Jamie clenched his jaw, and something dark and conflicted flashed in his eyes. “This isn’t over.”
“It never is,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair.
I cracked the door, checking the hallway. Two drunk girls leaned against the wall, eyes shooting daggers at us. Perfect cover. I grabbed Jamie’s arm, pulling him close one last time.
“Count to thirty after I leave, then go. Don’t look back.”
His fingers caught my wrist, squeezing hard enough to bruise. “What are you doing, Killian?”
“Thirty,” I repeated, maintaining eye contact.
I left and headed back to the bar, catching sight of myself. I needed to get myself under control. Jamie was a distraction I couldn’t afford right now, not when I was this close to something. I took a deep breath, straightened my shoulders, and headed back to Ricardo, who was watching the crowd with predatory eyes.
“There you are,” he said, pressing fingers to my lower back. “Thought you’d fallen in.”
I palmed my hard cock—thank you Jamie—and laughed, leaning into him just enough to keep him talking. “Just needed a minute.”
“I’ve got them ready.”
I let my gaze wander over the club, as if I were bored. “Sure,” I said. Anything to get into the back rooms with a legitimate excuse as opposed to my stupid idea to investigate with stealth.
He led me down a hallway past the restrooms, nodding to a bouncer who stepped aside. My skin crawled as we moved deeper into the club’s back rooms, away from the pounding music and into spaces where the bass was a distant thrum. I counted doors, memorized the layout, noted the cameras in each corner, and pretended not to watch him enter the code.
“Is all this necessary?” I asked casually.
Ricardo’s smile tightened. “Had some inventory control issues.”
Yeah, I bet. To the tune of 1.2 million in crypto disappearing from Ricardo’s bank balance. He punched another code into the final door, his hand blocking my view of the keypad. The lock clicked, and he pushed the door open.
“My office,” he purred.
The room beyond was dimly lit, all dark wood and leather furniture. It looked like an upscale gentleman’s club with a small bar in the corner. But it wasn’t the décor that caught my attention; it was the three young men lounging on a large leather couch, none looking a day over sixteen, all with the same vacant stare from heavy sedation. My stomach turned. I’d seen that look before in places where people became products. I’d seen that in the mirror.
“Fresh from Idaho,” Ricardo said, stroking one boy’s hair. The kid didn’t even flinch. “This one’s only been in the city a week.”
“What the fuck?” I didn’t have to fake anger. “They’re no good to me drugged-up, Ricardo!”
He pouted, as though I’d ruined his night. “Cocaine, speed, we’ll get ’em started.
I kept my smile frozen, forcing myself not to react—not until I had the information I needed. These kids hadn’t only been drugged; they were being broken in, conditioned to accept whatever came next—human merchandise. And Ricardo was treating it like a business opportunity.
“I like them aware. I like them fighting.” I said, stepping closer, letting my voice drop to something dangerous. I glanced around the room, memorizing faces, details. Evidence.
“Can’t move ’em if they’re fighting.”
“Move them?” I fake-pouted as if that was bad news to my Lucas persona who would react as if his toys were being taken away.
“Yeah, unless you want one yourself. Two hundred K gets you exclusivity.” He sipped his whiskey, gesturing toward the hallway behind us. “Otherwise, we ship them wherever needed. Rich guys in Dubai, private islands, you name it.”
My blood ran cold, but I kept my expression neutral. This club was part of a trafficking network, leading all the way up to Lassiter. I needed names, locations, everything I could get.
“That one I got straight off the bus,” He pointed to the one who seemed the youngest, maybe not a day over fourteen. Someone’s child. Stolen and abused.He nudged me with an elbow, and I swear he was going to die at my hand one day soon.
This was abhorrent, and I was already thinking of ways to get these young men out of here, but were there more? Were there children here?
“What’s your inventory like tonight? You got anything else that isn’t drugged to their eyeballs?” I glanced at him. “Younger?” I tagged on.
His gaze took on a greedy gleam. “Nah, we’re low, just these three tonight.” He picked up a bag with white powder. “This will make them more…interested,” he smirked, but was distracted by a knock. He opened it and called to a guard, then there was a garbled sound, a curse, a scuffle and by the time I turned to the door, Ricardo was on the floor, throat cut, blood pooling around him, and splattered on Jamie’s shirt, his hands steady as he wiped the blade. This was the Jamie who was so pretty, deadly, and someone who knew exactly how to slice a carotid artery.
