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Wherever she’s being held, it’s off-grid, and she hasn’t been moved, most likely because they know I’d find her if she were. When girls are stationary in an undisclosed location, it’s almost impossible to find them in the skin trade. If they’re not being handled through proper channels where they’re being transported or sold, then there’s nothing to fucking track. She hasn’t even been taken into town. No cameras on this entire fucking planet have seen Addie’s face since she left that hospital.

Nor have they seen Rio or Rick—two of the three people that could lead me to her. I assume her kidnappers are wherever Addie is, but Claire… she knows how to move under the radar. The few times I’ve been able to locate her, an army surrounds her, and infiltrating takes planning, which is impossible to do when she disappears again. She’s a red herring, moving in a way that’s designed to distract me. I have every intention of taking out Claire but using her to get to Addie has only proven to waste my time and resources.

And that… that just isn’t going to work.

Which is why I’m here tonight, intent on destroying yet another facet of the shadow government. More importantly, I’m hoping one of these girls has seen Addie. Jay has identified each of the girls being auctioned tonight, and several of them are native to Oregon. Which means if Addie is still in this state—one of them could’ve come from the same household as her.

Click.

“Going bid, four hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

Sold.

I buy the next three girls, too, and though I can’t hear or see the outrage from other bidders, I can tell from the increasingly competitive bidding wars as each girl is sold. They all fold eventually, most likely with the intent to buy a girl from a different auction.

Moments after the last girl steps down from the stage, there’s a soft knock at the door.

“Jay, lock all the doors in the building and barricade the exits. No one gets out except me,” I tell him quickly before calling out louder, “Enter.”

“Got it,” Jay responds, just as Lee Morrison enters the room. While he’s not the owner of this auction house, he keeps this well-oiled machine running. His job is to escort the bidders to their rooms, make sure their accommodations are satisfactory, and oversee the women coming in and out, ensuring the auction runs smoothly and without a hitch.

“Shut the door, please,” I instruct, keeping my back turned to him. Seconds later, I hear it click shut.

“Sir, where would you like us to transport your winnings?” Lee asks,

his voice respectful, yet timid. He’s uncomfortable.

Good.

“My winnings,” I repeat. “You do know they are human beings, correct? Just as you are?”

Lee clears his throat. “I apologize, sir. Where would you like us to transport your girls?”

“There’s a limousine pulled up to the back entrance. Make sure none of them are hurt from here on out.”

“Yes, sir,” he says.

“Tell them now,” I demand softly. “On your radio. Tell them that now.”

He stammers, caught off guard from my odd request, but ultimately, does as I say. He radios for my winnings to be transported into the limo unharmed, and once he receives the confirmation, he clears his throat again.

“Will that be all, sir?”

“In that regard, yes.”

Assuming I’m done with him entirely, I hear his feet pivot on the thin black carpet and his hand jiggles the doorknob when he grips it.

“Before you go,” I assert, stopping him in his tracks. “Have you ever bought any girls for yourself?”

Lee stutters. “Well, not here, no.”

“But elsewhere?”

After a beat, he says, “Yes, of course.”

I hum noncommittally, though his answer has my body tightening with rage.

“Sir, may I ask why—” His question comes to a crashing halt when I stand and turn to face him. I’m not sure if it’s my scars, or the look of cold murderous rage in my eyes, but something about my face has his words fading and his eyes widening.