I close my eyes for a moment, a heavy sigh escaping before I open them again. It’s like this every time, but the faces don't ever stop haunting me. I know better than to linger too long on any one photo, but I can't help myself. A girl in the third set of pictures catches my eye. She’s not even sixteen years old, but she has this defiant look on her face like she’s already lost all hope and is just daring the world to crush her more. That’s the face I can’t shake, the face I’ll be chasing for the rest of the job. There is a note below the photo—as there is with all of them—that states her name and age, and my stomach clenches in disgust as I realize she’s the oldest of her siblings andtheir friend. I sit up straighter, shaking the shiver that crawls up my spine, and focus on the rest of the file Nathan sent me. His usual method is direct: coordinates, background, connections. This time is no different. But something’s off. There’s a gap.
A small section of the intel about the location of the traffickers is incomplete. It’s not much, just a few coordinates in the wrong format. I don’t need them to be perfect, but I do need them to beright. Nathan wouldn’t leave something like that out intentionally. I pause, fingers hovering over the keys. Maybe he missed it, maybe it’s just an oversight. But in my world, there’s no room for mistakes. Not when innocent kids are involved. I shoot off a quick message to Nathan, asking for clarification on the location, and then check my watch again: 00:52. Time moves too fast when you’re in this kind of headspace, distracted by the details and what’s at stake. Another hour won’t make much difference, but I’ll need more than just the coordinates to go off of if I want to make this quick.
I stand up and stretch, my legs stiff. My mind is already moving forward, calculating the next steps. The traffickers are sloppier than usual, but that doesn’t mean we should underestimate them. They’ve got kids in their possession andthatalways means they’ll fight harder. The fact that they haven’t taken more precautions tells me they’re either new to this or they’re overconfident. Either way, it won’t matter. I’ll be ready for whatever they throw at me. The faint sound of my phone vibrating on the counter interrupts my thoughts. It’s a text message from Nathan.
Had to send a backup. Something off about the system here. Will be a few more minutes before I get the full file to you.
I swear under my breath and run a hand through my hair. I was hoping to get a jump on this tonight, but it’s looking like I’ll have to wait. The more I think about it though, the more I realize I’m already prepared. Hell, I’ve got everything I need already. I know the players involved, and I know the layout of their operations.Just need that onelast piece of the puzzle.While I wait for Nathan’s follow-up, I begin reviewing the rest of the data. The parents: desperate, broken, willing to do anything to reverse their fucked-up mistake. The word feels dirty, because who can even call letting your own children be taken, a mistake. Regardless, the desperation… I know what that feels like. Not in the same context, of course, but the feeling of losing someone you can’t protect… It's universal. And those traffickers won’t know what hit them.
The buzz from my phone shakes me out of my thoughts again, and this time it’s the full follow-up from Nathan. The coordinates are now complete, and the missing piece clicks into place. I quickly enter the numbers into the system, the map popping up on the screen in front of me. It’s not far—an hour and a half drive at most, just like he said. The place is a dilapidated warehouse on the edge of town, the kind of place where no one notices when you drag in a few dozen frightened kids and lock them away.
Blowing out a breath and rubbing a hand down my face, I determine that I won’t be able to go back to sleep with this weighing on my mind. The job isn’t pretty, it never has been, and as heavily as it weighs on me, someone has to do it.
Because who else would?
Chapter
Four
DYLAN
Istayed in the bath long after the water had turned cold. I like to tell myself it was because I was completely immersed in the book I was reading, but the truth is I couldn’t focus long enough to read a single page, let alone a few words at a time. The situation with whoever is stalking me occupied my headspace. It’s the fact that they had not only watched me buy the dress, but waited long enough to break into my truck and then my home.My home.Just the thought that they had been inside my safe space is enough to roil my gut. That they had possibly looked through my bedroom, my clothes. It’s safe enough to say they had at least been in my closet with the pair of heels that had been placed at the foot of my bed.
