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Slash had gotten me a fake alias to enter a factory that made luxury shoes for several fashion brands. The warehouse hours differed from the office, which had closed already. But the night shift manager, Ricky Lima, agreed to meet with me after I apologized about my late flight, which had made me miss the regular hours. His interest piqued when I wanted to invest in footwear and planned on opening several retail stores.

After checking my name on the visiting guest list, Ricky asked me to follow him down a hallway. He had short dark hair and a goatee. He was a short and stocky man wearing a short-sleeved button-down shirt and khaki pants.

“We only have a small crew for the night shift, so the showroom area will be quiet.” He turned on the lights to a large office space with cubicles. “The warehouse is over there if you want to look later.” He pointed. “Our facilities follow all the required codes. There are no children working here. We’re strict about industry guidelines and humanitarian laws,” he said.

“Thank you. Ricky.You speak English very well.”

“I had to learn so I could travel to the States. We have another factory in Providence. It’s a lot smaller and used mostly for distribution.”

“Good to know. That would make it easier for me.”

We walked past a sewing station with industrial sewing machines and various shoes and boots in different stages of production. The scent of leather filled the air.

“What does your company do?” he asked.

“We do women’s accessories, but we’re looking to expand into luxury footwear for both men and women.”

His eyes brightened. “Let me show you our footwear showroom. We make a lot of shoes for high-end brands.”

When I entered the showroom, my eyes went to the red shoe on display. I walked over and pointed. “That is quite the shoe. May I take a look?”

He hesitated a moment, and something splashed over his face, but he nodded. “We also have better shoes over here.” He gestured to the fancy black and brown men’s shoes that I had several of.

I held the red shoe in my hand, studied it, and my heart quaked.

Fuck.This can’t be true. But it is.

I wanted to vomit, but I controlled myself. My hand released the grip, and the shoe thudded to the floor. I inhaled a breath, stared at it for a while before picking it up, and placed it back on the shelf.

“This red shoe isn’t my preference, but it’s unique. It commands attention. May I ask who owns this brand? I’ve never seen anyone wear this.”

“It’s not a brand sold in the public market. We make it custom for a client who requests this style.”

“What’s his name? I’m just curious who would want something so gaudy.”

The guy leaned in. “I’ve never met him, but between you and me, I don’t like that shoe either. My boss doesn’t either, but he has no choice but to make it.”

“Between you and me,” I repeated his words, “does this man go by the name Red Venom?” I studied Ricky’s face, and the fear in his eyes gave me the answer. “I don’t like him either.”

He pressed his lips into a tight line and nodded.

“Let’s look at something I can sell to a wider audience.”

His face beamed. “This way. Sir.”

“By the way, you wouldn’t know his address, would you?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

By the time I got back to the house, Kiera was sound asleep. She looked peaceful all tucked in my bed. A documentary on blood replayed on the TV screen.

Had she wanted to watch the documentary with me? Or had fear pulled her into sleep?

I pulled up the comforter that had fallen and tucked her in better. Then I adjusted the AC. The house had gotten too cool.

After washing up, I updated my friends on the sick discovery. The red shoe wasn’t made from animal skin—it was made from treated human skin.

CHAPTERFIFTY-THREE