With my hand on the small of her back, I direct Justine past the den filled with drunken men and half-dressed whores until we reach the hallway that leads to the lower living quarters of the compound. If she was unaware of the lifestyle I was raised in, she isn’t anymore. Men in this industry have no shame. If they want to fuck a whore, they do it wherever they please—including the very hallway we’re walking down.
“Third door on the right,” I tell Justine as my cell phone commences vibrating in my pocket.
My hand is only just hovering above her skin, but I feel the spike in her pulse when we enter my room. It’s a large loft-type space with a separate seating area, mock-up kitchen, and grand bathroom, but the first thing everyone’s eyes zoom in on is the four-poster bed. Although it was purchased as a joke, it’s very much like me—designed for fucking. The handcuff grooves in the thick posts reveal this without a doubt, much less the leather straps that pull out from beneath the mattress.
Although I can drop the gentleman act since we’re behind closed doors, I ask Justine if I can take her coat. I’ve never seen my daughter in the flesh, but that doesn’t make me any less of a father. If Fien is ever allowed to date, I can sure as hell tell you her prospective partner better ask to take her coat. If he doesn’t, he’ll lose more than his fingers.
Justine’s denial blasts through her eyes before she articulates. She’s freaked, although if her scent is anything to go by, she’s more uneased about where she is than who she’s with.
I shouldn’t like the thought, but I do.
With Justine looking for any excuse to leave, I stop ignoring my buzzing cell phone. “While I take this call, why don’t you wash up?”
Not waiting for her to respond, I nudge my head to the bathroom door on our right before sliding my phone out of my pocket and dragging my finger across the screen. Since I’m anticipating my caller to be Demi, I don’t bother peering at the screen to check who’s calling. I just growl down the line, “This better be good.”
The voice that responds is much too gruff and manly to belong to Demi. “Where are you? I have current surveillance on the package.”
“Fien?” I ask at the same time Justine whispers, “I think I should head off.” She points to the door like it will magically zip her back to her dormitory that’s almost an hour and a half from here.
“It’s late, and I’ve got to…” Her words trail off when the sound of someone being pounded into submission overtakes her whispered words. It’s clear the people in the room next to us are fucking. The droning “more, more, more” chant bellowing through the paper-thin walls is indicating enough, much less the sound of a headboard rocking and rolling with every thrust.
I’d tell them to keep it the fuck down if Smith didn’t grunt out an agreeing hum. Now nothing but my daughter is on my mind. “How current are we speaking?”
When Justine attempts to interrupt me again, I hold my index finger in the air, rudely asking her to shut up for just a minute. Unless I’ve paid for the privilege, I haven’t had a spotting of Fien since she was born. I can’t sidestep this to walk Justine though a bout of unease because a couple is having a good time in the room next to us. I’m not asking her to join them, I simply need her to be quiet for a second.
My heart thuds in my ears when Smith says, “I’m looking at her now. It’s a live feed.”
“You can see her?” Even though I’m asking a question, I don’t wait for him to reply. “Send me a link.”
When a whoosh sounds through my phone, I drag it away from my ear. Like magic, footage automatically commences playing on the screen. I don’t breathe while taking in the face I’d recognize no matter how grainy the image. I don’t do anything for a good three or so seconds. I just absorb all the tiny features of my daughter’s adorable face as she snuggles into the chest of an unknown blonde. She looks tired, and she’s sucking her thumb like I have witnessed many times in her ransom photos the past twelve months.
“I’m backtracking the surveillance camera’s footprints. I should have a location in thirty or so seconds…” Anything Smith says next is drowned out by the frantic thump of my pulse. Rimi doesn’t have Fien out in the open for no reason. They’re moving her. How do I know this? She’s being carried on a large commercial-size private jet. Rimi would only order that size jet for one reason—he’s going on a long-haul trip.
“I need to know her location, Smith, and I need to know it now!”
A keyboard being punished by tattooed fingers booms down the line along with Smith’s accented voice. “I’m working on it. The fuckers are throwing up a ton of firewalls. I’ve never faced a security system this hard to crack…” His words are replaced with a groan. “I’ll call you straight back.” Not giving me the chance to tell him I’ll kill him if he hangs up on me, he disconnects our call.
Since our connection is lost, my screen returns to its normal setting, losing me the image of Fien’s sleepy face. I grip my phone to near death, both frustrated and as angry as fuck. It’s good we have a lock on Fien, but how far and few between will that be if she’s taken out of the country?
With my anger at a pinnacle, I forget Justine is in the room with me until she whispers, “I’m going to go,” like it’s impolite for her to depart without announcing she’s leaving.
Believing it’s best for all involved for her to do precisely that, I nod before digging my keys out of my pocket. “You’ll have to take my car. I can’t leave.”
My cell works anywhere, but I don’t have access to a state-of-the-art weaponry room in any old town. This compound isn’t called The Artillery for no reason. Every weapon combination you can think of is here, and I’ve used them all at one stage in my life.
“Oh… umm, that’s okay. I can call a taxi?” Justine suggests like it’s perfectly normal to find your way home after a failed hookup.
Under different circumstances, I would organize her a ride with one of my crew, but since the rumblings of battle are vibrating under my feet, I jerk up my chin like a soft cock for the second time tonight. “I’ll organize a cab while walking you out.”
Relief crosses Justine’s features. It’s quickly chased by worry. Instead of her heart rate pelting my hand as it did during our walk to my room, mine thuds against her back when I guide her out of my room. My heart rate is so sky-high, I feel seconds from coronary failure.
Partway to the front entrance, my cell phone rings again. I’m so eager to dig it out of my pocket, I almost drop it. I inwardly curse, annoyed by both my fumbling hands and discovering how badly I work under pressure. I didn’t need to fetch a cab for Justine. Her brother is being held up by the goons at the gate. The numerous texts they sent me requesting permission for Maddox to enter the compound assures me of this, much less the quickest peek of his Pontiac parked at the side gate.
Maddox can drive Justine home, allowing me to shift my guilt to a person it shouldn’t have left for even a minute.
After sliding my finger across the screen of my phone, I squash it to my ear. “Are you in?” When Smith whistles out an agreeing noise, I cup the speaker of my phone, then lock my eyes with Justine’s. “Will you be all right from here?”