He doesn't flinch at my accusation. "I told you. Because they're in my town. Because what they're doing is wrong. Because if not me, then who?"
"The police? The FBI?"
“Small town law enforcement is either bought or too understaffed to handle something this big. And the feds move too slow. By the time they put together a case, those girls are gone."
He's right, and we both know it. I've seen enough in my life to understand that sometimes, justice doesn't come through official channels.
"What will you do with the information?" I ask.
"Shut them down. Free any girls they're still holding. Make sure they understand that Pine Haven is off-limits."
"You'll kill them."
It's not a question, but he answers anyway. "If necessary."
I should be horrified. Instead, I feel a cold satisfaction. "Good."
Surprise registers briefly in his eyes before he masks it. He hadn't expected that response.
"The man in charge… I only heard his name once. Charles." I begin slowly, organizing the fragments of information I'd gathered during my captivity. "He visited the Chicago location. Tall, expensive suit, scar along his jaw. The others were terrified of him."
Reaper nods. "Charles Morrow. We got his name last night."
Something in his tone makes me look up sharply. "How?"
"We had a conversation with one of his men."
The implication is clear. While I slept, they were interrogating a Vultures member. I should be disturbed, but all I feel is a distant sense of justice.
"They have a rotation," I continue. "Three men guard the girls at night. Two during the day, plus a woman—Naomi. She's the one who 'prepares' us for sale. Clothes, makeup, teaching us how to... please buyers." My voice catches. "She's not a victim. She enjoys it."
"Locations?" Reaper prompts gently.
"Like I said, Chicago first. Then a farmhouse somewhere rural. We drove for hours. Then here, a house outside town with a storm cellar where they kept us. Two days ago, they moved us to the bar for the auction."
"The warehouse by the old railway?"
I blink in surprise. "How did you—"
"Our Vultures friend was talkative." His mouth curves in a grim smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "He also mentioned a new shipment coming. Tomorrow."
"Eastern European girls," I say, nodding. "I overheard them talking. They bring higher prices."
Anger flashes across his face, there and gone so quickly I might have imagined it. "Anything else you can tell me? Details about security, schedules, vehicles?"
I close my eyes, forcing myself to revisit memories I'd rather forget.
"Three main vehicles. A black SUV with tinted windows, that's Charles's when he visits. A white van they use to transport girls. Unmarked, but the license plate starts with WRL. And a blue sedan for the day-to-day runs."
I open my eyes to find him watching me with something like respect.
"You're observant," he says.
"When your life depends on it, you notice things." I pick up my coffee again, needing something to do with my hands. "The guards change at midnight and noon. The one with the neck tattoo, Victor, gets sloppy on his shift. Drinks on the job. The others are more careful."
"You were planning to escape."
It's not a question, but I nod anyway. "I was watching, waiting for a chance. Then they moved us to the bar, and I knew the auction was coming." I swallow hard. "After that... it would be too late."
