Page 10

The sink creaked beneath our weight. Someone pounded on the door—once, twice—but we ignored it, lost in a haze of anger and need. Jamie’s head fell back to the mirror as I marked his throat, claiming him in ways I had no right to. His legs tightened, drawing me impossibly closer.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I growled. “You have no idea what these people are capable of.”

He laughed, bitter and breathless. “And you do? That’s what scares me.”

His was faster, rougher, and I matched his rhythm. We weren’t making love—we were fighting, still arguing with our bodies instead of words.

The bathroom door rattled again, followed by muffled shouting, and it pulled me back to myself.

“Fuck. Not here,” I muttered, backing away, quickly tucking myself back in and zipping up. Jamie did the same, his movements jerky, cheeks flushed with arousal.

“Killian—"

“Not anywhere! You need to leave. Now.” My voice was steady despite the chaos inside me. “Go out the back exit, don’t talk to anyone or look at anyone. ”

His eyes narrowed. “I’m not leaving you here with Ricardo fucking?—”

“Yes, you are.” I grabbed his shoulders, forcing him to focus. “This isn’t a game, Jamie. These people aren’t the kind you mess with.” I lowered my voice, trying to keep the desperation from showing. “If they see you with me, and they track you back to Redcars, then you’re fucking everything up.

The pounding on the door grew more insistent. “There’s a line out here!”

“Occupied!” I shouted, heard cursing, but the voices grew quieter. “Let me be the smart one here.”

Jamie clenched his jaw, and something dark and conflicted flashed in his eyes. “This isn’t over.”

“It never is,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair.

I cracked the door, checking the hallway. Two drunk girls leaned against the wall, eyes shooting daggers at us. Perfect cover. I grabbed Jamie’s arm, pulling him close one last time.

“Count to thirty after I leave, then go. Don’t look back.”

His fingers caught my wrist, squeezing hard enough to bruise. “What are you doing, Killian?”

“Thirty,” I repeated, maintaining eye contact .

I left and headed back to the bar, catching sight of myself.

I needed to get myself under control. Jamie was a distraction I couldn’t afford right now, not when I was this close to something.

I took a deep breath, straightened my shoulders, and headed back to Ricardo, who was watching the crowd with predatory eyes.

“There you are,” he said, pressing fingers to my lower back. “Thought you’d fallen in.”

I palmed my hard cock—thank you Jamie—and laughed, leaning into him just enough to keep him talking. “Just needed a minute.”

“I’ve got them ready.”

I let my gaze wander over the club, as if I were bored. “Sure,” I said. Anything to get into the back rooms with a legitimate excuse as opposed to my stupid idea to investigate with stealth.

He led me down a hallway past the restrooms, nodding to a bouncer who stepped aside.

My skin crawled as we moved deeper into the club’s back rooms, away from the pounding music and into spaces where the bass was a distant thrum.

I counted doors, memorized the layout, noted the cameras in each corner, and pretended not to watch him enter the code.

“Is all this necessary?” I asked casually .

Ricardo’s smile tightened. “Had some inventory control issues.”

Yeah, I bet. To the tune of 1.2 million in crypto disappearing from Ricardo’s bank balance. He punched another code into the final door, his hand blocking my view of the keypad. The lock clicked, and he pushed the door open.

“My office,” he purred.

The room beyond was dimly lit, all dark wood and leather furniture.

It looked like an upscale gentleman’s club with a small bar in the corner.

But it wasn’t the décor that caught my attention; it was the three young men lounging on a large leather couch, none looking a day over sixteen, all with the same vacant stare from heavy sedation.

My stomach turned. I’d seen that look before in places where people became products. I’d seen that in the mirror.

“Fresh from Idaho,” Ricardo said, stroking one boy’s hair. The kid didn’t even flinch. “This one’s only been in the city a week.”

“What the fuck?” I didn’t have to fake anger. “They’re no good to me drugged-up, Ricardo!”

He pouted, as though I’d ruined his night. “Cocaine, speed, we’ll get ’em started.

I kept my smile frozen, forcing myself not to react— not until I had the information I needed. These kids hadn’t only been drugged; they were being broken in, conditioned to accept whatever came next—human merchandise. And Ricardo was treating it like a business opportunity.

“I like them aware. I like them fighting.” I said, stepping closer, letting my voice drop to something dangerous. I glanced around the room, memorizing faces, details. Evidence.

“Can’t move ’em if they’re fighting.”

“Move them?” I fake-pouted as if that was bad news to my Lucas persona who would react as if his toys were being taken away.

