The rainbow at the end of the storm doesn’t look as bright this time around.
The thrill of accepting the punishment I’ve always put my body through isn’t there.
It all feels wrong, like I’ve made the biggest mistake of my damned life.
It’s regret, something I rarely feel where work is concerned.
I accepted how I serve my penance a very long time ago. This no longer feels like that.
He did this to me. Somehow, with his rough angry hands, he made me feel worthy of more, worthy of consideration.
I hate him now more than ever for making this harder to endure, for making me feel like I’ve done something wrong.
As a shadow crosses in front of the single light in the room, I pray the drugs help me forget him as well.
Angel Guerra doesn’t matter. He can’t. Things that matter make you weak.
“Ready for more, whore?”
I try to crawl away, but I’m unable to move.
I felt like a complete idiot when I woke up the first time and saw him standing in the room. I knew I failed. Something about my radar was way off.
“Ryder,” I try to mutter but no sound comes out.
His smile is sinister, not even close to the shy, unassuming one he first met me with on the streets in Mission.
For the first time in my life, I feel utterly defeated.
I fucking hate it here.
Chapter 23
Angel
The meeting is scheduled for tomorrow at an undisclosed location, but when I found out she was being held in Tamaulipas, I couldn’t just sit around at home and wait.
If I were working, if this wasn’t personal, if they hadn’t taken what was mine, I would’ve kept that scheduled time, but I need the element of surprise. This isn’t a normal case, one where I no longer give a shit about anything but collecting the thing that gets me paid.
I used to care. Getting paid had always been number one for me, but I always took pleasure in eliminating a few pieces of shit along the way. That changed in El Salvador, but I don’t question why I’m sitting in my truck, waiting for a guy to walk out of an internet café. I know Lauren is to blame for that, but she’s mine to punish.
I tracked the communication with the sellers to this location, and a response came so quickly when I asked for newer pictures of my purchase, I was already sitting outside the building. It’s not uncommon for traffickers to use public internet to make their transactions, and knowing this, I know exactly who I need to keep an eye on.
The man emerges, a cocky swagger to his walk, a wide smile on his face. He’s already counting the money he expects me to be bringing for Lauren. Little does he know he’ll never see the light of day again.
He has to be known around town as being dangerous because I watch as several people move out of his way as he follows the sidewalk to a house closer to the end of the street. He’s conducting business in a public place less than three hundred yards from where he’s keeping his products. It’s not very smart, but there’s so much crime in Tamaulipas, the police just can’t keep up. There’s always the chance the police are taking their cut from these guys as well. If so, that just means that the not-so-honest men and women of law enforcement here are about to take an unexpected pay cut. Instead of collecting their hush money, they’re going to be collecting bodies.
As I climb out of my truck after waiting fifteen minutes after the guy enters his house, I feel less prepared than I ever have making entry on a location. I normally spend days scoping out a place, making sure that I’m protected. I can’t get paid if I’m dead, and although dangerous more often than not, no job is worth dying over.
Until now.
The shadows swallow me up, the people milling around either not seeing me or minding their business, which is common around here. No one is willing to invite trouble into their already hard lives, especially where these trafficking rings are concerned. They seek vengeance for fun. They don’t keep their business further away to avoid suspicion like William Varon and his family were known to do. They flaunt their captures. They want the women around them to be scared. It gives them a sense of power.
It's brazen, but the guys don’t even have the windows boarded up like I’m used to. You can’t see anything from the street, but it’s easy for me, peeking through the slats in the blinds to count the people inside. The open floor plan is more industrial, one vast space that includes only a kitchen, and a single door that leads to what I have to assume is a bathroom. The rest of the space is wide open, several filthy mattresses strewn about, each one with a woman on it.
I search the beds for Lauren, my eyes barely glancing over one of the women being hurt in the far corner. The man hurting her will pay, but he’s not my primary focus.
My eyes land on her naked form.