Chapter Twenty-Two
Party Crashers
Stomach still churning from the display, Emmett and I take our places with the whips, beginning our sequence like pornographic carnival performers. We'd been nixed on going last as we would be too tired. I snap a paper straw from his mouth, garnering appreciative and interested looks from some of the men watching our part of the show.
Twitching my wrist to make the snake-like tail slither across the floor back to me in preparation for the next strike, I'm interrupted by a percussive booming coming from the entrance Robert had come through.
An air of disquiet runs through the crowd as the commotion continues. Robert has a phone out, lips moving swiftly and thunder written across his face. Pausing, he glances up to our corner, zeroing in on Apollo. Death sits in his eyes. A shiver courses down my spine as he and his entourage of guards start moving our way. The guards are quickly engaged with other issues when an entrance opens up from a wall, allowing people covered head to toe in riot gear to swarm the room. Dull black helmets hide their identities, making it unclear whether they are friend or foe. Regardless, they have guns and are pointing them, demanding everyone get down.
Except for the people here that were patrons, and those that were able to move freely, they really can't comply as they're mostly bound. And the patrons and guards have zero intent on being detained. The resulting pops of discharging firearms echo in the space, nearly deafening. The group in gear is being more discriminating on who they are firing at; the bastards on the other side not so much, using human shields as needed.
I assume the armored people are some type of law enforcement by their actions, but they don't have any discernible markings, and Rex and Emmett aren't trying to get their attention. No, Rex is busy freeing the nearest bound slaves along with Brent while still protecting our corner as best they can.
Robert, seemingly ignoring the threat in his fury, is still on a path to get to Apollo. His screaming obscenities can be heard over the cacophony of the melee. He flips his jacket aside as he strides forward, the dull black glint more than clear in the light.
Apollo, of course, wasn't allowed a firearm since he was part of the entertainment.
Revenge and the urge to flee war within me. Brade yells for Emmett to get me back while he and Brent try to help Rex. Marcus had been helping clean up after the burly guard who had passed out and is fighting to get closer to my, or probably Apollo's, position.
It's all happening so fast that it's hard to take everything in. Escape doesn't seem a current possibility, so standing my ground is what is happening. Ignoring Emmett and Braeden, I zero in on Robert, who remains oblivious to my intent. As soon as he gets within reach, my whip snaps out, coiling around his throat.
Being a good deal larger than me doesn't matter when I have surprise on my side. Twisting the length above the handle around my forearm I pull with both hands and feet planted, bringing him crashing down to the floor, unable to breathe or keep his grip on the gun he'd freed from its holster. It spins out of reach, and I take advantage of having the upper hand.
Shock registers on his face when he realizes what I've done. I start backing up to keep the coil taut, making Robert unable to get it loose.
Unfortunately, the invaders have different ideas about me ending the asshole. One of the helmeted bodies forcibly yanks the handle from me while another secures Robert’s hands with zip ties.
A cry escapes me as my hand is wrenched, earning the interlopers Braeden and Emmett’s immediate attention and ire.
While they're distracted, the guard that had caused me agony during the branding, also the one that still sports some yellowed bruises, decides to take his opportunity to get back at me. The impact of a fist to my cheek snaps my head back, pain blossoming immediately.
My disorientation allows them to cart me and a bound Robert off. Groggily, I hear a yell, then I'm dropped unceremoniously onto my bottom on the floor. I take in the scene, and even without it being directed towards me the sight is fearsome. Several more guards, more must have shown up from somewhere, and Apollo and Marcus are engaged in a full on brawl. My guys aren't taking any prisoners. The snap of a neck takes a moment to place until the body hits the floor, limp with eyes staring sightlessly.
I'm shocked to find that Braeden is the culprit. His eyes full of ice and determination, he forces his way to my side.
"You okay, Birdie?" He grips on to my forearms, pulling me to my feet.
I start to nod my head yes when the throbbing in my face reminds me not to make the motion. "Yes," I reply instead, cringing involuntarily. Braeden helps me further away from the fight, placing me behind a table.
The chaos is beginning to die down as the group in black gains control of the room’s occupants. Some people have obviously fled as there seems to be a good deal less than there had been.
One person that didn't escape is Robert, who is being handcuffed, right along with Apollo and Marcus and the other still conscious guards.
Looking around the room, I find Rex, Emmett, and Brent all sitting against a wall, hands bound in front of them in a line of others. Everyone is being secured and detained, it seems.
Braeden tenses as a gun toting armored person comes toward us, motioning for our hands. A second person in black has a handful of zip ties, and a tinny masculine voice coming from a speaker on the helmet directs us to hold our wrists out together, and we’re led to join the line on the wall
Mine aren't too tight, but I won't be easily slipping out of them either. I cause an issue when I try to check on Marcus who is now unconscious.
"Lark, he's fine. Just a tranq dart from a guard." Apollo is quick to reassure me when the demands for me to sit on the wall go unheeded, and tasers are brought out to force my compliance.
I relent, trusting Apollo to take care of him. I don't want Braeden, who is threatening to shove the taser up the man's ass, to get hurt.
The thought of Brade actually trying is rapidly becoming more amusing than I can handle, and a giggle escapes me. Clapping my bound hands to my mouth doesn't help, judging by range of expressions from the people that don't have helmets on. Peals of laughter sound out, slightly hysterical in manner.
"Fuck this." Brade, bound hands and all, tosses me over his shoulder, ignoring the group currently in charge to stalk to the wall.
I'm finally able to get myself under control. I bit my tongue on the way across the room, and the throbbing in my face has gotten my attention. Then I realize my warrior princess ass is on full display in the faux leather briefs I have on, and I'm really ready to get down.
Finally settled, I tip my head on Braeden's shoulder. "Sorry, I lost it there for a minute."
In reply, he rests his on top of mine. We've sat this way many times over the years. Well, minus the cuffs, among other things.
"No talking. And separate." The gruff command comes from one of the helmets.
Stifling an eye roll, I comply. Hopefully, they hurry up with whatever they're doing. I'm ready for regular clothes and to get away from this nightmare. My not-so-terrified attitude is also making me think that rat ass Marcus slipped me something despite my refusal. Or I'm in shock— that's probably more plausible.
Turns out they really are law enforcement, a joint special forces team sent in when Apollo called for help. The liaison that went MIA was found dead in his apartment, spurring the immediate action to bust in. While a few of the trafficking ring escaped, it's still a win to shut it down.
We're eventually all moved to the upper levels and separated into groups to be processed at an FBI facility in the area. Several hours, a never ending interview, and many hoops of procedure to deal with later, we're all in multi-person rooms with bunks for temporary holding, or, in the case of victims who’d been held for years or from out of the country, much longer. I don’t know what is happening with the guys as I haven’t been able to talk to them since the initial separation when we left the spa. I tried asking, but no one would give me any answers.