“Yeah,” she confirms solemnly. “It was Ember Lawson.”
Confusion seeps through me, intermingling with the fiery threads of liquor seeping into my bloodstream. “Ember Lawson was kidnapped over five years ago. We’re looking for a working girl or a body, not a damn street fighter.”
“It was her.” She shrugs, leaving no room for doubt.
“You got proof?”
“What do you take me for? I saw her myself. Lawson broke some Puerto Rican dude’s cheekbone… before she broke his leg for good measure.”
Hand thrusting into her pocket, Raye fishes out her mobile phone. I wait in tense anticipation as she brings up her photos then shoves the device towards me so I can see the screen.
“Look.”
Well, fuck me gently.
Thumbing through a series of decent shots, the delicate sweep of Lawson’s oval-shaped face, paired with two grey-blue eyes that seem to violently pierce her opponent, are unmistakable once I zoom in.
Through our research, I’ve seen enough old photos to know that Lawson was originally a redhead. The bleach-blonde job on her missing persons’ photos is long gone now, replaced by fiery, natural auburn.
She’s lithe and muscled, her taut body rippling with iron-like strength. My fingers tighten on Raye’s phone as I study theway her supple curves, defined calves and tight, pert ass seem to dominate the screen.
“Believe me now?” Raye challenges.
Tongue held, I merely nod.
“Good. I’m told she won nearly half a mil in illegal bets that night. Everyone knows her as 768 now.”
Disgust forces my muscles to clench. “768?”
“Apparently.”
“Little more than a number.”
“That may be so, but her reputation speaks for itself. She’s the crown jewel of the cartel’s collection.”
Passing the phone back to Raye, I flex my hands to crack my knuckles. I don’t owe this bitch anything—she’s little more than a pawn to me—but the inhumane treatment still sours my stomach. I dislike needless suffering.
Still, this isn’t a personal endeavour for me. I want the leverage that Ember Lawson’s safe return from overseas will provide. Our little jailbird has some very powerful familial connections. Ones that I intend to exploit.
“Well, shit.”
“Precisely my reaction,” Raye agrees drily.
“This just got a lot more complicated.”
It’s taken almost eighteen months of work to make it this far. Fuck knows how she’s survived this long. Especially if the cartel has her working a shady, street fight circuit.
“So she was spared the flesh market and turned into some kind of business asset instead.” I lean back in my chair, kneading the stress that’s strangling my neck. “How unexpected.”
“Tell me about it. If we knew where to look, we could’ve saved ourselves a whole lot of time instead of looking for her in sleazy strip clubs.”
“We have her now.” My bare shoulder lifts then drops. “The rest is irrelevant.”
“Irrelevant?” Raye scowls so hard, I wonder if she’s attempting to melt my skin. “I was smuggled on a fucking ship, Blaine!”
“Your paycheck shall reflect your hardships.”
“You’re damn right it will.”
