Chapter 15

15

ESTELLE

We're close. I can feel it. Every step that we take feels like one step closer.

The scrap yard is exactly how it sounds, but worse. It's a maze. There are literally dead cars, chunks of steel and everything else in between strewn around in some kind of disorganized chaos. It has to be the size of at least one football field. While we're looking around, Kyle is tapping into the security cameras to see how far back they go. Everything feels so close, yet so far.

The dogs behind a chained fence bark at us. They look as vicious as they sound and I have no doubt the owner would probably let them out to maul us if he really knew what was going on here.

I haven't come to terms with the grim reality because I won't allow myself to believe that my sister is gone. That isn't even an option.

I'm even letting this man next to me dictate when I should eat, for heaven's sake. What in the hell?

I never told Nevada that I've had one really bad relationship that fucked me over for a while. It's half the reason that I am the way I am. I never want to feel like I'm trapped, which is why my independence is so important to me. The guy hit me a few times, and it started out as a slap, then it intensified. I got away reasonably unscathed, but I'll never forget the night that he came for me in a drunken rage accusing me of sleeping around, which I wasn't. That was five years ago, and I haven't been the same since. It's why I took up kickboxing and went back into martial arts. I've even plowed a lot of my time and energy into helping out at the local shelter, and donating to causes to help women of domestic abuse when I can. When I looked up the NOLA Rebels and saw they formed BADVA, I was quietly impressed.

Maybe I need to learn to keep my judgment and prejudice at bay. I've had good relationships in the past, and I'm not a man-hater, but the thought of being trapped scares the shit out of me. Maybe that's why I never considered kids or a family, because it would mean giving up my independence and my job. It would mean relying on a man.

"So all of this could be a cover up and a good front for somethin' more sinister." Nevada snaps me out of my reverie. "Or it could be a legit business."

"We need to be asking questions," I say. "Poking around out here isn't getting us anywhere."

He turns to me. "It isn't like we can just walk up to the office and start askin' questions."

"Why not?" I challenge. "I have a security guard badge. I can use that."

"I'm surprised you don't have a fake police badge." Our eyes meet and Nevada palms the back of his head. "You do, don't you?"

"It gets things done faster."

"It's also a felony."

"Nobody in their right minds would put me in jail after finding out why I did it."

He takes a long intake of breath. "You already have a story worked out? Jesus, woman."

"I'm sick of beating around the bush, Nevada. And since when did this become a NOLA Rebels operation?" I start to back away toward the office. "We can't just pussy foot around waiting for evidence to drop into our laps."

"I'm not," he argues. "I'm checkin' the place out before we go in guns blazin', which is generally the smart thing to do."

She puts her hands on her hips. "So are we doing things your way, or my way? Because this isn't getting us anywhere."

"Can I help you?" a man says out of nowhere and I startle at his words.

Putting a hand on my chest I say, "Yes." I side eye Nevada and then take out my fake ID from inside my jacket pocket. "I'm Detective St. Clair from the Mississippi Police Department, this is my colleague, Detective Jones. We're working on a case at the moment involving a missing girl."

The man frowns. "Uh, we don't get many girls around these parts, aside from Meg in the office." He whispers the next part, "But she's a little slow, so I wouldn't take anything she has to say as gospel."

I pull out my phone to find the photo of Tilly. She's smiling and happy on a trip we made one time to Florida. The pain in my gut intensifies. "She was last seen around this area and just vanished without a trace."

"Lotsa people go missin'." He starts to back up but I keep walking toward him. "But none of them get lost in a junkyard." I don't know why he seems to find that funny but he's suspicious as hell. Or maybe he's just an asshole.

"So you won't mind us looking around?"

"Be my guest."

"Also heard rumors of a traffickin' ring operating in the area, you heard anythin' about that?" Nevada cuts in. "Folks around here stayin' tight lipped, but we have security footage of a bus packed with girls crossing state line from Louisiana headin' through here."

He scratches his chin. "Mississippi ain't that big, but still. Don't mean shit."

"There's a ten thousand dollar reward for any information leading to the successful capture of these monsters who take women against their will." I stare him down. "I'll give you my card, if you think of anything that could be helpful."

I fish around for the fake card and hand it to him. Dumb ass wouldn't know his ass from his elbow.

I need an excuse to get into the office, so when he gets there and slides the door open, I follow in behind. "Got a shit load of stuff here." I look around the rundown shambles of an office. The girl, who must be Meg, looks up from an old computer that looks like it's seen better days, whirring away loudly. I immediately zone in on her.

"Dave, honey, is everything okay?" She's much younger than him to be calling him honey. It's an odd coupling. He's tall with a fat belly, ripped holes in his clothing and an unkempt beard and hair. She probably was pretty until whatever she's smoking took her looks, and sank in her cheeks and eyes. She's wary of us, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"Everything's fine, go back to work," he barks.

