Gorgeous fucking girl. I smiled to myself as I parked. She’d barely spoken to me since I got her off, and I wasn’t going to push her. I knew she needed time to come back out of her shell, especially after the way she’d lived for the last couple of years, but every time I thought of her body, those pert breasts and hard nipples and that delicious, soaking wet pussy and the way she moved her hips, I knew she wanted more. I knew she’d come begging for it, sooner or later.
I had to be patient. And I could wait, especially for something as good as her.
“The girl’s name is Luiza,” I said. “She’s in one of the profiles, but there’s not much about her.”
“How’s Kira know her?” Linc asked, leaning forward.
“I guess they worked together,” I said. “I didn’t exactly ask.”
He shrugged and sat back. “I’m not sure why you trust that whore so much.” He glanced at Irene. “No offense.”
She made a face. “Do you think I’m a prostitute?” she asked, definitely offended.
Linc opened his mouth, but I spoke up before he could dig an even deeper grave.
“Kira’s been a good source,” I said. “And she gives a shit about these girls. She knows we have their best interests at heart.” I shared a look with Irene, but she didn’t argue. “All we have to do is talk to the girl, get her story, and get out.”
“No problem, boss,” Omar said, looking bored. “I’ll be on guard duty, yeah? Hasn’t been much action since that last hit.”
I nodded at him. “Stay outside then and keep an eye out. Linc and Irene, you’re with me.” I got out of the truck and they followed. Omar leaned against the bed of the truck and nodded as we crossed the street toward the house. Irene caught up with me and spoke softly as Linc trailed behind.
“He doesn’t think I’m a hooker, does he?” she asked.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Linc’s just a fucking moron.”
She gave me a look, but we reached the door of the house, and Linc caught up. I knocked, waited a second, and knocked again before someone answered.
Luiza was small, tiny really, with round eyes and chubby cheeks. She wore gray sweatpants and a tight black t-shirt that didn’t leave much to the imagination. “Are you Cam?” she asked.
“That’s right,” I said. “This is Linc and this is Irene. Kira sent us.”
She hugged herself and stepped aside. “Come in quick,” she said.
I stepped into a cramped living room. The furniture was second-hand, but clean, and the TV was decent enough but covered in scratches and dents. The walls were bland white, but the place was spotless, despite the overall sense of shabby decay.
Irene drifted over to a big easy chair and hovered over it. Linc stayed by the door, hands folded in front of him, looking like a big tough guy. Asshole wanted to be intimidating.
“Let’s sit,” I said, and guided Luiza over to the couch.
She was nervous and kept looking to Irene. I figured having a woman around would likely make things better.
“Kira said you can help me,” Luiza said, shifting on the seat. “I don’t know if that’s true. This place, Ronan pays for it. I don’t know where I’d go, if I stopped.” She chewed her lip and looked down at her hands.
“Let’s worry about that later,” I said and Irene shot me an annoyed glare. “Right now, I need to hear your story. Where do you come from, and how’d you end up here?”
Luiza took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “I’m from Ukraine, like Kira,” she said. “From a village near the one she grew up in actually, small world, I guess.” She talked about meeting a man online, then meeting him in person, accepting small gifts of cash, before finally taking a flight over to Turkey, where she got on a boat that carried her in a cramped cargo container with six other girls.
The voyage sounded like a nightmare. Seven women in total, living in cramped, hot conditions, eating whatever the crew tossed in for them, barely surviving. They were all sick and emaciated when they finally arrived in Philadelphia.
“I was so stupid, I thought my real life would begin,” Luiza said, then abruptly put her face in her hands.
“It’s okay,” Irene said softly. “We want to help.”
“Ronan took me then,” she said. “He was nice at first, but he didn’t stay nice.”
“Do you remember names?” I pressed. “Any of the other girls. Men that brought you over. Ports you went through.”
“I think so,” she said, glancing nervously at Linc. “Do you really need all that?” She stared down at her hands and kept nervously tugging at the hem of her shirt.
“Please,” I said.
She rattled off some information and I did my best to write it all down in a tiny notepad I kept in my back pocket. I recognize some of the names from those profiles, though a few of them were new. She gave some phone numbers, but mostly she shook her head when pressed and claimed not to know how to get in touch with them.