Chapter 9

“Everyone in position.” Justin’s low voice cuts through the static, and we all unconsciously move together in unison, leaning forward in our seats, fixing our gazes on the 60-inch screen in front of us.

Just like every single time we watch a live feed of the ongoing mission, my heart slams against my ribcage, my hands shaking slightly and turning clammy. It’s been a while since I joined a rescue. The last time I did, I was so filled with burning fury that I stared at the guards while I lodged bullets into their brains. Fun times.

Justin has a small camera attached to his bulletproof vest, allowing us to see what’s going on in real-time. Jameson has the Chief of Police on speed dial should things go awry or just in case Justin needs more backup.

Yes, we have contacts in the government and law enforcement. After all, operations like this are not always 100% above board. We may skirt the law here and there, but ultimately, our goal is to save kids and teens from being trafficked and sold to the highest bidders. The Chief may not like our methods, and he refuses to hear the details, but we always deliver. And that’s always the end goal, right? Help people.

Zara asked me what I did for a living, and she was shocked to find out that my brothers and I owned a chain of hotels all over the world. It wasn’t so much about our wealth but the fact that I could have lived in a glorious condo unit, but I chose our shitty apartment.

Like I said before, I enjoy the quiet. It also helps that other residents in my building are too busy with their own lives to care about the scarface in their midst.

I guess she didn’t Google me after all. I can only imagine how she’ll react if she finds out what we actually do on the regular, which is follow leads, track down suspects, and destroy human trafficking operations.

Jasper, Jameson, and I wait in bated breath as one of Justin’s men sticks a bomb to the door. It hisses and explodes, smoke covering our view.

Then, the chaos erupts.

My shoulders are tense, and I dig my clenched fists into my thighs. Operations like this make me nervous because no matter what we say, Justin ignores our requests for him to sit it out. He can command his men from a safe zone, but he prefers to be in on the action.

Which is just as well because he’s damned good at it.

A few minutes more and the security on the premises is subdued. The rescue wasn’t properly planned. The Seine House was supposed to be our next target, but we received reports about a new “shipment” so we wasted no time putting together a rescue operation in three hours. We hadn’t even scoped out the location properly.

A huge risk even for someone as seasoned as Justin, which was why we dropped everything, including a shareholders’ meeting.

“There’s no victim here,” Justin’s voice reverberates in the conference room where we’re gathered.

“What do you mean?” Jameson asks, too restless to sit down so he paces the room, scrubbing a hand across his face.

“We don’t see anyone.” He scans the area, and that’s when I spot something.

“Wait. There! There’s a small knob to your right. Right there on the floor. Looks like steel or something.” Unable to control myself, I stand and point as if Justin can see me.

“I see it.” Justin must have turned to his men. “Do not fire unless I tell you to. We’re not sure if only victims are there or if a guard or two is with them.”

Nervous energy coils in me, each of Justin’s cautious steps on the creaking floorboards making me tense. I don’t even dare to breathe. My eyes are glued to the screen in rapt attention, a bead of sweat sliding down my forehead.

Fear grips me and the tension in the room is like a tangible force pressing on me.

Justin twists the knob, pulling the door open. When his flashlight beam pierces the darkness below, we see nothing but young faces full of fear. “Is there any guard down there with you?” Justin asks, his voice different and not his usual gruff tone.

At least a couple dozen watch him wide-eyed until one girl raises a hand. “No, it’s just us. Please help.”

Relief washes over me in waves, and I slump in my seat, hanging my head low and gripping it tightly. Jesus. I let out a long ragged breath, my muscles beginning to relax. With trembling fingers, I run them through my hair, trying to ground myself.

After receiving Justin’s go signal, we all ride Jameson’s truck and head to the location—about three hours outside Ferncombe, but it might as well have been an entirely different continent. We just went from a highly industrialized city to a semi-abandoned town, filled with old, decrepit buildings, barren lands, and an overall depressing atmosphere.

