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Mid-May 2013— Gansu, China
Blood drips from the hunting knife in my right hand. I check the pulse of the man lying motionless on the floor— dead. Sick bastard deserved it.
A young girl’s body lays equally motionless on a mattress in the corner. With a trembling hand, I gently check for a pulse, though I already know there isn’t one. She can’t be more than twelve, maybe thirteen. It’s as though someone clamps my lungs in a vice grip, as memories flood my mind.
Standing in a luxury hotel room, blood dripping off a knife, my hands and face splattered in red . . . and Jax.
“Viper. Viper, come on! Stay with me, girl. We aren’t finished yet.”
“I’m here. This girl is gone though.”
I push to my feet and wipe the sweat from my forehead. Rescuing sex slaves for the last ten years still tires me out on certain days. This is one of those days. Chinese auctions are brutal.
“You’ve got two guards in the next room, one buyer, and three slaves. Python is waiting outside the door.”
“Roger that.”
My bare, blood-covered feet tap loudly along the concrete floor, the slickness making it difficult to move quickly. Not far down the hall, a mammoth of a man with biceps as big as my head, who’s also cut like a Greek god, holds an AK47 with a grin on his face.
“Hey, cupcake. Took you long enough.”
“Girl in the last room died.”
“Oh.” His smile fades. “You can’t save ‘em all.” He tries for nonchalance but can’t mask the pain in his voice.
“I can try.”
He turns and kicks his boot into the door, directly next to the handle. I rush in and sink my knife into the neck of the closest guard. Blood flows into his throat and mouth, choking him. Screams from the girls in the back of the room erupt, bouncing off the walls.
Python fills the other guard’s body with bullets, and my vision blurs red, as I stalk toward the bed in the back. A lanky, greasy, piece of shit climbs off a girl and turns, his hands in the air.
We don’t take prisoners.
I move forward, as he pleads for his life, but the words make my face hot with anger. He doesn’t care about the life of the girl he was raping. Closing the gap between us, I slam my knife into the hollow at the base of his throat. He gurgles and drops to his knees. As I pull the blade out, he slumps to the side, his head thudding against the concrete.
Without looking at the girls, I say, “There’s help waiting outside. Go.”
Two of them file out immediately. The third stands, shaking, and walks to my side.
“Thank you,” she says reaching out to touch my arm.
My body tenses as I step out of her reach. “You’re welcome. Get out of here, go get help.”
She nods, hanging her head a little and leaves the chamber.
I heave a sigh of relief. “How many total, Boa?”
A smooth female voice resounds through my earpiece. “Today, we rescued thirty girls and thirteen boys, who are currently on their way to area hospitals. A job well done!”
The rest of our team hoots and hollers in appreciation of our success. Together, my teammate and I walk through the sinister hall, ignoring the bloodstains, and emerge into the coming night. The air is crisp and cold, causing goosebumps to rise over my arms and legs, and all I can think about is the one girl I couldn’t save.
“Lily,” a deep voice calls.
Jax hurries over and wraps a blanket around my shoulders. I hand him my knife and draw the cloth in close, giving myself a mental shake. A mischievous grin pulls at my lips. “So, what’s my count?”
He chuckles. “Thirteen kills today. You’ve done me proud.”
The roar of a helicopter engine calls to us. We jog over and climb in. I take one last glance at the police and Interpol agents handling the remainder of the auction below. I sigh, the rectangular brick building gets smaller as the helicopter rises. I lean my head back and close my eyes. Unable to stop the images from inside the auction playing through my mind— mold and water marks running down the walls, old brown blood stains mixing with bright red fresh ones.