“Yeah, unless you want one yourself. Two hundred K gets you exclusivity.” He sipped his whiskey, gesturing toward the hallway behind us. “Otherwise, we ship them wherever needed. Rich guys in Dubai, private islands, you name it.”

My blood ran cold, but I kept my expression neutral. This club was part of a trafficking network, leading all the way up to Lassiter. I needed names, locations, everything I could get.

“That one I got straight off the bus,” He pointed to the one who seemed the youngest, maybe not a day over fourteen. Someone’s child. Stolen and abused. He nudged me with an elbow, and I swear he was going to die at my hand one day soon.

This was abhorrent, and I was already thinking of ways to get these young men out of here, but were there more? Were there children here?

“What’s your inventory like tonight? You got anything else that isn’t drugged to their eyeballs?” I glanced at him. “Younger?” I tagged on.

His gaze took on a greedy gleam. “Nah, we’re low, just these three tonight.

” He picked up a bag with white powder. “This will make them more…interested,” he smirked, but was distracted by a knock.

He opened it and called to a guard, then there was a garbled sound, a curse, a scuffle and by the time I turned to the door, Ricardo was on the floor, throat cut, blood pooling around him, and splattered on Jamie’s shirt, his hands steady as he wiped the blade.

This was the Jamie who was so pretty, deadly, and someone who knew exactly how to slice a carotid artery.

“We have five minutes to get them out of here,” Jamie announced and thumbed at the drugged boys.

“Five minutes, Killian, tick-tock.”

I stared at him in disbelief, my mind racing to catch up with the sudden shift in reality. This wasn’t the reluctant mechanic I’d been dealing with. This was someone else entirely—someone who cut throats with practiced efficiency and didn’t flinch at the blood spattering his boots.

“You… what the fuck did you just do?” I hissed, heading toward the nearest boy, checking his pulse. Slow but steady.

Jamie was already pulling one of them up, supporting his weight. “I did what needed doing. You were taking too long playing spy, and these kids would have been out on the next truck.”

“I was getting information!” I grabbed the smallest of the three, throwing his arm around my shoulder. “Information we need about who else is involved, where the other victims are?—”

“The back exit has a delivery truck waiting. Keys are in the ignition.”

“How—” I started, but there was no time for questions. The third boy was starting to stir, mumbling incoherently. I nodded to Jamie. “What about cameras?”

“Disabled. Four minutes now,” Jamie cut me off, cold and methodical.

“Then what happens?”

Jamie grinned, all teeth. “Boom. ”

Fuck! Fuck! “You get them out. I need two more minutes.”

“Killian—”

“Two minutes, Pretty,” I repeated, already moving to the desk. “Get them to safety. I’ll be right behind you.”

Jamie’s eyes hardened, but he nodded once, sharp and decisive. As he herded the barely conscious boys toward the exit, I rifled through Ricardo’s desk drawers, grabbing his laptop and shoving any paperwork into my pocket.

I pocketed three USB drives that had been discarded in the bottom drawer, then turned to leave.

Was that more than two minutes? Was I going to get caught in an explosion or a raging inferno?

What the fuck had Jamie done? What about all the people outside, innocents, was he going to destroy this place without?—

The fire alarms activated, so fucking loud, and I sprinted for the back door and tumbled out into cold air. Jamie was leaning against the van and checking his watch. “Nice timing. Get them somewhere.” He gestured at the truck, then strolled past me, back into the club.

“Jamie! What the fuck are you doing? ”

He pulled out a container and flicked a lighter. “What I’m good at.”

“Fuck—”

“I’ll see you back at your place.”

“My place? What?—”

“Get the fuck out of here, hide your face. Cameras everywhere that no one can fix in a few seconds.”

And then he vanished. People began exiting through the back doors, a buzz of excitement mixed with concern.

I scrambled to the van, leaving as sedately as I could, with the visor down and my jacket up over the bottom half of my face.

I was thankful the victims in the back were at least hidden in the paneled van.

I abandoned the vehicle a quarter mile from our destination, opening the back doors to reveal three frightened young men who looked a little more alert than before.

“Reed Way Hostel,” I pointed in the direction. “Pride flag in the window, ask for Mickey. Got it? Mickey.”

“Mickey, Reed Way.” The most lucid of them repeated.

“Get help, say nothing; keep your fucking heads down.”

They scrambled out of the van, throwing me frightened looks, stumbling and crying as they headed toward a place I knew they’d be safe.

I sent a quick message to Mickey to keep an eye out, wiped down the van’s steering wheel just in case, then sprinted back toward the city, calling a cab as soon as I hit the city limits.

Then, not knowing how to deal with the clusterfuck Jamie had created, I headed home.