I’ve never hated someone so much in my life as I hate Camilla. For putting Grace through emotional hell. For putting these poor women through the nightmare they’ve clearly been through.
They flinch away from me, staring at the gun. I raise it, lifting my finger off the trigger before holstering it.
“Look at me,” I tell them, my tone firm but gentle. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Three sets of eyes go wide, haunted and terrified.
17
Ciro
When I step forward, Hale and Lucas leave me alone with the women. The stacked shipping containers and wall create a little shadowy alcove where they sit, their shivering bodies thin and covered in bruises. They’re practically naked against the cold night air, thin camisoles and colorless boxer shorts identical to each other. It’s almost like a uniform, and that indicates one thing.
They’re not the only victims.
“You’re safe,” I say quietly. Taking a cautious step forward, I proceed another when they don’t immediately shrink back. “We’re going to help you, okay?”
I glance back at Lucas and Hale, considering calling for them, but I don’t want to scare the girls. It’s likely that they’ve already had enough of barked orders, and anything I say or do could trigger them at this point. Walking away slowly from the corner, I step out into the warehouse and get Lucas and Hale’s attention.
“Jackets,” I say, when they’re close enough to hear. They know what I’m talking about, immediately shucking their suit jackets and handing them to me.
I tug off my own, ignoring the bite of chill in the warehouse. When I walk back to the women, their eyes widen, their gazes flicking from me to the dark fabric in my hands. Not even their feet are covered, damn it.
I crouch down in front of the one at the front of the group, careful not to make any sudden movements. “Hey. I’m not gonna hurt you,” I say. The wild animal look in their eyes makes old memories rise up in my mind. “I’ll tell you what I’m doing, how’s that sound? I’m going to start by unbinding your wrists, okay?”
Even though I’m offering help and safety, they flinch. They flinch because whatever the Rooks have put them through are things no human should ever have to experience. They flinch because they’ve likely been teased with promises of safety before, only to have it taken away. Only to be mocked.
I talk to them in low tones as I work, explaining what I’m doing. When all of them have been un-gagged and untied, I carefully wrap a jacket around the first girl’s shoulders. When she finally realizes that I’m not the bad guy, her small body sags in relief, swallowed whole by the fabric. The other two girls take the jackets willingly as I move on to them next.
“Thank you,” one of them says. Her thin brown hair sticks to her face, and her voice is hoarse.
I give her a small nod, keeping my gaze on them. I know that she’s not just talking about the physical cold—she’s also talking about everything else they’ve been through. The fear. The violence. The pain.
Fuck.
A violent rage fills me. If we hadn’t already capped those motherfuckers from the Rook Syndicate and their buyers, I’d kill them a lot slower than we did the first time. I’d make it slow and painful, and unlike my usual interrogation jobs, I think I’d enjoy it.
“Do you think you can stand?” I ask. “Are you strong enough?”
No one answers. They’re all covered in a layer of grime and bruises, and I wonder when they last ate. Keeping them broken, malnourished, and weak is probably an intentional tactic to make them more malleable. Less resistant.
“It’s not a long walk. Promise.”
Reaching down, I offer a hand. None of them take it, but that’s okay. I don’t expect them to trust me now, or ever. They may never trust another person in their life. Not completely. My parents died when I was eleven, and it wasn’t until I got out of the system and found the Novak Syndicate that I even began to understand what trust really means. What family means. And after being held captive by a rival gang and tortured almost daily, the circle of people I trust completely has shrunk down to three.
Well, four now.
The girls push unsteadily to their feet, holding on to each other for balance as they follow me.
By the time we round the crates and make our way down the alley, Hale and the rest of the team have finished up on their end, clearing the bodies. You wouldn’t be able to tell that six men had been shot here, other than the puddles of blood we can’t do anything about at the moment. Sidestepping the smears of dark red with the girls following close behind, I lead them toward one of our cars.
It’s already running, two armed men in the driver and passenger’s seat.
“Wait until Hale gives instructions,” I tell them, then help the girls into the back.
“Are you… the police?” The one who spoke first speaks up again, her suspicious gaze darting around the car.
“No. But we’ll keep you safe.” That’s all I say. Because that’s all that matters. “Wait here.”