33. Chapter 33

33

S oren tapped his finger restlessly on the dashboard as he looked again at the warehouse for the umpteenth time. Still nothing was happening.

He and Rowan were back again, trying to find out more information. It was, truthfully, their only lead. And while it was quiet on all fronts, Soren had the lingering sense of foreboding. But he hated the state of limbo, waiting around for the hammer to drop. So they were back at their only lead, hoping to find a break in the case.

Not that he was in any rush to solve it so he could go back to Scotland.

Not after he'd had the most mind-blowing sex ever with Ilaria the night before. He had always enjoyed sex. Never without a shortage of partners, many of them highly skilled in the sensual arts, Soren considered his past experience to be vast and varied. He thought it couldn't get any better.

Until last night with Ilaria. And then again this morning. It was as if all the sex he'd previously had were mere practice runs, and he could finally experience the real thing. He didn't know how he got to be such a lucky bastard, but he had thanked the stars several times since.

And if he had been under the illusion that one time with Ilaria would get her out of his system, he was quickly disabused of that notion. The instant he had come the first time, he had wanted it to happen again. She was nowhere near out of his system.

And she had so graciously accommodated him this morning. The sight of her riding him, hair loose and rumpled from sex and sleep, the perfect round globes of her breasts with lush peaks pointing up to the ceiling, was his undoing.

Even now, his blood heated, remembering. And to his utter disappointment, instead of being in bed with her arms and legs wrapped around him, he was sitting in the dark, in a car, on a stakeout.

Another white box truck pulled up to the security gate. Both Soren and Rowan sat up in their seats. The guard waved the truck through, and the truck backed into the loading terminal.

The loading door rolled up, and a handful of men came out to open the truck. Two of them stepped into the truck bed. But instead of fifty-pound bags and crates, out stepped a young girl of about fifteen years of age with stringy, blond hair. She shivered in nothing but a thin shirt and shorts with no shoes, and her wrists were bound. The bones on her shoulders stood out against the shirt.

Soren swore out loud. Rowan's face was tight, watching the scene play out in front of them.

One of the men raised his arm at her, and she cowered. He yanked her arm and pushed her into the warehouse.

Another girl was pushed out of the truck. This one looked even younger, about thirteen years of age, with thin brown hair. Even from where Soren and Rowan sat, they could see that she was crying, shoulders shaking. The man seized her arm and dragged her toward the door of the warehouse. Her bare feet stumbled, and the man, still holding her arm, shook her roughly and then shoved her inside.

Soren's fists were so tight his nails dug into his palms. He could barely see straight.

More girls filed out, all in their teens, too thin, wrists bound and shivering. In total, Soren counted twenty girls.

After the rolling doors were closed and the truck drove away, the two of them sat in grim silence. Soren knew many families were involved in prostitution and human trafficking, so he wasn't shocked that Vincent had been doing so under Stefano's nose, and now Ilaria's. He was just glad that Galen had never gotten into this business. Soren found it all distasteful, the smuggling of human beings. At least with drugs, users made their own choice.

But trafficking human beings was a line that Soren held to, especially the trafficking of minors. Those girls were practically babies. Fine, his own business could be considered just as deplorable, but he had to draw the line somewhere. One had to be at a certain level of depravity when it came to the buying and selling of human beings.

Rage simmered under his skin, and it went against all his instincts to do nothing. His goal was to protect his family, he reminded himself, to protect Ilaria. Not to save the world. There was still too much about Vincent's plan he didn't know, and he couldn't risk interrupting a plan that might already be in motion without knowing what was coming next. Or worse, sending Vincent underground.

"Look," Rowan interrupted his thoughts. "People are leaving. Maybe employees."

A series of vehicles were slowly filing past the security gate. Soren noted the smallest car, an older model blue hatchback.

Soren pointed. "Follow him."

After all the vehicles passed, Rowan turned the SUV around, keeping an eye on the hatchback. It made a series of turns through the city, not getting on the freeway. After ten minutes, it turned onto a residential street and then pulled into the driveway of a small, single-story house with white paint peeling from the siding.

Rowan parked the car three houses down, and he and Soren pulled masks over their heads as they jogged toward the white house and up the driveway. Soren noted a bicycle laying in the front yard. It was after three A.M., and most of the homes on the street were still dark.