I take the opportunity to introduce myself. "I'm officer St. Clair," I start, but asshole Dave cuts me off.

"I told you, we don't know anything. If you're not here to buy shit, then scram!"

I ignore him. "There's a ten thousand dollar reward for any information to do with the trafficking ring operating in the area."

Nevada steps in front of me. "You need to take a step back, Dave," he growls. "There's no need to go gettin' rude when all we're here to do is ask a few questions about a missing girl." Meg just blinks and says nothing.

"Got a business to run, officer, so if you don't mind…" He sweeps his hand to the door.

Nevada points at him as we back up. "You've got our card, if you change your mind about knowin' anythin', even if it's a small detail, give my colleague a call."

Dave looks like he's been in trouble with the police his entire life, and hates them, if his body language is anything to go by. Again, it doesn't mean he's guilty or knows anything, he could just hate cops or abiding by the law. But he definitely wants us gone.

"Got ears," he snarls. We don't even get the door closed when he shouts at Meg again and she jumps in the air as I watch her through the glass.

Jesus, that was a complete disaster.

"Let's get outta' here," Nevada says. "Don't trust he won't call some of his low-life friends if he thought that badge was fake."

We climb into his truck and take off. Nevada calls Haze on Bluetooth and tells him we just left and it was a bust. We're gonna meet them a block from the shipping yard.

"So." Nevada turns to me when he ends the call. "You're offerin' ten grand as a reward?"

"It's a line I use to get what I want, and I would pay for information if it came down to it. That asshole knows something, I can feel it in my bones."

"Or he just hates cops and couldn't wait to get us out of there before he lets those killer dogs onto us. What is it about junkyards and mean dogs?"

"I guess they either have lots to protect, or lots to hide." I stare out the window, trying to make sense of any of it, but I can't. Everything feels like a dead end again, and even if people like asshole Dave do know anything, they won't talk. Still, ten grand is a lot.

"The fact he didn't even balk at ten grand for information," Nevada says exactly what I'm thinking. "Leads me to believe that he may know somethin'."

"Sending Kyle a message now to check him out." I sit back in the chair when that's done and sigh.

I feel Nevada's hand on my thigh as he gives it a squeeze. "You still breathin', Estelle?"

I know when he uses my real name, he's not joking around. And right now? I'm not sure that I need that.

Here he is again, saying and doing all the right things and I have no power to stop it.

"I'm breathing." I close my eyes, a migraine coming on. "It feels hopeless."

"You fakin' bein' a cop and flashin' that fake ID was pretty impressive. Since when did you have fake PD cards made up?"

I half smile. "I have a very forward-thinking PA."

He doesn't remove his hand, and I fucking let him keep it there… "Detective Jones? Couldn't you think of a more exciting nickname like Hazard or Deep Throat or somethin'."

This time I do laugh. "Deep throat?"

"Fuckin' Jones, though?"

I glance at him. "Stop whining like a baby or next time I'll call you Detective Sphincter."

He laughs. "Touché."

We cross the other side of town, heading toward Riot and Halo in the stakeout van. They went to the shipping yard because it was easier to see people coming and going, and they blended in better with the parking lot right across the road.

I'm sure Halo is not protesting spending time with Riot, but none of us can forget why we're here. To save my sister.

We ride in silence and I'm glad for it. I like that Nevada doesn't need to fill the silence with words. Sometimes I just need to think.

It isn't like I really thought the guy would come outright and admit to hearing anything about the trafficking rumors, but to just completely shut us down like that? It definitely doesn't add up.

Suddenly, Nevada's Bluetooth pops up and I stare at it.

No Caller ID

Answer me you asshole

Nevada notices and quickly taps the message off but I'm already staring at him. "Who was that?"

He shakes his head. "I've no idea. This weird number keeps trying to phone me and when I don't answer, they hang up."

Instantly I'm suspicious. Realistically, I don't know this man from Adam. He could be anyone. Before my mind starts to get away from me, I say, "An angry ex?"

"Doubt it. I never had a steady girlfriend."

"I'll reword that then, a pissed off one-night stand?"

He turns the corner, his hands gripping the wheel tightly. "Maybe, but I haven't had sex with anyone since I saw you that night at the Whiskey Straight."

He did say that, and I wasn't sure I believed him at the time. I thought he was just being a sociopath and trying to impress me. I don't think he tells lies. I mean, if he does, he's really good at it. My bullshit radar is high, and while I know he's many things, a liar doesn't appear to be one of them.

"Uh, huh."

I feel his eyes on me. "I'm tellin' the truth. Had blue balls for months, which is why I can't wait to fuck you balls deep as soon as we get back to the motel."

I clench my thighs, but I show no emotion on my face. "Nevada, we're here to do something important, not just fuck ourselves to death."

"You think that's what we're doin'?" He chuckles. "Oh, carrot cake, I haven't even begun to show you the pleasure I can inflict on your body. Like I said,, there's no reason why we can't enjoy each other while we do this. No strings attached."

