Savage Queen (The Dark Elite 3)

I leave them behind and head toward Hale and the twins. They’re standing in a tight huddle, discussing something.

“We have to take them to a safe house,” Hale says, glancing at me as I step up beside him. “The risks of taking them to the police are too great for us at this point, and we can’t put them back on the streets either. So we’ll keep them under our protection.”

“That’s a good call.” Zaid nods, his eyes wide. “If this was really a Rook deal like we think it was, these women might’ve seen some shit. Camilla’s gonna want them back, and it’s probably better if she doesn’t realize we took them.”

“Then let’s move.” Hale nods sharply, and we all turn to head toward the car.

We take the women to a safe house located on the west side of the city, a modest little place nestled in the suburbs. It’s tucked back on its own private driveway, reserved for things just like this—protecting witnesses or members of our syndicate who’ve gotten on the wrong side of a ri

val mafia family. We have dozens of houses spanning dozens of states, ready for circumstances like these.

The women follow us into the house, walking on wobbly legs.

I don’t know what kind of shit they’ve been through, can’t guess at the specifics, but the haunted look in their eyes is uncomfortably familiar. So is the way they refuse to speak, either unwilling or unable to communicate. Even the one who talked to me in the car earlier has clammed up, looking shell-shocked and wary.

Once we’ve got them settled in the living room, I pull Hale aside, speaking in a low voice.

“If we’re serious about helping these women, we need to bring Grace in on this,” I murmur. “I’ve done everything I can. You’ve done everything you can. But Grace will know how to deal with them better than we do, and they’ll be a hell of a lot more likely to trust her than they do us.”

“Yeah.” He glances over my shoulder at the women. “Yeah, you’re right.”

They all need medical attention to make sure there are no internal injuries we’ve missed, and they’ll need a fucking shower and a change of clothes. Not to mention food and something to drink.

Hale’s gaze is still on the women, and I see his eyes darken a second before he turns away with a curse. He looks like he wants to explode but is trying to hold himself back so he doesn’t scare these poor girls even more. I get that. Rage simmers under my skin, threatening to burst out of me at any moment.

“I should’ve fucking known,” my friend bites out, his lip curling. “Should’ve known Camilla would do whatever it takes to get ahead—including shit like this. There’s money to be had selling women like fucking cattle, but my father never wanted a cent of it. We didn’t need it. He built his syndicate into a powerhouse because he made smart deals and built up respect among those he did business with.”

My hands curl into fists, his anger urging mine on, infecting me too. “Camilla’s in too much of a fucking hurry for that. Too fucking greedy to do things the right way. So she’s decided to scrap every shred of human decency she has to claw her way to the top.”

Hale’s right. There’s money to be had in human trafficking, for those sick enough to take it. And if this is what Camilla’s been up to this whole time, then she’s a more formidable opponent than we ever realized. She’s got a huge operation going, one that has managed to stay under our radar for months, growing like a weed before we could pluck it out—drugs, money, women.

The Rooks are poised to explode onto the scene of the Chicago underground, and the clock is ticking.

If we don’t take her down soon… Camilla could win this fucking war.

18

Grace

Movement beside me pulls me from sleep. The mattress dips, and my eyes fly open, my head jerking up from the pillow.

“Shh…” Hale says softly, his thumb brushing over my lips. “It’s just me. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

My heart pounds heavily for a few beats before slowing to a more normal pace, and I let out a breath as he crawls into bed beside me. He tugs me against his body, wrapping his arms around me in a tight embrace—a gesture that reminds me of the way he held me in his sleep for the first few nights after his father died.

I stay still for a few moments, letting him take what he needs from me. But after a little while, I press against his chest, wriggling a little. He relaxes his hold fractionally, giving me enough space to pull back and peer up into his eyes.

“What is it?” I murmur. “Are you okay? What time is it?”

He looks a little surprised at the question, like he’s not used to someone being able to read him so well. Then he draws in a deep breath and lets it out, his chest moving against mine. “Late. Some shit went down tonight. It’s a fucking mess.”

“What?”

Worry spikes in my veins, a shot of adrenaline bringing me wide awake and banishing the last cobwebs of sleep.

He grimaces. “Turns out you were right to ask me about human trafficking. I didn’t think any of that shit was going on in Chicago—we’re not doing it, and I assumed we’d know if a smaller organization even tried to get into that game. We should have known. But Camilla’s been able to keep her operation a secret up until now.”

My heart lurches as I try to follow his words. “Camilla? What are you talking about?”