As the old warehouse looms into view, a prickle of unease goes through me. The windows are boarded up, its windows sagging. Jameson parks by the rusted iron gates, and my gaze scans the tall grass and wildflowers. There’s nothing for miles. Even if someone manages to escape, getting out is just the first problem. Managing to get away is another.

The sense of unease grows stronger and wraps around me like a vise. I hate going to places like this, where there’s clearly been so much suffering.

But we have to do it. It’s just a step closer to stopping Jackson. Ever since we came up with a plan to destroy him a little over a decade ago, we’ve only successfully completed a dozen rescue operations.

Several leads get nowhere, some are false. Once in a while, though, we get lucky and find each and every victim unharmed. We have no idea where Jackson is. Someone reported he was in Vietnam, another claimed he was spotted in Bulgaria.

This thing we do? He’s bound to notice, which is good. He has to know we’re coming for him.

Justin meets us by the entrance and tips his head to one of the rooms. “Check this out.”

He leads us to a room that smells of dust and neglect. Rusted filing cabinets line one wall and a single desk in the middle is piled high with several papers. That draws my attention because the papers look like they were printed recently—no fading ink or whatever.

Sifting through the papers scattered across the desk, excitement pulses through me. Between the pages, I find a faded photograph, with one edge curling with age and the other blackened by fire.

Tiny hairs stand on the back of my neck, and my breathing becomes labored. My vision blurs at the edges, and I forget everything around me.

It’s a photo of thick chains attached directly to a wall. At first, it tugs at my memory like a half-remembered dream. Then, it clicks.

I was too terrified to remember every detail that night, but I’m sure this was it. This was the basement where they kept me. I was in and out of consciousness for a full day, and I spotted this at least once.

Justin rests a hand on my shoulder. “What is it?”

“It’s the basement.” My voice sounds too distant, like I’m listening to someone else speak.

“This must be one of his then.”

“Maybe.”

“There are shredded papers in the bin. I’ll get my men to tape it back together.”

Finally.

For the first time, I have hope. We ARE closer to him. All of the other operations didn’t yield any information on him or anything connecting to him. This is the first. This is a clear connection to Jackson.

We’ll get you, motherfucker. And we’ll make you suffer.

* * *

Jameson drops me off,and I make that long climb to my floor. The adrenaline has long fizzled out, and now the weight of exhaustion hangs heavy on my shoulders. I drag my weary feet and feel like I’m wading through thick mud.

My mind drifts to Zara. What’s gonna happen if she finds out what I actually work on every day? What if she finds out how I got burned and the kind of life I led for years? Being repeatedly beaten to an inch of my life?

Goddammit.

I am selfish because I can’t let her go. Not when I’ve claimed her as mine. Eventually, I’ll come clean and tell her everything. For now, though, I just want to be happy. Happy without the strings of my past dragging me down.

Zara makes me want to tell her everything. It’s always at the tip of my tongue. The gory details. The nightmares. The panic rushing at me from out of nowhere. The years of therapy. And the pain. Dear God, the pain I have to deal with every day. It’s nothing anyone can see, but it’s like someone reaches into my chest and squeezes my heart.

She asked me before if my scar still hurt, and I said no. It’s true because I suffer from a different kind of pain. The pain that no amount of drugs can cure.

I know she deserves a normal man with no baggage, but fuck, I can’t. Just thinking about her with someone else makes me feel like my veins are filled with acid. I don’t know when I started to be possessive, but it is what it is.

I don’t even realize where I am until I look up and see her apartment number instead of mine. With a chuckle, I press her doorbell.

“Just a minute!” Her voice alone is like a balm to my frazzled nerves.

Zara pulls the door open. When she sees me, her whole face lights up, eyes sparkling, lips curving upwards in the most beautiful smile.

Just like that, the chaos in my head quiets. No buzzing. No noise.

“Hi, Alec. I missed you today. Want some dinner?”

Those simple words make me stand a little taller.

I am home.