Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two

Charlotte Mitchell

E verywhere I look, I’m in awe. I thought I was well off before when Nathan was alive, but it was nothing like this. This is money I can’t fathom, money I’ll never be able to hold in my own two hands.

What the hell does this person do for a living?

I already asked Nix who owned the house, and I look at the side of his face now as he grabs two champagne glasses from a server’s tray. Do the servers have special names? Do they call them something else at fancy parties like this?

Nix didn’t have an answer for me about who owns the house. I had been so busy talking with Nix about things I shouldn’t when we pulled up that I didn’t get an address, but I do know that it was well out of the heart of the city.

Out the back window, under the pale moon, is a large man-made pond. Even from here, in the great room I stand in, it glistens. I can see it past the trees and the large and beautiful landscaping, and my attention keeps getting drawn to it, despite how many people are here.

Most everyone is in masks except for us and some other people. I asked why only some men and women don’t wear masks, and he whispered in my ear that they’re porn stars and employees. Anyone who works for the business shows their face. It went without saying that the rest hide their face to keep their identity a secret, just like who owns this place. I’d bet my last dollar that, even if I had gotten the address, I’d reach a dead end on who actually owns it.

Nix takes a sip of both champagnes before handing me one. As I take it, I raise an eyebrow at him before he touches my lower back and leans in to murmur, “You’d be surprised how often the stars kill off their competition. You, mama, have a giant target on your back.”

“No I don’t,” I breathe out because that’s all I can muster with his hand on my body. It’s lighting a fire all the way through my thin fabric and right up my spine, giving me goosebumps across my arms.

The shiver I shudder cannot be helped, and I swear to God, his eyes harden because of it. I knew he was upset in the car. I just hadn’t known it was at me. I don’t know what I did, but I tuck that nugget away for later discussion as he pulls his hand slowly away from my body.

“All the eyes in this room say otherwise,” he mutters back before standing back up straight.

I get a good look around and finally notice that many heads are turned my way. Some hold interest, a little more than interest, and a majority of the women without masks hold disdain.

I scowl at them as I meet their gazes, one by one. “I did nothing but masturbate to a camera,” I tell him.

“It’s not just the video, Charlie.” He glances down at me as someone approaches. “It’s your looks. Your body. Your innocence even. You’re unusual to them, a snack if you will, to an audience of predators.”

He looks away and toward someone in a mask whose strides are definitely in our direction. “I’m just a girl,” I grumble.

“Not to them. To them, you’re Her. You’d do best to remember that for the rest of the party.”

I get the hint behind his words. Play the part, he’s asking. The only problem is I don’t know what part to play because I don’t know how to be what these people think I am: a porn star. A sex goddess. Sexy, even. I’m just . . . me.

Perhaps he is right. Perhaps I’m just too innocent. So why does that make me feel powerful? And why do I like the power?

I’ve drained a few champagne glasses as, one by one, people in masks approach Nix and hold small talk. He must know them in person because they talk about the business. I never get a single snippet of their lives behind the mask, however, no matter how hard I listen for clues.

Many of the men come with unmasked women. I can tell who the stars are because of their cocky attitudes, but I can’t figure out the ones who look sad. Confused even. They try to hide it, but it’s there, etched in the lines oftheir faces. What’s more curious is when the men they’re with start questioning me. Those sad women look . . . hopeful. It only serves to confuse me more, and when I try to make small talk with those women, Nix nudges me to keep me from uttering a word to them.

I make a mental note to demand answers for that later as well. I may be an employee like them, but we’re all people. We deserve to get to know one another too. Maybe then I can convince them that I’m just a girl who has no interest in taking away their revenue.

Even though . . . in the end, I’ll be taking away their lives as they know it. Maybe even cuffing them too. I’d do well to remember that this is only temporary and building friendships isn’t why I’m here.

I turn to set my empty glass on the tray of a walking-by server and when I swivel back around, Andre is standing in front of us. I mentally recoil. He’s the last person I wanted to see here, though I’d been stupid to believe we could avoid him altogether.