I spent so long focusing on any noise that I’m pretty sure my mind started warping any sound I did hear into what I wanted it to be. The foundation creaking became a heavy footstep standing on the wrong board in the hall. A whistle of the wind outside became the faintest of breaths as the predator hunted for its prey. The AC kicking on was someone trying to get in the front door. There had been no shortage to my imagination as I thought about staying in the imaginary safety of my tub, cold be damned. But soon enoughsleep had started to take over my eyelids, and making the decision that I didn’t want to drown in my sleep, I heaved myself and my aching foot from frigid water.
Now I lie in my bed, staring at the ceiling as I have so many other nights recently. Alaska is lying on her spot on the floor. Why is it that when you do the right thing and try to go to sleep when exhaustion takes over, as soon as you lay down in the place meant to do it, it evades you? The universe has a cruel sense of humor. That, and it doesn’t help that my mind is plagued with invented images of the macabre state my father’s body could be in. I had wanted to do an open casket viewing before his burial ceremony, but I was given just enough information to change my mind. Even if I think I want to know, I probably don’t. Tossing and turning, I try to will a serene nothingness into the cavity of my conscience but sleep still refuses me. Taunting me like my stalker. Creeping in just enough to stay coveted but never caught. I pick up my cell phone and the clock reads just after midnight.
“Well, Alaska,” I say, getting out of bed. “Now is as good a time as any, I suppose. Let’s see what’s for rent.” I could get my enrollment forms in for in-person classes, but there would be no point unless I have a place close by or on campus to stay at. Since I’m not a freshman, I’d prefer to stay off campus. I power my laptop on where it sits on my desk before I run downstairs to get a glass of water. When I return, I flick on the lamp and start searching. My budget isn’t great, especially since I don’t have a job, but I have what I need at the very least for both the normal and pet deposit. Ideally, I should be able to get a job easily enough on campus to be able to make rent. The rest of the retirement benefits I’ll get until I turn twenty-three will help make ends meet at least.
I look at several dingy apartment complexes, condos, and houses where other tenants have a room for rent before settling on a small two-bedroom, one bathroom house that is no bigger than the downstairs of my current place. But considering I don’t want roommates and it’s only Alaska and I, I don’t need a lot of space to begin with.The extra room will be nice though, in case Thea and Lucas want to come visit. It also backs up to a thick wood that goes on for miles and miles which means I won’t have to deal with a ton of neighbors or people on trail systems, since it isn’t an outdoor recreation area. Alaska is going to love it. The house overall is in need of some updates but looks like it’s in good shape overall.
It’s bungalow style, a little over one thousand square feet, with a one car garage. It sits at the end of a dead-end street in a cul-de-sac. Some of the white paint is chipping on the outside, but the grounds themselves are pretty. The grass is well-maintained with a variety of different bushes and trees lining the front yard. The back, which bumps up to the woods, is also well-maintained and there is a patio that leads off of the small kitchen to the side of the house and large storage shed. As for the interior, the living room has an exposed brick wall and what looks like actual hardwood flooring that has been brought back to its original glory. The walls are painted white and there is a lot of natural light that flows in through the window next to the front door, as well as from the sliding glass door that leads to the patio—there’s a small space meant for a dining table but not much else. Down the hallway leads you to the one full bathroom and both bedrooms. The master bedroom is at the back of the house closest to the woods. It even has washer and dryer hookups.
“What else could two girls need, eh, Alaska?” I look at where she’s gone back to sleep at my feet. “Must be something to need some rest from all of your rest.”
I quickly submit my application and cross my fingers that my lack of work history won’t come back to bite me in the ass. I could always use my circumstances to my advantage, but something about that makes me feel gross. I don’t like profiting off of people’s pity. I should also probably look at a few other places just to have a backup plan, but something tells me that there weren’t a lot of people looking at this property to begin with. Even off campus, most university students I’ve observed prefer to live as lavishly as they can and in the company of their friends and significant others. They also preferto live closer to the bars to make it easier to get home. Although maybe that isn’t a fair assumption to make since I’ve never been a part of, well, any group. I can name on one hand the amount of friends I’ve had in my lifetime. But I’ve heard enough stories.
