I snapped my mouth closed. “The one shouting the loudest feels like a good bet.”
I had no real order in which to do this. I wasn’t even sure how many people they had down here, beyond Tyler’s list, only that I hadn’t wanted to face this for so many reasons.
It took me a second to recognise the stumbling, bloodied man Damien released from the cell, his eyes covered with a torn bandanna and his hands and legs chained. It had been long years.
“Rhys Jacobs, your time to shine.” Damien hauled him by his chain to a room further down.
We followed, and Jacobs was forced to a seat.
“Mask off?” Damien checked, then whisked it away at my nod.
Jacobs peered up at each of us. I wondered how intimidating a wall of skeleton crew black masks were to someone who’d been imprisoned. Judging on how he shrank into himself, a lot.
Cassie stepped forward. “Listen up, dickless. You’re here because you’re a piece of shit who hurt others. If you’re honest and confess easily, we might be lenient.” She twisted back and gave Mila and me an elaborate wink. “If you’re not, I’ll make ye regret that decision. Now, start with who ye are.”
“My name is Rhys Anton Jacobs,” he spluttered.
“And why are ye here?”
“I… I don’t…”
Cassie slid a blade from her boot. A pretty jewel in the hilt flashed in the low light.
Jacobs recoiled. “I sold women for sex.”
Cassie raised an eyebrow. “And…”
“Au-auctioned them. I auctioned women. But they were all voluntary. Every woman chose to be there and got paid for it. I did nothing wrong.”
Cassie held her gaze on him, her knife casually resting in her hand. Then she leaned in and took a handful of his shirt and slashed. The material parted to reveal a thin frame with patchy brown chest hair. With care, Cassie drew the blade down his pec to form the letter T.
Jacobs bucked uselessly, sobbed, and strained his face from the beading blood.
Cassie pulled back and tapped her foot. “Try again.”
“It’s true. I started those auctions in school. I’m known for it.”
“But that isn’t all you do, is it?”
At his lack of words, she leaned in and wrote another letter. This time, an R.
Jacobs shook, his gaze dropping to the lines of blood that pooled in the creases of his belly. “Wh-what are you doing? I swear to God, I don’t seek them out. They come to me and make good money for it. Everyone’s happy.”
Cassie came back to us. “Is trafficker spelled with two Fs?”
Shock crossed Jacobs’ expression, and his already pale face drained of colour. “I never trafficked anyone.”
I held up a hand, pausing my friend, and stepped forward. This wasn’t what we’d agreed as our game plan. She was supposed to do the talking. But anger rose in me, hot and swift.
I tugged down my mask, ignoring a growl from Tyler. “Look at me.”
Jacobs raised his miserable head.
“You sold women who didn’t ask for it. Stop pretending.”
His gaze roamed my features. If he recognised me, it didn’t show.
“If you found yourself sold, that wasn’t my doing,” he started.
