Page 4 of Midnight’s Captive (Stroke of Midnight #2)
Two hours later, Taryn slipped into an alley on the other side of town and cleared her mind. Or tried to. She kept thinking about the strange interaction with the man who knew about the Jack but didn’t know the Jack.
She kept circling back to his story, the one that didn’t quite gel for her. She shook her head. That was a worry for later. Right now, she had to focus on the job at hand. Weeks of planning had gone into the next few hours and she couldn’t afford to screw it up.
Ignoring the creepiness of the dark alley, Taryn breathed through her mouth to avoid the stench and hurried through the space. She kept to the side of the narrow corridor, walking quickly.
Glass crunched underfoot. She looked down and grimaced. Slivers of glass caught the dim light of her phone and twinkled. She panned the light a few feet to either side. Tiny glass vials lay scattered amongst the other trash.
Vyne, the latest street drug, came in little vials like that. Rumor had it that the high was so intense, so addictive, that you might as well be dead after the first dose. True death came later, when your veins turned green, the side effect that gave the drug its name. Taryn had never seen it—she didn’t allow that shit in her bar—but she’d heard too many stories floating around to ignore it.
None of that was what drew her out tonight. She sought a different commodity.
From the end of the alleyway, Taryn watched the cluster of women and girls on the street corner. In the distance, the bright lights and neon signs of downtown Seattle glowed, but here on the edges of the city, the lights were duller, the shadows deeper.
Her gaze landed on the youngest woman and her lips tightened. She looked to be barely into her teens, but had to be closer to sixteen based on the information Taryn had received. The others looked older, probably due to the harshness of life on the street rather than actual years. One of the women noticed Taryn and tipped her head slightly.
Taryn nodded back. Her stomach churned and she took a deep breath to settle herself. She couldn’t afford nerves.
She pulled her jacket’s zipper down far enough to show a hint of cleavage. The black synth-leather she wore was reinforced with lightweight Kevlar. It would stop small-caliber bullets and some stun weapons, while providing her with more freedom of movement than thicker materials would. If she was successful tonight, she’d need to move quickly. Everything she wore was well-made and expensive-looking and intended to give the impression of a wealthy woman out for a good time.
A hot pink wig covered her dark hair to draw attention away from her features. Her heels might look high, but that was an illusion. They were as sturdy as the boots that corporate security teams wore.
As ready as she could be, Taryn stepped out of the alley. She put a wiggle in her walk as she approached the youngest girl. “Hi,” she said in a breathy voice.
The other women stepped back a few feet, giving Taryn room to negotiate.
Fear flickered over the girl’s face before a mask of boredom slammed down. “Hi,” she parroted. “You looking for company?”
Her tone aimed for sexy, but all Taryn heard was fear. This was the part she hated. “You free?”
The girl pasted on what Taryn assumed was supposed to be a coy smile, but it looked frightened and distorted. “Not free, but negotiable.”
Taryn could have recited those words in her sleep. Some nights, she was afraid she still did. She clamped down hard on the shudder of memory. Forcing a smile, she tossed her head, sending her pink curls swinging. “Great. Who do I talk to about getting you for the whole night?”
Something like panic crossed the girl’s face. Taryn understood. Women could be crueler than the men.
“You want me for the whole evening?” she asked in a whisper.
Taryn dragged her fingers over the girl’s jaw. “You’re such a cutie, who wouldn’t want to spend time with you?”
The girl swallowed hard then nodded. “Just a second.” She toyed with a woven metal bracelet around her left wrist. It might look decorative, but Taryn was pretty sure that it communicated with the girl’s pimp.
Her suspicions proved correct when three figures emerged out of the darkness. Taryn easily ID’d the white guy in the center as the pimp. Slender and without the muscle of the two men—bodyguards, probably—not to mention the air of self-importance surrounding him. Pimps were all the same, thinking they were hot shit and that they owned the people under them.
Tucking her hands into her pockets, Taryn did her best to look non-threatening. Out of sight, her right fist clenched and unclenched.
“You looking to spend the night with my Gazelle?” His voice oozed over her as he stepped toward her.
This close Taryn could see the glimmer of his pants, the threads either reflecting or emitting light as he moved. As tacky as she expected him to be.
She smiled. “For the right price,” she said in the same breathy voice she’d used with the girl.
He slung an arm over Gazelle’s shoulder. The girl flinched as his arm came around her neck, the tiniest of movements. Taryn bit back a growl.
The figure he named was lower than Taryn had expected. The girl with her youthful looks, long dark hair, and soft curves would fetch a higher price now than she would in a few years when she was used up. After that, she’d probably be traded away or thrown out on the streets, without the “protection” of a pimp. There was no retirement for the girls who worked the street and escape was nearly impossible.
Nearly.
“Done,” Taryn said. When he held out a plain tablet, she slid her credit chip across it. The chip was unregistered; she assumed the tablet was too. Anonymity was the name of the game for both sides. As long as her credits were good—and Taryn knew they were very good indeed—Gazelle would be hers for the night.
The pimp kept his arm wrapped around Gazelle’s neck and his eyes glued to the screen until the credit transfer was confirmed. His eyes lit up as soon as the transaction was done. “It was a pleasure doing business with you. Wanna join our frequent flier program?”
Taryn’s stomach roiled. If she didn’t get out of here in the next few minutes, she’d either punch him or puke on his shoes. Neither would serve her purposes.
“If I like her, maybe I’ll consider it,” Taryn lied. The girl’s face lost all color.
“You treat my girl good.” He smirked and pushed her toward Taryn. “She’s gonna treat you real good.”
Taryn wasn’t expecting the sudden move and stumbled when the girl’s body collided with hers. She managed to keep them both upright and on their feet.
“I’ll do that.” She faked a smile, hoping it covered the rage building inside her.
“You ready, honey?” Taryn looped her arm through the girl’s elbow, deliberately keeping away from her neck. She didn’t want to remind Gazelle of her pimp.
The girl nodded. Taryn was grateful that she didn’t fight.
“Just a couple of girls ready to party,” Taryn muttered under her breath and led Gazelle away.
“Hey, baby!” the pimp called from behind her.
Taryn stopped and flashed a flirtatious look over her shoulder. It took everything to tamp down the urge to wipe that smarmy look off his face. “Yeah?”
“You girls want some company?”
Taryn laughed. “I don’t think you could handle it,” she said with a flirty shake of her head.
He grunted, then he and his thugs slipped back into the shadows. Taryn walked slowly toward the alley, then stepped into the darkness.
Next to her Gazelle stiffened, but she didn’t fight, allowing Taryn to lead her through the darkness.
Once out the other side, Taryn reached into her pocket and used the key fob to start the car. Another button opened the passenger door. Taryn helped the girl slide into the seat, thankful once again that she didn’t struggle.