and we all wait in stunned silence for him to take his seat again.
Once Dagger is settled, the film continues. I hadn’t even realized Hunter had paused it. “It’s a bunch of snippets sent to us because Oscar O’Connell recognized our logo,” Hunter says, and I’m grateful for his tone not being the least bit accusing. Like it or not, Alisha is into something deep, something sinister, and she’s missing.
“Where’s this kid being held? Looks like a basement or something?” Slash seethes from across the table. “We need to fuckin’ help him. Look at him!”
“He looks terrified,” Warrior says in a cold, deflated voice, and my stomach twists with the same thought and feeling.
“I’ve already sent a copy to law enforcement,” Hunter says, and panic ravishes my bloodstream. “Minus the scene with Alisha,” he tacks on, settling my throbbing veins. “Carson has informed me it’s part of a human trafficking ring they’re investigating.”
“Jesus,” I rasp, and my stomach rolls with nausea. What the hell have you gotten yourself into, Alisha?
My sister is lost. So damn lost in her trauma and addictions; Iworry the only way out for her is death, and I can only hope that won’t be too painful when the time comes.
Maybe then, she’ll finally be at peace?
The camera pans out, but the kid remains frozen on the screen. A harrowing image I can’t unsee. A reminder of the evil in this world and how we unknowingly live among it.
A cruel world full of secrets and lies.
“Got that run down in Florida this weekend. We ready, Killa?” Savage cocks an eyebrow at me, and I give him a curt nod.
“Yeah, we’re good. Morgue, you’re leading the van.” I tip my head toward Morgue, one of our enforcers, and he gives me a swift nod. He barely says a damn word and spends the majority of time hidden behind his dark, messy head of hair. He doesn’t so much as blink in the club whores’ direction, let alone touch any of them. They learned early on to leave him be; he isn’t interested in what they offer. I’ve never seen him with a woman, and I don’t think I will anytime soon. The man is too fucked up from his past to be interested in anything they have to give.
