“We’re here for Wesley. What room’s he in?” I demand.
“Don’t fucking tell him anything,” the third boy spits.
I crack his temple with my elbow, putting him out. “He’ll wake up in an hour with a real bad headache. You won’t be as lucky if you choose the wrong fucking words, boy.” I curl my hand around his neck, digging my blade against the artery pulsing there. A wet patch floods his lap, expanding and filling the air with the stench of piss.
“Upstairs. He’s not alone. Has girls up there,” he exclaims.
“He’s about to be the opposite of lucky tonight,” Jameson quips. Smirking over at me
“You stay fucking put. If you make me kill you, I’m going to be real pissed off,” I warn, backing out the room. Closing the door, I hit the handle with the butt of my gun until the metal comes off, locking them inside.
“You made him piss himself.” Jameson grimaces.
“Could have opened up his throat. I think he got off light.”
Jameson pulls a couple open doors closed as we reach the stairs, so we can hear if any open, giving us a warning. He takes the stairs two at a time, me right on his heel. Holding up one finger, he points to a door, signaling only one bedroom up here, then gesturing down the hall to an open bathroom. That means this has to be Wesley’s room. Grunting sounds come through the wood panel, the kind you make while fucking. The boy downstairs must have been telling the truth.
Jameson nods to his boot as I get in position against the wall. Lifting his leg, he kicks into the room, splintering the door, eliciting startled screeches from two females. I round the wall, my gun aimed as a scurry of movement dashes before my eyes. A girl on a mattress on the floor gathers up a duvet to cover her tits while a guy I presume is Wesley scatters across the room, stark naked, his dick still hard, heading for a weapon on a dresser.
“I wouldn’t,” Jameson warns, and every fucker stills. I survey the room, stopping on a fully-clothed woman holding a video camera. My eyes move to the female on the mattress, and my fists clench. She’s young—too fucking young. The color drains from her face as she clings to the duvet, her body shuddering.
Willa. Willa. Willa.
“Sorry to ruin the party. Wesley, right?” Jameson asks casually. And like a moron, Wesley nods in confirmation.
“Jameson,” I growl. “The girl.”
“She’s no one,” Wesley pipes up, holding his hands up, sweat sheening on his flesh. His cock softens like a deflating balloon. I want to shoot him in the eye at the thought of what he was fucking doing before we barged in here.
“What’s your name, darling?” I ask her.
“Ka—Katy.”
“How old are you, Katy?”
“She’s legal.” Wesley nods.
Lifting my knife in his direction, I growl, “Was I talking to you?”
“Fourteen,” the girl whispers, drawing my attention back to her.
Fourteen—fucking hell. Their bodies don’t even look like a woman’s at fourteen. What kind of sick fuck likes little girls? My mind replaces the girl’s face with Willa’s, heating my already steaming temper.
Willa, Willa, Willa.
“Take your clothes to the bathroom and get dressed, sweetheart,” I tell her, ready to sign fuckface Wesley’s death warrant. I look to the older girl, maybe in her twenties. “What about you?”
“What the fuck’s it got to do with you? You wanna play daddy or something?” Her voice is slurred, her jaw rocking side to side. She’s high as a kite.
“Bitches like you are the worst kind of predators. You’re supposed to look out for each other, not this fucking bullshit.”
“She’s a slut who likes to suck dick for a bit of powder and twenty bucks. Not my fucking problem.”
Cunt! I want to cut her tongue from her mouth.
My feet march toward her before I even realize I’ve moved. Gripping her cheeks, I force her mouth to open and bury my gun in the gap. Her eyes spark wide, tears brimming as she mumbles around the steel. “I’m sorry.”
“You fucking disgust me. I should blow your fucking brains out to protect god knows how many more kids you violate.”
“Fuck, man. Come on. We didn’t know her age,” Wesley whines. Pulling my gun from the bitch’s mouth, I move to the piece of shit across the room. The urgent pounding of feet echoes through the room as she flees from it. I clutch the handle of my knife and connect my fist with his jaw—once, twice. He hits the floor, choking on his own blood. “You’re fucking scum,” I roar, jabbing his ribcage. My knuckles smart, cracking open as I hit bone. Hands grab my shoulders, pulling me away from the fucked-up mess I’ve made of Wesley’s whimpering body.
“We need some answers about Milo,” he reminds me, heaving from the exertion of getting me to comply.