Page 79 of Duke

“That’s far enough, boys,” he called out, his voice once again the gruff, genial drawl. “Ya’ll are trespassing on my private property. Best get on.”

“The girl,” came a muffled male voice. “Hand her over, and we’ll leave.”

“If I had a girl here, I sure as shit wouldn’t be sharing,” Puck said. “Now one last time I’ll tell ya’ll: get the fuck off my land.”

“We know she’s in there,” the voice returned. “You have thirty seconds. It’s ten on one…be smart.”

“I got a better idea. I’ll bust out the Wild Turkey and we can have ourselves a party.” Puck put himself fully in the doorway, lifting the shotgun into view and pumped the slide. “Or, I can start putting some buckshot in ya’ll’s asses and we can have ourselves a different kinda party.”

There was a moment of tense silence, and then several things happened at once.

Puck leapt into motion, throwing himself to one side and blasting with the shotgun, firing and pumping and firing three times in rapid succession before he hit the ground on the far side of the porch. The next thing that happened was a small silver canister landed with a hollow thunk on the floor of the cabin. It sat spinning for a moment, and then began spitting a dense cloud of thick white fog, which quickly filled the entire cabin, forcing Lola and I to stumble choking and coughing outside. The next thing that happened was a crackle of gunfire, the blasting of Puck’s shotgun, his shouts of rage, and then a cry of pain.

“He’s down, sir,” I heard someone say, as I tried to breathe and see, but I couldn’t manage either due to the blinding chemical sting and burn in my eyes and mouth and throat.

“Dead?” Another voice asked.

“Negative, sir. I think he was wearing a vest.”

“Grab ‘em,” the first voice said, “and trank ‘em. The blonde kicked up a hell of a fight last time.”

The blonde, meaning me. So, I kicked up a hell of a fight as I felt bodies around me. I heard Lola screaming, heard thrashing and male grunts of effort, and then a pair of strong arms wrapped around me, pinning my arms to my sides. Something sharp poked the side of my neck, and darkness reached up to swallow me.

“Got two for one, sir,” I heard the second voice say. “I think this is that bitch from the swamp.”

“Good work. Let’s move before that helo circles around.”

And then the darkness swallowed me, sucking me under.

13: GOOD NEWS, BAD NEWS

I woke up with my head throbbing like a motherfucker and my arm throbbing like a double motherfucker. Everything was hazy, dim, difficult to grasp.

I worked myself to a sitting position, blinking against the blinding pain, and tried to force some clarity through my foggy, cotton-stuffed head.

The realization that I’d been drugged again was the first thought to ripple through me.

The second was that I wasn’t alone.

I was in the center of a small, dark, dim room, lit by a naked light bulb hanging from the ceiling. The walls were bare concrete, the ceiling corrugated iron and crossbeams. There was a single heavy door, no window, no handle on the inside—a prison cell, or close enough. Huddled around me were women, about thirty of them, all clustered together as close to each other and as far from me as they could get. I had to blink a few times to be sure I was seeing what I thought I was seeing, but then, as the chemical haze faded, understanding started washing through me.

The women were all young, under thirty, most of them, and if I had to assume, I’d say most of them spoke English as a second language, if at all. Mexican, Middle Eastern, South or Central American, Indian—I wasn’t sure who was which, but that’s what I was seeing. Most of them were clothed in rags, literal rags, scraps of clothing. Most sported bruises on their bodies, but not on their faces. One woman sitting nearest me was clutching her waist in a way that made me suspect a cracked or bruised rib.

I’d been taken by Cain, which meant these women were in Cain’s possession.

The Beast was fully awake now, and rattling his chains—enough of the metaphors, though. I was feeling the black rage come over me.

These women were sex slaves.

“English?” I asked, remaining on my butt on the floor.

Most shrank away from me, but one raised her hand, near the back of the room. “I…speak a little English.” She spoke barely above a whisper, and it was obvious she was close to hysterics.

“My name’s Duke,” I said, keeping my voice low. “I’m not going to hurt any of you, okay? Can you tell them that?”

“I…they…we—we are not all the same speaking—the same…language.”

“You guys, you’re—why are you here?” I asked.