"Load up," I order. "Wilder, bring the van around."
The black van appears from behind the shipping containers, Wilder at the wheel. The passenger door opens, and Evelyn jumps out before I can stop her.
"Get back in the van!" I shout, but she's already running.
Not toward me, but toward the huddled girls. She reaches them, dropping to her knees, speaking in low, urgent tones. To my surprise, they respond to her, some reaching out to touch her arm, her face. Recognition. She was one of them just a few days ago.
I approach cautiously, not wanting to frighten the already traumatized girls. Evelyn looks up at me, something fierce and triumphant in her eyes.
"They need medical attention," she says. "Food. Clean clothes. They understand English but are afraid to speak it."
I nod, impressed by her composure. "We're taking them somewhere safe. Tell them that."
She relays the message, her tone gentle but firm. The girls seem to relax slightly, some nodding in understanding.
"What about them?" Evelyn asks, looking toward our captives with undisguised hatred.
"They're coming too. For questioning."
Her eyes meet mine, and I see the hunger for justice—for revenge—burning there. It's a look I recognize, one I've worn myself. I should discourage it. Should tell her that vengeance only begets more violence, that it won't heal the wounds they've inflicted.
But I don't. Because sometimes, the only path to healing runs through retribution first.
"You'll get your answers," I tell her. "You'll get your justice."
I shouldn't celebrate the vengeful fire in her eyes. Shouldn't feel this surge of admiration for her strength, her resilience, her capacity for righteous fury.
But I do. God help me, I do.
Chapter 6 - Evelyn
Justice.
The word tastes strange on my tongue, foreign after so long believing it didn't exist for people like me. Yet here I am, standing amid the aftermath of a rescue—a rescue I was part of, not just its object.
Reaper moves with precision, directing his men as they load the girls into vehicles. His face is hard, expressionless, but his hands are gentle when he helps a limping girl into the SUV. The contradiction fascinates me.
"Evelyn." His voice cuts through my thoughts. "We need to move. Now."
I nod, turning back to the frightened girls huddled together.
"It's okay," I tell them in the reassuring tone I wish someone had used with me. "These men are helping us. They won't hurt you."
One of the younger girls—she can't be more than sixteen—clutches my hand. "They are not like the others?" she asks in halting English.
"No," I answer, surprising myself with my certainty. "They're not like the others."
When all the girls are loaded into the SUV with Ghost and Ace, Reaper guides me back to the van where Wilder waits. The woman—Naomi—and two men are forced into the back, zip-tied and gagged. Blade and Viper climb in with them, weapons trained casually but unmistakably on their captives.
"Front again," Reaper tells me, opening the passenger door.
I climb in, sliding to the middle as before. When Reaper joins us, I notice blood on his sleeve.
"You're hurt," I say, unable to keep the concern from my voice.
He glances at his arm dismissively. "Not mine."
The simple statement reminds me of who he is, what he's capable of. I should be horrified, but all I feel is a savage satisfaction. Blood for blood.
