2
Maggie
Istretched my arms over my head, yawning. The newsroom was as dead as it should be at midnight. I’d been burning the candle late every day for the last month, trying to verify my sources and chase down leads on a local gang, the Black Knights, who were known for their stronghold on the sex-trafficking market in Boston. But I’d come up empty on every lead I’d chased. I even checked the morgue regularly for women who had died because they’d been abused or violated, and still no cigar.
The gang task force had no leads either, according to my contact within the gang unit.
Then three nights ago, as if the planets had aligned, my source on the street had found out that some guy named Cory had messed up one of the girls working a street corner. I’d asked Misty, a nightwalker, if she had heard Cory’s name.
Her response had been, “Yeah. Rumor is he’s with the Black Knights.”
Elation, rage, nervousness, and so many other emotions, like the need to kill Cory Calderon, had bloomed strongly. If I could prove he was part of a sex-trafficking ring or anything illegal, then I could exact my revenge on the man who had beaten, raped, and left me for dead when I was fourteen.
I was striking out, though. Cory didn’t have a police record according to Rick, one of my sources at the police department.
I flipped through web pages on Harold Calderon, CEO of one of the largest investment firms in the country. The picture on my screen showed the gray-haired Harold at a benefit for one of the local children’s hospitals in the city. At his side was his son Cory.
I gritted my teeth. Cory stood with his barreled chest puffed out, his thinning black hair styled back with lots of gel, and an innocent grin on his chubby face. The man was anything but innocent. Sure, he could’ve grown out of raping girls. He could’ve gotten his act together. But I didn’t think so. I believed once a rapist, always a rapist. I shifted my gaze to the elder Calderon, wondering if the man beat his wife, wondering if Cory took after his father. Cory had to have learned how to prey on women from someone.
I kicked myself in the butt each time I replayed that night. I’d run from my seventh foster dad when he’d hobbled into my room, slobbering all over himself and me. At first, I thought he’d been too drunk to find his own room until he whispered my name and put his hands all over me. I’d shoved him off me, which wasn’t hard, considering the alcohol had made him wobbly, and I’d run as though my life depended on it.
And I’d run right into another monster.
The city street was dark, barely a light anywhere around. I jumped over bushes, tripping in the process. My knees connected with cement, pebbles, and rocks. I looked over my shoulder through watery eyes, pushing to my feet as fast as I could. I didn’t think my foster dad would follow me, but I couldn’t take the chance.
Once on my feet, I ran, my breath labored, my lungs burning. I had no idea where I was going.
The sound of a car engine filled the air.
Run. Run. Run,my inner voice supplied.
I pounded the pavement, grunting, crying, and dizzy. I mopped tears from my eyes as the car drew closer.
Please let it be a policeman.
I braved a look as my legs kept going only to plow into a trash bin. I wobbled, my heart sprinting like a horse racing to the finish line.
The car slowed. A boy’s voice, deep and commanding, said,“Hey, sweetheart.”
The hairs on the back of my neck shot up.
The boy whistled. “Want to have some fun?”
I had no business taunting him, but I wasn’t thinking clearly. I started to run again but not before throwing him the finger.
He wolf-whistled. “Seems to me you want to fight.” He banged on the car door. “Stop, Jerry.”
Fear, strong and powerful, gripped me. I searched for life in any of the houses on the street, but every home was dark.
My legs burned. My chest hurt. My vision was compromised.
When I got to the next block, which was as dark as the one before it, footsteps slapped on the sidewalk behind me, and the only light was from the car that was still on my heels.
My legs were giving out.
Hands went around my waist.
“Put me down,” I screamed. I wailed. I kicked. I even threw my head back, and it collided with the boy’s forehead and nose. A bone cracked.