This is one of those moments where I truly wish I could bring Thea with me, knowing that I’m going to have to integrate with people I don’t know and not having anybody with me to do it. I know people’s names through the online courses I take, so it shouldn’t truly be all that difficult, should it? I’m not entirely introverted, but I can’t say I’m looking forward to it too much with all of the sudden changes taking place in my life. Having a familiar face around would at least resolve the daily anxiety I’ve been experiencing. Leaning back in my chair, I let loose a sigh and rub my eyes. Checking the time again, I’ve at least killed another hour. Maybe now that I’ve taken care of some subconscious stress, I’ll be able to get proper shuteye. I shut my laptop, take a long sip of water, and return to bed.
Just as I’m about to get under the covers though, for the second time in twenty-four hours, the feeling of eyes trained on me makes my skin pebble. Which makes me positively horrified now that I know I do indeed havesomeonewatching me. I had reopened my windows to let a breeze in and left the blinds open, and now it has me itching to reach for the gun that I had placed on my sideboard. But instead, I take a deep breath and slowly step out of bed, approaching my window with an innocence my father would be ashamed of. He certainly raised me with the erudition to be considerate of every action and reaction I take; but his absence, more permanent now than it has ever been, has slowly been unraveling every bit of rationality I possess. I make sure to turn the lamp on my desk back on, to outline my silhouette in the window, before I actually approach it.
Despite the darkness, I’m able to see across the street due to the lampposts that are stationed along the sidewalk. I scan the area, straining to see behind vehicles, plants, and other nooks, but to my disappointment I don’t spot anyone. The only thing I do notice is avehicle that I’ve never seen before, parked opposite my house. Obviously, I know it could belong to anyone; it could be a neighbor's visitor, or maybe one of my neighbors even got a new vehicle. A lack of temporary tags doesn’t mean anything. And yet, something is telling me to go outside and get a closer look.
Grabbing my gun off the nightstand and pulling on a pair of pants that I had wadded up in the corner, I tuck the weapon into the small of my back and throw on a light jacket over my thin tank top. “I’ll be right back,” I say to Alaska. She doesn’t even lift her head to see me off. The closer I get to the front door, the more erratically my heart beats and I can’t help but turn on every light as I go. If something happens to me, I’m sure as hell not going to go quietly. I’ll make sure those lights are a beacon. Listening for a moment, I unlock the front door, turning on the front light too, as I step out and shut it again. Checking my surroundings as I cross the street, I find nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing except for this car, that is. I’m aware that anybody could see me and that looking into a vehicle isn’t exactly inconspicuous, but…
Something in the backseat catches my attention. It isn’t anything consequential, and yet I recognize it from somewhere. It’s a military duffel, the same one all SEALS receive, but on it sits a faded Velcro patch. One of many, in fact. But it sits separate from its counterparts because of the absolute flippancy of it. It’s a duck holding a knife and it says, “I choose violence”. I can’t help but laugh thinking of a hardened military fighter going into warfare with that. I suppose it’s possible I’ve seen it before because it isn’t the only one of its kind, but even so, it is familiar. I turn back to my house, the lights illuminating my driveway like its own personal halo when I swear I see a shadow dart across the hall downstairs. I listen for barking, but Alaska doesn’t alert of any intruders, not that I think she would…
I rush back to my driveway and duck behind my own vehicle before I withdraw my gun and slowly approach the front door. I reach out for the door handle, and when I go to twist it, the door swings subtly open on its own. Now I know for a fact someone is inmy house. Again. I could call the police back, they could be here within minutes… but something has me hesitating. I try to tell myself it’s because they would just find me nonsensical and paranoid, but it’s something deeper than that. However, if something does end up happening and I do confront whoever happens to be in my house, they’ll call me groundless anyways for doing something so stupid. I slowly inch my way in, listening for the sound of any creeping footsteps or the groaning of wood as somebody stalks across it. But once again, I’m met with eerie stillness.
