“Did any of them hurt you?” I ask, taking a step closer and tilting her chin to see the bruise on her cheek.
“I had to put up a good fight, but you know me. I get handled roughly, and it turns me on.”
It’s my turn to frown. “They didn’t fuck you?”
She shakes her head. “I was the second to get picked up, and although I couldn’t see what was going on, I don’t think they sexually assaulted any of the girls.”
“But everyone is covered in bruises.”
“It’s like they had to drive over a million street curbs to get us here, and we weren’t exactly wearing seat belts in the back of the truck. We were bounced all over the place. Most of the injuries on the other girls are from getting tossed around.”
I pull her closer, pressing her face against my chest as I breathe in the scent of her hair. The shampoo in the showers in the basement is as generic as it comes, and nothing compared to the lilac and honey I remember her skin being marked with years ago.
“I’m fine,” she says against my chest before pulling back. “Don’t turn into a pussy, Javi. Those girls won’t survive if you can’t keep your shit together.”
“I can handle it,” I assure her even though I don’t exactly believe it myself.
“I was trying to tell you earlier, before you cut me off, that the little biker gang you joined is out for blood. My handler intercepted some correspondence, and those fuckers are pissed.”
“They’re good at their jobs,” I tell her.
What I don’t say is that if they found something related to Cerberus and their plans for me, it was intentional. They’re too good at their jobs to just let some information like that leak. I know my own handler had to plant all sorts of horrible information about me to cover my story for why I joined Cerberus and why I left. Whatever was found, they wanted it to be found.
I grit my teeth, knowing that at any time, Cerberus could bust through the front door and put a bullet in my head. I knew that going in, and after what happened last night with Lauren, I wouldn’t even have ill-will toward them if that’s how all of this ends.
“I need you to keep an eye on the others.”
She drops back down to the ottoman. “Those women aren’t my mission.”
She tries to act hard, but she just confessed that she would offer herself up in their place if someone else was trying to go after one of them the way I did her.
“They’re my mission, and we’re friends. So, will you please just keep an eye on them?”
She looks away from me, and I know she has had to harden herself against life and many bad things, some before she ever joined the FBI. I don’t know why she repeatedly puts herself in the middle of these jobs, but I can ask myself the same thing if I dig deep enough.
But I can’t fight her demons and my own.
“Please, Lauren?”
“I’ll do my best, but the setup down there doesn’t actually allow for much interaction. Fucking cages, Javier? What ever happened to just chains and shit?”
I huff a humorless laugh. This woman has seen some shit in her lifetime.
“The house came ready for business. I’m not the one who set it up, but only Angel and I have keys. He’s here as my mentor, but I figured it’s better if less people have access to them. Those cages are as much for their protection as they are to prevent them from escaping.”
“Angel,” she says slowly. “I don’t think you need to worry about him. I don’t get that demon vibe from him, and believe me, I’ve met some pretty foul people.”
“He was pretty pissed about what I did to you, but keep an eye on him, too?”
“You know I will.”
Chapter 7
Cara
I have no concept of time down here. At least in the truck when the door rolled up, we knew if it was night or day. There are no windows, no set schedule other than food being brought to us. It could have been only ten hours since we were forced back into the cages or could easily have been days.
My bones ache, and that’s more a testament to the tension and fear being on a constant high than the cot and blankets provided. The cot, if I allow myself to mention, isn’t actually that bad, and if I weren’t locked in a cage, I might be able to convince myself I was out camping, not that I’ve ever been camping before. The blankets are warm and clean, smelling faintly of lemon fabric softener. The tray of food on the floor at my feet smelled wonderful when it came, but it’s since grown cold. The bottle of water provided is once again empty, and I’m twitching, trying to count down the minutes until Angel comes back down to escort us to the bathroom. We’re like kenneled dogs, waiting for our owners to get home from work before we’re forced to urinate on the floors. I’ve been lucky so far, but if he doesn’t hurry, I’m going to be in the same predicament as the girl on my left.