Page 95 of Kneeling to Candy

“Candy, you’ll play Piero’s escort for the event—our secret weapon. Point out all important buyers you may come across if you know them, show us the access points inside the house where the women are most likely to come out of or are being held, and let us know of anything else that may be beneficial for our success while inside the auction site. Don’t talk to anyone unless you have no choice—let Piero do the bulk of the work.”

“Our goal is to keep you out of the limelight as much as possible,” Atlas adds. “You’re the familiar face, putting Duffy and whoever else at ease. The less you interact with others, the safer you’ll be.”

“Fine by me,” I agree.

Interacting with Duffy or any of the buyers present isn’t something I want to do beyond what’s necessary to bring these women home. However, it would be nice contributing beyond pretending to be Piero’s arm candy. Beggars can’t be choosers, I guess.

“You can back out at any time,” Atlas instructs me. “Say you ‘need out’ into the comms, and we’ll pull you. We can always create a scene where you act up and Piero sends you away for being disobedient.”

Atlas is a good man, always making sure the women in our crew are safe. It’s comforting knowing he cares about my mental health and well-being—how all of them care for me. Yet I care more about the victims than my emotions getting triggered. Guess I have a bit of the hero complex, like the rest of the guys.

I give him a reassuring smile. “Thanks, Atlas. It’s good to know I have an exit strategy if I need it. But you should know, I don’t plan on using it.”

Butch groans next to me, rubbing at his forehead. “Figures you’d say that.”

“All the same,” Atlas continues. “Don’t put yourself through unnecessary turmoil. Understood?”

“Got it, Prez.”

“The rest of our crew will surround the perimeter, blocking all escape routes. None of these fuckers are leaving the auction without cuffs,” Gauge says, ending his directions.

“Does that mean we have a location?” Stage asks, rubbing his hands together.

Atlas turns to Chase, a smirk on his face. “Care to answer?”

“Please,” Chase says, with a roll of his whiskey-colored eyes. “It’s insulting you even ask.” His fingers run along his keyboard on his laptop before the monitors on the wall display coordinates, maps, and aerial footage of a large stone property.

“That’s it,” I say, pointing to the screens. “That’s the manor where I went to the auctions.”

Piero snorts. “It helps I got confirmation of the location for the auction in a text from Duffy last night.”

Chase glowers at the mobster. “Hey, man. I was ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure this was the location, based on the info Candy provided prior to you forwarding Duffy’s text. All I needed was Candy’s confirmation. Therefore, I found it first, Jackass.”

Piero hides his chuckle behind his hand, shaking his head.

“Well done, Chase.” Atlas turns his attention to the crew members across the table. “Eagle, Stage, and Triple—you’re going to stake out the property. Scout every inch of the terrain. Make sure we have all the exits and entrances to the property accounted for. I want every road and trail marked for the position of our crew. The more we know, the more success our team will have at stopping any of those fuckers from escaping.”

“Atlas, the house had cameras everywhere,” I warn. “Inside and out from what I saw. And it wasn’t some kind of shabby technology. More than once, a captive has tried to make a run for it on auction day. They never got far.”

“Then we avoid the manor and stick to the surrounding property,” Atlas tells the scouts. “There’s more than one way to get knowledge about the inside of the house. Chase can continue to dig for blueprints on the build-site. Gather your gear, brothers. I want you on-site today and reporting back within forty-eight hours. Are we clear?”

“Yes, Prez,” the three scouts say in unison before heading out of the conference room.

Atlas turns his hard face to Piero. “Did Duffy send you headshots of the women in his text?”

“Yes. I got a link and passcode. I passed it on to Chase as soon as it came through.”

“How many victims are being auctioned?” Atlas asks Chase.

“Twenty in all.”

Chase’s fingers tap feverishly across his laptop. The monitors on the wall change from the property to the faces of the women being held captive. Some look too young to be adults.

Everyone seems to hold their breath, taking in the many scared faces on display and committing them to memory.

“This isn’t accounting for all the women we have on record as missing,” Punk says heatedly between his teeth. “Where are all the rest?”

“Not part of this auction,” Chase replies, his voice heavy with disappointment. He indicates to the monitors. “Based on the profile descriptions, this is Duffy’s prime selection.”

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