Page 32 of Blood & Kisses

“Yep,” he answers confidently. “And that also goes for number two on your list.”

I swallow over a lump in my throat as a spiral of nerves recolonized my stomach, turning me off the beautiful food on my plate. “Number two. Gavin the Pig?”

“Yep,” he replies, then sips his beer. “The investigating officers have virtually concluded that it was a home invasion random attack.”

“But I don’t want an innocent to be arrested for it,” I argue, tucking my hair behind my ear as those eyes run down my flowing hair to my bare neck before looking away.

“No innocent person will be convicted for the murders,” he replies steadily, entirely in control.

“How can you be so sure?” I probe further to see how far I can go with these men.

“Eat your meal,” he says, pointing to my barely touched plate with his knife.

I shovel a piece of roasted sweet potato into my mouth, chew, and hum at the taste. “Interesting meeting, by the way.”

He slips me a look laced with a drop of mischievousness that I haven’t seen in him before. “The meeting hasn’t officially commenced,” he informs me.

“Oh?” I look to Blake, sitting opposite me, for a contribution. He is unusually reticent for a man who likes to spin a yarn, but his eyes watch me closely, holding warmth and humor. “When will it officially commence? At dessert? After dinner, coffee?”

He sips his beer, licks froth off his lips, rubs his stubbly jaw with his knuckles, and says, “We can start now.”

A shadow casts across his face as the intensity in the room increases. His demeanor has changed from warm to cold in two seconds flat, and now I’m freaking out, expecting something terrible to happen. Have they planned this? Is this a staged set-up? Are the police about to walk in and arrest me?

“Okay,” I swallow nervously, glancing at the exit and imagining how to escape this house without these three men catching me. I’d have to go past Cormac first, but those long arms and massive hands won’t let me reach the front door. “What is the topic of the meeting?”

“Well…” he starts, swirling the inch of beer left in his glass. “Let’s start with Blackadder.”

My chest tightens as the walls seem to close in on me, the floor gives way beneath my feet, and the temperature suddenly rises from warm to sweltering. My fingers tap on the table, irritably, eager to wrap around my glass topped up with wine so I could swallow it down to help me deal with this moment of hell.

It’s over.

My secret is out of the bag.

Blackadder

17

I clench my fists and stare at a spot on the table as I gather my thoughts. They can’t tell it was him in the photograph because he wasn’t facing the camera. So, is Gabe merely guessing? No. That doesn’t make sense either. Of all the names he could pull out of thin air, why this one?

I open my mouth to speak, but the words won’t come as I can feel their stares watching me closely.

“A year before…” Gabe starts, and I flinch at the sound of his voice slicing through the silence, “You were attacked. There was another similar incident. Five men were also involved. In your case, the fifth man was holding the phone that took the picture of you…”

I keep my eyes low but listen carefully as my finger twitches, eager to wrap around a bottle of liquor to drown the shame that is eating me alive.

“She was only fourteen,” Gabe says quietly, and I snap my head up.

“No,” I gasp as anger and grief crawls along my chest. “Fourteen? That’s practically a baby. Fourteen? They did that to a fourteen-year-old?”

He nods slowly. “She was about to confess the names…it took weeks before she trusted me enough to open up. I spoke to her every day to gain her trust. I sent female officers in to try, but we knew they had something over her. Perhaps threatened to kill her family, like they did with you.” He places his knife and fork down and laces his fingers together. “There were other girls. Some younger. Some older. From different backgrounds and different family situations. They didn’t target any single demographic, apart from being young women.”

“Wait,” I angst as I start to see clearly. “Are you saying this is a deliberate sex trafficking ring?”

“There are a lot of players involved, but Blackadder, we believe, is the kingpin.” He speaks considerately as he used to when I was a kid in the hospital bed getting stitched up after I was hurt so badly. He drinks the last inch of beer in his glass as I wait for him to continue. “We’ve organized it so all evidence will lead to his door.”

“Pardon? What do you mean?” I ask, slightly baffled.

“Do you want another beer?” he asks the boys, who’ve been sitting silent, letting the boss speak, and they reply with a yes.

---