He isn’t alone, however. A woman with bright red hair stands at his side, her arm tucked loosely in his elbow. The whites of her eyes have a tinge of red to them as if she spends most of her time crying. Or on drugs. Either could be true. I don’t know what to make of it, but her irises . . . the brown flecks in her hazel gaze match the freckles splattered on her cheeks.

She’s thin, probably too thin if the bare shoulders her dress reveals are anything to go by. They’re sharp, the bones sticking out too far, and even though her dress has to be the smallest on the market, she barely fills it out.

An eating disorder comes to mind as I study her. And as I study her, she looks anywhere but back into my eyes. She’s completely different than the other women in this home, reserved. Quiet and observant.

“So you did come,” Andre says in the way of greeting.

I turn my attention to him. “I was told we had to.”

“You were told right.” He grins. “You look stunning tonight, love.”

Narrowing my eyes, I can’t help the wrinkle of my nose when I mutter almost too quietly for the four of us to hear, “Thanks.”

What I really want to do is tell him to fuck off, but that’d get me nowhere. I keep telling myself that I’ll be happy the day he’s behind bars with his suit all wrinkled and his hair in disarray, but that day isn’t coming soon enough. I still can’t wait to grin at him from the other side. The look on his face will be worth it all.

“Everyone’s talking about you,” he continues. I don’t like his tone. It’s flirty and disgusting and makes my insides scramble just to put distance between us. The woman on his arm doesn’t even fidget, which most dates would if their companion took interest in another. “You really are something to behold, and they recognize it. I’ve had to stave off requests for a night with you.”

“Much appreciated,” I grumble. I have no plans on being anyone’s sex toy.

“Though . . .” He scans me up and down then smiles a little before leaning toward me. “Most would prefer it if you could no longer talk.”

I scowl. “Are you saying I’m too talkative to fuck?”

“Something like that,” he whispers conspiratorially and leans away with a bigger grin. And it’s then I know.

I survey the room once more as it hits me. This isn’t a party for porn. This is a party for the sick and twisted fucks who want to screw a corpse. And the women? They’re being paraded around for sale.

It’s not that they don’t want me to talk. It’s that they prefer I be dead.

My blood runs cold, and I slide my gaze up to Nix’s. His jaw is ticking, but his focus is solely on Andre, expression hard and full of murdering promises. “Are you done?” Nix asks him.

“Not quite,” Andre answers, turning his smile toward Nix.

I look at his ‘date’ as it comes to me why she’s so reserved, possibly why she’s on drugs. She’s for sale, and as she finally meets my eyes, it’s then I realize that she knows it too. Maybe not the full extent; maybe she thinks that she’s for sale to sleep with, but this isn’t by choice.

I clear my throat to rattle the lump forming there before I ask, “What’s your name?”

“Anya,” she answers in a thick, hard accent.

My next swallow is thick. “Russian?”

She nods and watches me openly.

“What brings you to the United States?” I don’t know why I’m even asking. Chances are that she won’t survive the night, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. I should have worn a mic, and then I could tail her and have all the information down to save her. But that would mean arresting Andre and never getting to the top.

Somehow, I feel like I have to choose: her life or taking down the head of this entire shit show, therefore saving many more victims.

Andre nudges her, and her necklace glints in the lights, catching my eye. I barely hear what he says because that necklace . . . it’s missing a red ruby.

My heart skips a beat.

“Enough talk,” the asshole hisses. “She’s here just for show. Not to make new friends.”

Rage fills me because I know for sure now that she was in that shipping container. Starved. Dirty. Scared.

I direct my rage toward Andre and feel Nix fidget beside me. “Someday, you’ll rot in hell,” I hiss, and he has the audacity to look shocked.

Nix must sense my mood switch and my readiness to murder this evil man right where he stands because he grabs my elbow and steers me away.

And I let him. Murder isn’t in anyone’s plans back at the station, though I’m sure they wouldn’t fault me.