“I know you’re in here. I’m armed and the police are on their way,” I lie. “If you come out now, we can solve this civilly.” But even I’m not convinced by the slight waver in my voice, and whoever is here isn’t either because they don’t respond back. Taking several deep breaths, I check my corners before moving deeper into my home. I wasn’t quiet when I slammed the door, hoping it would scare the intruder out if I couldn’t talk them out. It’s possible they aren’t inside anymore, which is why I make sure to check the back door before surveying the rest of the house. It’s still locked. As I’m about to turn around to prepare to go upstairs, large arms encircle my body, pinning my arms to my side so I can’t lift my weapon. I try screaming but he slides one of his arms up to cover my mouth with his hand while simultaneously pushing my front against the door to make sure I can’t break his hold.
A deep and masculine voice breaks through the deafening sound of blood rushing through my head. “Drop it.” I don’t. “Drop the fucking gun, now. I don’t want to hurt you.” I huff out a breath that conveys,then why the fuck are you in my house?“Jesus Christ, always so stubborn,” he mutters under his breath.Excuse me? Always? Does he know me?Perplexed, I try slamming my head against him, hoping to catch him against the bottom of his chin, except I collide with a stiff wall of muscle. I knew that my chances were low when his arms wrapped around me and I realized that just one of them was as large as a goddamn tree trunk. Well, that might be an exaggeration, buteither way they’re enormous. And so is he. And I think I just managed to piss him off.
His breath touches my ear as he tightens his grip on me and growls out, “Did you really just try to headbutt me?” A dark chuckle works its way up his chest and goosebumps break out over my skin. “I really tried to be nice about this, gorgeous, but you aren’t leaving me with many options, so I guess we have to do this the hard way.” And just as fast as the words leave his mouth, he removes the arm from around my waist, grabbing my gun arm, and quickly disarms me. He then removes his other arm that’s holding my mouth to help pin both behind my back before pushing me back up against the door and replacing his hand over my lips. I wish it wasn’t so damn dark on this side of the house so I could see his reflection in the glass, and I wish I wasn’t smashed against said glass so I could at least try. I think that maybe he’s about to give me a chance to check, but instead he spins us around. “Walk.”
Moving forward, I realize that this could be it. Maybe he came back because he decided the game was too much effort and it was just easier to skip to the ending. Panic immediately overloads my senses, and I start thrashing. I try to push backward and flail my legs to do anything to throw him off balance, but he is relentless in his determination to get me wherever he wants to take me. I wish he would give me any leeway, that his hand would slip or something that would allow me to bite down to get him to release his grip. I know I’m acting like a wild animal, but maybe if he sees me like this it will make him less interested. And to my surprise, he stops.Is it working?“Sorry to do this, sweetheart.”
Suddenly, I’m shoved away from him and everything goes dark as a door slams behind me. Scratching follows before something bumps the door and I realize I’m in a closet. “Hey, wait!” I turn around and try opening the door, but it won’t budge. “You can’t leave me here! I live alone! I don’t even have my phone!” But silence greets me on the other side. I bang against the panel and yell, “Whatkind of stalker are you, anyway? I mean who the fuck breaks into somebody’s house, attacks them, and then locks them in a closet to leave? You seriously suck at this!” I have no idea why I’m taunting him. I’m just saying whatever comes to my mind to prevent my anxiety from seeping in that I could be locked in here and unable to get out. I’m not sure if there is anything useful in here to help me do so, and I certainly don’t have the body strength to use sheer force, but a few minutes later I hear some movement before an item skates across the floor. My phone.