Page 110 of Merciless Obsession

“Emmet looked over the files you sent him and saw he bought plane tickets frequently.”

“Are you guys having a meeting without me?” she questioned. “I thought we were working together on this. Why wasn’t I notified?”

I smirked. “Focus, Bumblebee. The tickets.”

She muttered something and the sound of tapping came through the phone again. “The tickets were to Puerto Rico. Looks like he has a kid down there that lives with his mother. He visited them frequently. You would have known all this if I was invited to the meeting. Now, bye.” She hung up before I could reply.

“Someone’s in trouble,” Lucas joked and I chuckled.

“I’ll make it up to her. It’s more fun when she’s mad at me anyway.” I stared at the contact picture of Ziora, her lying in bed, wrapped in the covers, from the side.

“So Winston must have been leaving the girls in the unit while he was out of town. It makes sense, no one would think you have someone hidden behind those gates.”

“But if that’s the case, why do you think the girls never made any noise to notify someone?” Lucas mentioned.

“They were terrified of Winston. He had programmed them to stay quiet and compliant, even when he wasn’t around,” I said. “After seeing how Tiffany was when we recovered her, I’m not shocked. He tortured them, him along with other men raped them, and treated and chained them up like dogs. Which brings me to what I learned today. My contact at the police department identified the two semen samples found in Tiffany. Winston’s, a man named Nelson Ortiz, and an unidentified person.”

Emmet clicked a couple things on his laptop then the screen in front of the table lit up. “I checked the Nelson guy out when you messaged me his name. He works at a factory as part of his parole requirement. He’s listed as living with his elderly grandmother and he has a gambling problem. Mainly online poker and bingo.”

“So to sum it up, the guy’s a loser.”

“Loser or not, he needs to be handled. Not before we learn who that third sample belonged to though,” Nazai expressed. His eyes peered into the picture of Nelson. “Let’s handle this then get back to the main agenda.”

I lifted my eyes to the screen. Nelson looked like the kind of kid who was bullied a lot. The type who would follow anyone just to say he had a friend. Even in the picture you could see the resentment radiating from his eyes.

“The Bloodline was created and still running to get the justice the police and rest of the justice system fails at. It’s obviousthere’s a reason this organization has been going on as long as it has and we’re going to find out why and take them and this threat out. If there’s one thing in the world I hate more than the devil himself, it’s rapists and sickos that hurt children,” Nazai stated.

We all nodded in agreement. I had a code in my line of work; never defend people accused of rape or child abuse. Even if the person was innocent, there was usually a valid reason why they were accused in the first place. Tiffany was the first victim I’d seen up close and personal during a job. The image of her battered, used, and afraid in that cage would forever be tattooed in my brain. It pushed my drive to never give up and let abusers like Winston and his friends live.

After we finished talking, we went out back to The Barn. In the middle of the floor was a large metal pole with a weighted bottom that River had brought in. It was the same one someone would tie a dog to. A steel leash was attached to the hook on it and at the end of it was Brad, Tiffany’s dad. We located him at his apartment, passed out high in the living room. Around his neck was an electric collar and the leash was attached to it.

He was leaning against the pole nodding off. His shoulders slouched forward and every so often a twitch shook him.

“Lucas.” Nazai nodded toward him.

Lucas moved to the table that stood in front of the wall of tools. He grabbed the blue latex gloves, slid them on, then grabbed the small spray next to them. Making his way to Brad, he kneeled and inserted the tip into each nostril. He stood and stepped back. It took a couple seconds but Brad’s eyes bugged and he gasped. His eyes bounced around and his head wildly shifted side to side.

“Where am I?” he asked. His voice sounded like he had smoked one too many packs of cigarettes.

Lucas turned and went to the table again, placing the Narcan down and picking up the controller. He pressed it then hit a button. Brad’s eyes grew large and his body jerked as he cried out in pain.

Walking toward him, I kicked his foot. “Brad, my man,” I taunted, grinning.

Going into my back pocket, I pulled out black leather gloves. “Who are you?” He went to his neck and tugged on the collar. “What the hell is this?” His body jerked again. “Wait, wait! Is this about money? I paid my debt!”

My eyes narrowed and my blood boiled. I turned toward the table and removed my coat, grabbing Wilma from the inside pocket before placing it on the table. A grunt left Brad’s mouth. I turned and saw River had kicked him. He was wearing thick boots and Brad’s head snapped back against the pole. He grabbed his face and blood trickled from his lip.

“Please. I-I got money. It’s at home,” he begged.

Gripping Wilma tightly, I walked back to Brad, leaned down, and grabbed his wrist.

“What are you doing?” He tried to tug, but my grip was tighter. Lifting Wilma, I slammed the steel head down, crushing his hand.

“Oh, fuck!” he cried out.

I released his hand and he cradled it with his other hand. Tears pooled in the bottom of his lids.

“That pain you’re feeling right now is nothing compared to what your daughter felt from those men you sold her to,” I gritted.