unmarked grave somewhere no one will ever find you.”
Finally, she releases me, nearly smacking my head off the wood.
Immediately, my body curls in on itself, the foreign object still lodged painfully
inside me, but I don’t have it in me to take it out.
Whimpers tear through my throat, so powerful that no noise is capable of slipping through, stealing my breath in the process. Francesca storms out of the room, leaving me violently shaking and bawling from the assault.
A mass comes back down on me, and my body uselessly flails, fists flying but
making no contact.
“Shhh,” the voice whispers. The moment it registers that it’s Sydney’s, I fight
harder, screaming at her to get off, but she’s too strong for me right now.
She’s completely wrapped around my back, her legs circled tightly around my
waist and locked on my stomach while her hand pets my hair.
“Shh, it’s okay,” she whispers. “We’ll be together now.”
The little energy I had left dissipates, and the only thing I am able to do is sob.
Grabbing my hot, reddened face, she tilts my chin up. Just barely, I make out
her wide brown eyes and a gentle smile. Almost reverently, she pets my hair and
down my cheeks, staring at me as if I’m a prized possession.
“Welcome home,” she whispers.
Chapter 13
The Hunter
“They deal in the black market,” Jay tells me. I’m staring at camera footage
of the tattooed man from the video—the one that brought a little girl with a gunshot wound into Dr. Garrison’s shoddy hospital. “Organ traffickers, to be specific.”
“Who is ‘they’?” I ask, carefully watching the man carry the injured child out
of the hospital, gently set her in the backseat of a red Camaro, and then speed off. Whether he didn’t care to avoid the one camera on the front of the building, or wasn’t aware of it, doesn’t actually matter. I got his license plate number.
Jay pulls up a photo. It’s of the tattooed man with three other men. Based on
their body language, they appear very comfortable with each other.
“Them. They call themselves the Basilisk Brotherhood. Widely known in the
black market for trading in human organs. Ryker, Daire, Kace, and Slade. No one knows their real last names.”
I close my eyes, reining in my temper. I have little control over it these days.
“Before you get growly and go on a killing spree, Tony the Tiger, there’s been
some talk that they are not actually as bad as they’re making themselves out to
be.”
I shoot Jay a look, but he ignores me. I’m scarier than Tony the Tiger, and he
knows it.
“Why do you say that?”
“Just some comments on forums that I’ve come across on a few deep
websites,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know what it is, but I have a
feeling those rumors are true.”
We’ll see.
“Regardless, they would have knowledge on the comings and goings of the
skin trade,” I surmise.
Jay meets my heavy stare, a mutual agreement passing between us silently.
If Addie is traded or auctioned off, they might be able to track it, which means that I need to have a chat with the Basilisk Brotherhood.
“Give me a second, and I’ll get in contact with them,” I say, straightening and
motioning for Jay to move aside. He grumbles something about this being his
computer, but I don’t pay him any mind.
Jay’s great at what he does—amazing, even.
But I’m better.
I sit down and open up several programs. The first one is a software with facial recognition. It provides a hit on every single camera their face has appeared on. I’m almost impressed when very few pop up.
Ryker’s face is the most popular—the same large, angry-looking man that
brought in the little girl to the doctor. Unlike the grainy footage from the hospital, this camera catches a clear image of him.
He’s interesting-looking, with sharp features, long hair that seems to always
be tied up, pale gray-green eyes, light stubble, and a nose piercing. Type of face
women would fall to their knees for.
The other three certainly aren’t hurting for pussy either, though they’re all incredibly different from each other. Definitely not real brothers, though I'm sure they act like it.
“You’ll get along with them great,” Jay says over my shoulder. “You all are in
a business where being obscure is key, yet each one of you stands out like lollipops among moldy bread. Very lickable lollipops, too.”
Yeah, whatever. I didn’t ask to be beautiful.
I ignore him and narrow down my search to the most recent location they were spotted last. Portland, Oregon. Massive city and a great place to hide.
Also, a prime location for human trafficking. Prostitution runs rampant there
—one of the most blatant and in-your-face forms of trafficking there is. The police spend more time arresting the girls for their crimes rather than trying to save them.
‘Merica.
In the video, it appears as if they’re doing some type of exchange. Could be
drugs, but something like cocaine or heroin is child’s play when you’re dealing
with human organs. Call it intuition, but none of them give off the vibe of a drug
addict.
I sift through different programs until I finally get a hit on a residential house’s Nest camera from two weeks ago. The red Camaro pulls into the driveway, and the four men pour out of the car.
An older woman steps out of the front door and waves her hand animatedly.
The Nest picks up audio, so when her voice comes through, it’s clear that whoever owns this house is either family or like family.
She’s loud and boisterous as she greets them, and the men gravitate towards
her like little boys would their grandma.
“I’ll never get over how grown-up you boys are!” she exclaims, first hugging
Ryker, and then the other three.
“’Sup, Mama T,” Daire says, grinning at her. He slings an arm around the woman and ruffles her short silver hair with the other hand. Swatting at him, she berates him lovingly as they disappear into the house, their voices quickly fading.
Clicking off the program, I open up a browser and search the quickest route
back to Portland. Seems I’m going to be spending a lot of time there.