Instantly, I feel moisture between my legs. This man gets me so slick and ready for it so much that I can't fight it. I won't fight it. Even the goddamn ridiculous names he keeps coming up with. And what if I want strings attached? Wait. No. I don't want any strings attached. That's insanity. Just because of what he did to me this morning against the door, which has ultimately led me to a newfound and unhealthy craving for his dick, doesn't mean that I want it to be a permanent thing. But what if it was?

I really can't allow those indulgent thoughts. The reality is, there are more important things going on than us rolling around together between the sheets, even if he does make me forget. I should get my stuff when I go back and get another room. Staying with him is only encouraging something that isn't mine to give. My heart isn't up for grabs and I'm a fool for even thinking it. Nevada will tire of me eventually, especially when some pretty little thing who's younger, prettier and way more fun catches his eye. Women notice him everywhere. I didn't miss the glances he got at the diner this afternoon, or the way he got his upgrade from the old woman at the reception desk of the motel. Women of any age are affected by him because he has charisma and charm, and the good looks and pretty eyes to go with it. He's like this with everyone.

You're not special. In fact, I'm stupid for even thinking there is such a thing. He's only twenty-seven, and while I'm not usually hung up on age, I know men in biker clubs have their way with any and all women that come their way. This is a faze for him, and as long as we're using each other, then nobody gets hurt.

When he slides his hand into mine my heart hammers rapidly in my chest as I look down at it.

He must notice my hesitation to curl my fingers around his. "You overthinkin' again?"

I shake my head, avoiding his gaze. "Nevada, we're not boyfriend and girlfriend. This feels…"

"What?"

"Wrong."

" Wrong ?" At least he sounds a little affronted.

"I mean, we're not a thing. So holding hands is too… intimate."

"We are a thing."The words leave his mouth and they sound venomous.

"We're fucking."

"I only fucked you once with my dick, so that's not exactly true. And while you're up there on your high-horse, I might remind you that you didn't seem to mind what I was doin' to you with my dick and you beggin' me for more."

"That's exactly it. More dick, not the… other stuff…" I feel like a complete bitch saying it and yet again, his eyes are on mine. My tone lowers. "It's not you. It really is me. I've never… I've never really had anyone that wanted more from me…"

"Like I do?"

I swallow hard. "But this is just sex, and you're overcomplicating it by doing this." I squeeze his hand and he takes the opportunity to link our fingers and doesn't let go.

"I just wanna touch you, Estelle. I want you to know that no matter what happens, for me, this isn't just fuckin'. Got me?"

"You don't even know me."

"I know enough. I know you're kind and smart, funny and beautiful?—"

"And flawed. Dangerous. Crazy. Impatient. A complete asshole when I don't get my own way," I finish.

He shrugs. "Who isn't? But with you, it feels different."

Blood pounds in my ears at his words and I feel the heat rising in my chest. It makes me feel like I can't breathe. "I still need to be me." What does that even mean?

"You're afraid to give over control," he murmurs. "I understand that more than you think. I've never felt this way before, that's how I know I want to explore more of it. You're not just a woman I want to have sex with, and trust me, that surprises me just as much as it does you. I want to get to know you. As much as you try to push me away, we both know we're connected and it feels good. Haven't you asked yourself why?"

I let out a long breath.. "I guess I'm too used to doing things my own way," I admit. "To be tough and cold and ahead of the game on everything. It's what I know. It's how I'm made."

"And all I thought I knew was the life before you, Mama. Now I can see that everything I believed was just a lie."

My breath hitches in my chest. I want to tell him he's nuts. That he's wrong. He doesn't know me. I'm unlovable. I'm cold and I can be mean, and I use my fists more than I should. But the words don't come out. No sound leaves my mouth as I try to take in his words and what any of it means. Instead, I squeeze his hand.

"You're a good man, Asher. I don't know what you're doing getting mixed up with me, but all of this is for something… I just don't know what that is."

He brings our joined hands to his mouth, kissing my knuckles one by one. "I think you do know, and when the time is right, you'll tell me. I'm here for you, no matter what." The look in his eyes makes me want him to stop the car and pull him into my arms and kiss him. Hold him. Tell him that I need this… I need his love… Holy shit, I need his love? What in the goddamn hell?

I take a deep breath, trying not to let the confines of the truck crash all around me. You can do this. You can allow him to love you. You're not unlovable because someone once told you that you were.

I turn away, tears welling in my eyes. I can't let him see me like this. A shell of a woman that I once was. I've done a pretty good job of hiding it, and with just a few words and hand holding, Nevada has me confessing things that I shouldn't and feeling things that I haven't before. This isn't a novelty. He is not a commodity or someone I can just use for sex. It started out as fun, but now things feel intense, and instead of running like I would normally, I stay. I let myself calm down. I let him press our joined hands against his heart and I want to cry because I know deep down that I do not deserve this man. And I do not deserve his love.