Jagger whipped his head around. “What if she was coerced into that vehicle? I gave my word I’d keep her safe.”
“You saw the tape, same as me.” Zane said. “She ran out the door and hugged him. There was no coercion going on. Odds are that was her brother and he was scared to come inside. She’s gone, Jag. Although I didn’t completely trust her, she was always up-front about what she wanted. And what she wanted was out. I know you cared about her. Fucking blew my mind after all the years you said you didn’t want to get involved, but it’s best for her and it’s best for you. So just let her go. If she feels the same way about you, she’ll come back.”
“Like you did?”
Zane had the good grace to grimace at Jagger’s reference to a time in their lives they never discussed. Zane had disappeared when Jagger needed him most, and although they had mended their friendship, the hurt remained.
“You never told me where you were all those years I was in the army, or where you went that day after you came to see me in the hospital.” Jagger rubbed at the back of his neck, trying not to let his disappointment show. “You asked me to let you go, and you never came back.”
“I’m here now.”
“I needed you then.”
“You wanted me to help you die,” Zane said. “And God help me, I would have because I couldn’t watch you suffer like that. We all thought it was only a matter of time. That’s why I asked you to let me go. I knew if I did what you wanted, I would regret it for the rest of my life. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, but it was the best decision I ever made.”
He pushed himself to standing, his voice thick with emotion. “I kept tabs on you, brother, and I came back as soon as you had yourself sorted out. I came when I knew you wanted to live again. I came back ’cause you’re like a fucking blood brother to me.”
“Then help me find her,” Jagger pleaded. “The Arianne I know wouldn’t leave without saying good-bye.”
*
Arianne awoke with a headache.
No, not just a headache. Her skull was splitting—the pain so intense, she could barely think. She took in the dark, cold room, her body lying haphazardly on the concrete floor, one eye swollen shut, and was that a chain?.
Startled, she tried to move, and the chain rattled, jerking her leg as she pulled away. Her arms, tied behind her back, encountered similar resistance, and she opened her mouth to scream, then closed it again. Why let her captors know she was awake? Whoever they were.
“Don’t waste your breath. They won’t hear you. And even if they do, they won’t care.”
She craned her neck in the direction of the voice—a female voice. Light filtered through the bottom of the door, and in the darkness she could make out two distinct shapes. Both women. Both tied and chained as she was.
“Where are we?” Arianne’s voice was no more than a croak but they understood her.
“Basement of Bunny’s pool hall.” The woman—no, girl—who answered was small and slight, no older than eighteen, her long blond hair matted and stuck to her cheek. She wore a light-colored dress, soiled and torn, and a pair of four-inch heels.
Memories flooded back. Axle. The alley. And Jeff. Pain sliced through her heart at his betrayal. She was here because of Jeff.
“Did they process you yet?” The second girl was all harsh planes and angles, her sparkly silver dress torn away from her chest to reveal the crescents of her breasts. She looked to be about the same age as her friend, but her voice was that of a much older woman.
“I was in an alley. Then I was here. I don’t know why.”
“She doesn’t know why.” The girl in the silver dress gave a bitter laugh, and her companion admonished her with a nudge.
“Ease up on her, Sheila. She just woke up.”
Arianne pushed herself with her feet until she was sitting, facing the women. “Why?”
Sheila shrugged. “Bunny.”
“What about him?”
“This is what he does.” Sheila stared at Arianne, but when Arianne gave her a blank look, her face softened. “You never walked the streets? You never heard of Bunny?”
“I met him. I thought he sold things.”
“He sells people. Women, mostly. He runs the biggest human trafficking ring in Montana.”
Her blood chilled. “In Montana? Seriously? Does that kind of thing really go on here?”
The girl with the heels leaned forward. “You don’t look like his usual type. Usually he grabs girls off the streets, around our age or younger. Homeless kids … hookers. People who don’t have anyone to ask after them. Usually the pimps pay him to leave us alone, but our man, Walker, took a bad hit and wound up in a ditch. He wasn’t dead more than an hour before Bunny sent his people to find us.”
“Sometimes, though, he has special orders. You must be one of them.” Sheila sucked in her lips. “Worse for you. Buyer will expect more. Mostly we’ve heard the girls are sold to brothels around the country. Some shipped overseas.”