Page 94 of Scarred Sins
Her lips purse. “I’m not sure,’’ she groans. “Something isn’t adding up, and I can’t put my finger on it. It’s not about Zoe; it’s about Nelson. How is he so calm about it? One mishap from Zoe, and the entire world will hear about the abuse. Sure, they may not believe her, because apparently, they never believe victims, but it would be enough to plant a seed of doubt. Too many reporters would be breathing down his neck, and in that scenario, he wouldn’t be able to get rid of her.’’
I can hear the venom in her voice. She’s a victim herself, and no one believed her. Her mention of Paul Simmons during court and trials was swept under the rug and deleted from all public records, so it was as if it never even existed.
“I’m not sure, but if your gut feeling is telling you that something’s terribly wrong, I’ll look into it.’’
Blair manages a small smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes and a nod. Then, it’s silent for a couple of minutes before I hear heels clicking against the marble floor on the inside. Zoe steps through the small crack of the open balcony door and then closes it shut behind her. She immediately goes to a corner where no one from the inside would be able to see her.
She’s wearing a long-sleeved, floor-length dress. It perfectly covers any abuse marks or bruises, and the bruises I previously saw on her face are either hidden under the makeup or have healed over the two weeks. But it’s enough to make me wonder, especially given Blair’s words.
Zoe’s eyes dart from me to Blair, and then she takes a small step forward.
Blair’s gone rigid. I think that right now she’s beginning to realize how bad Zoe’s situation really is and that all that jealousy and territorial tendencies were for nothing. Zoe’s state is pretty telling to anyone whose eyes are open enough. Clearly, the morons on the inside are too blind to it, or willingly choose to turn a blind eye. And I’m not sure which one is worse.
“Zoe,’’ I greeted her with a softer voice, stepping forward. Blair keeps behind me, just observing.
“Who’s that?” Zoe asks, motioning her head toward Blair.
“She’s someone you can trust,’’ I responded. “How did you manage to sneak out without being noticed?”
“The restroom is right next to the balcony; the security doesn’t follow me inside. But that gives me less than ten minutes.’’
There’s nothing that would indicate her being high on drugs or drunk. She’s perfectly sane to hold the heavy conversation we’re about to have, and given the lack of time on our hands, I don’t have the time to go easy on her.
“Understood,’’ I nod. “Given that you called me, you’ve made a decision.’’
Zoe takes a deep breath, her hands trembling next to her body. “Yes.’’
“Well?”
There’s a slight pause. Her eyes are filled with doubt and uncertainty, but there’s a hint of determination that makes me sigh out in relief. She swallows thickly and glances behind her through the glass door, making sure no one’s near.
“I’ll help you,’’ she whispers. “But I don’t know if I’ll be of much use.’’
“What do you know, Zoe?”
She stammers a little while speaking. “All the girls they have… some are sold, but some have their organs harvested and sold on the black market.’’
Air leaves my lungs momentarily. I knew of the first one, but the second one never even crossed my mind. The motherfuckers are more despicable than I originally thought.
“Who are their victims? How many of them?”
“They usually target runaways, orphans, or anyone who generally won’t be looked for. The girls aren’t randomly selected. However, they don’t go younger than seventeen, just in case someone looks for them. As for the number,’’ she pauses, hesitation on her face. “Right now, it’s between twenty and thirty.’’
I take a deep breath. “I expected more.’’
“No, because they won’t risk anyone running away and going to the authorities.’’
“Who’s involved in this?”
She swallows thickly, and tears form in her eyes. She’s quick to look upward, suppressing them from falling down her cheeks. She takes a few moments to collect herself before looking back at me.
“Paul Simmons, Gabriel Woods, Edgar Flint, and my husband.’’
I nod. “They own the business and split the profits?”
“Yes.’’
“Where do they sell the girls?”