A short, heavyset man in his late thirties slowly stepped out of the blue hatchback, holding an insulated lunch bag and set of keys. The keys jiggled, and the car groaned when he stepped out and closed the door, so he didn't hear the nearly silent footsteps coming up behind him.

Rowan clapped a gloved hand over the man's mouth while sticking the barrel of a gun into his back at the same time. The man seized and instinctively pulled away, making a sound in his throat. The keys and bag dropped to the ground.

"Shh," Soren said softly into his ear. "Not a sound." The man went quiet and held his hands up.

Rowan pushed the gun into the man's back. "Walk. Around the side of the house."

The man walked to the right side of the house and around the corner. Rowan pushed him face forward into the wall, hidden in the shadows. "Hands on the wall. Keep looking at the wall." The man obeyed.

"You're going to answer a few questions," Soren said in a quiet voice. "We don't want to hurt you or your family, but if you yell, we'll have to use the gun. Got it?"

The man panted through his nose, nodding.

Rowan slowly removed his hand from the man's face but kept the gun lodged into his back.

"I haven't done anything," the man said in a loud whisper, breathing heavily. He tried to turn around but Rowan jabbed him with the gun and he faced the wall again.

"Shh," Soren said. "The sooner you answer my questions, the sooner we'll let you go."

The man nodded.

"What's your name?"

"S-Sam."

"Sam, the warehouse that you just came from. What goes on in there?"

Sam jolted. "You followed me from there? I-I can't—" He shook his head swiftly.

"Sam," Soren said in a low voice, letting a bit of menace creep into his tone. "We don't want to hurt you now. Or your family. You have a son, don't you?"

"Don't hurt him!" His breathing quickened.

"Then answer my questions."

"Th-they'll kill me," he wailed.

"No one has to know." Soren paused. "What is happening in that warehouse?"

Sam's breathing was ragged. Rowan prodded him with the gun. "It's a manufacturing site."

"Manufacturing what?"

"Shit," Sam muttered under his breath. "I-It's called aestrium-x."

"And what is aestrium-x?"

"It's a drug."

"What's it used for?"

"I-I don't know for sure. No one's ever told me. I think it's intended for street use."

"What's in it?"

"It's a variation on methamphetamine. Main ingredient is pseudoephedrine but also other chemicals."

"What's the difference from meth?"

"It's a stimulant like meth, but it also greatly increases physical strength and dulls pain. The effects also last longer than meth." He released a shaky breath. "I've heard it described as the Superman effect."

"Have you seen the effects on someone?"

"Not directly."

"But you've heard it described by others."

Sam paused. "What I've heard is that the person gets an immediate high and gets really strong, really fast. Like, superhuman strength."

Soren's stomach tightened. "How is it ingested? And how long do the effects last?"

"It's a pill, taken orally. The effects last at least a couple of days. The withdrawal symptoms are severe, even after just one use. Extreme anger and violence. And even a small overdose can be lethal."

Fuck. "Why are there girls being taken into the building?"

Sam jerked. "How did you know—" Rowan jabbed him again with the gun. "I don't know for sure, alright? That's not my area. I think they're test subjects."

"You said even a small overdose can be lethal. Have there been girls dying?"

Sam went quiet for several beats. He exhaled. "I have to assume so."

"Is aestrium-x out on the street yet?"

"We're making our first production shipment next week."

"Who's in charge of the place?"

Sam let out a cynical huff. "They don't tell me that. I'm not important enough."

"But you've probably seen him walking around the place, right? Describe him."

"Maybe a little shorter than average height. Light brown hair. Thinning. With a gut like mine. Walks with a slight limp, like one leg is shorter than the other. I've never seen him up close so don't ask me to describe his face."

"How often do you see him there?"

"Not often. Once a week or so."

Soren looked at Rowan and nodded. He was done with the questions.

"If you say a word of our visit to anyone," Rowan said, threateningly calm, "we'll be paying you another visit. Now close your eyes and slowly count to one hundred. Then you can go inside."

Sam obeyed, and as Soren and Rowan made their way silently back to their parked car, he was still counting.

Their car bumped over the dark city streets, in the dead of night, as they made their way back to the safe house. Sitting stiffly in the passenger seat, Soren felt an icy rage whirling through him. Violence pulsed under his skin, in his fingertips.

He would find a way to stop Vincent before he hurt anyone else.