Page 87 of Any Means Necessary

Lexie takes slow, careful steps towards the opening. When she speaks, her tone is soft and gentle. Nurturing. “My name is Lexie, I’m a nurse. No one is going to hurt you anymore. We’re here to help you, take you home.” She looks over her shoulder at me, our eyes connecting briefly. “I know you’re scared. These men look scary, but they’re not going to hurt you. I promise, you’re safe now.”

She takes a few steps farther into the container, stopping to give the girls plenty of space. They shift as a group, clearly unsure as they cling together and eye Lexie uncertainly. Sensing their hesitation, Lexie crouches to put herself closer to their eye level. She keeps her body language open and honest—just a warm woman in her pink scrubs.

“Is one of you named Lottie? Lottie, your dad sent us to find you.” Her eyes scan the group, but its difficult to distinguish features between the darkness and the unkempt state of the girls. But I notice the dark haired head that lifts at the mention of the name. Lexie sees her too, but she remains calm.

“It’s ok, Lottie.” She makes eye contact with the dark haired girl in the center of the group. Lexie inches closer, holding out her hand. “Your dad told me to tell you he’s waiting for you with Winston. We’re here to take you home. We’re going to take you all home.”

At the mention of her bulldog, the little girl steps closer. Lottie looks at her hand for a split second, the rest of the group watching for her lead. Charlotte Harris reaches out for Lexie’s hand, a sob of relief escaping her as she stumbles into Lexie’s open arms. She hugs her tightly, sobs wracking her little body. Like the tap of the first domino, the rest of the group follows suit. Several girls reach for Lexie’s embrace.

Taking her time, Lexie stays in place for several minutes just holding Lottie and consoling the other girls. Her voice softly asks them questions; if anyone needs medical attention, what their names are. She tells them that me and my men are here to help them, that they don’t need to be afraid of us even though we look ‘big and scary’.

When she finally stands, Lottie in her arms, she leads the girls out into the light. The sight of each girl—dirty, exhausted, looking half starved, and so young—the anger and disgust grows inside me. The sick fucks that find pleasure in taking them, in using them. They all deserve a slow and painful death. I wish I could kill Jimmy all over again, this time without holding back. He didn’t deserve the mercy he was shown, his end was far too quick.

My eyes latch onto Lexie, tracking her every move as she slowly walks the girls out. I pull out my phone and make the call. The answer is immediate, they’ve been waiting for my contact. “We’re clear. Send them in.”

I nod to Roscoe, signaling that’s it’s time to move. Leaning down, I speak close to Lexie’s ear. “Take Lottie and go with Roscoe,” I instruct her, pulling her from the flock of little girls.

“Why? What are you gonna do?” she asks, looking up at me.

“I’m going to get these girls home safely,” I explain briefly. “No one can know Lottie was ever here, so I need you to take her with you.” She blinks up at me three times as she nods in understanding.

Lowering back into a crouch to speak with the girls eye to eye is a balancing act with Lottie still in her arms. Lexie gathers all the girls together and tells them to stay here. She assures them that all the men here are going to help them get home safely. Despite Lexie’s assurances, the girls start to cry and protest when Lexie pulls herself away to follow Roscoe to the car with Lottie in tow.

The sound of the approaching chopper announces their arrival. My team keeps the girls contained as the US Navy SEAL team arrives on the scene. I step forward to greet the six man military team.

“Welcome to the party, Ace,” I call to the man leading the pack. Commander Anthony “Ace” Jacobs, the team leader of SEAL team four, walks over to me looking every bit the clean-cut boy scout he is. His eyes scan the scene.

“You’ve got quite the turnout,” he comments. “I’m counting fifty-seven girls.”

“From our intel they range from six to eleven years old. We don’t have names or home addresses, so getting them back to their parents might be difficult.”

“Don’t worry, we have ways to get that information,” Ace assures me. He runs a hand over his blonde buzz cut as a plan forms behind his brown eyes. “The people who did this?”

“They’ll be dealt with,” I state, earning a nod of approval.

“Alright,” he says, straightening his shoulders and signaling to his team. “Let’s get these girls home.”

***

“Do you have her?” Richard Harris’ desperation barks into my ear before the end of the first ring. My eyes land on the little girl across from me.

“We have her,” I answer. “She’s neglected but uninjured. We’re administering medical care as we speak. We touch down in five hours and forty seven minutes. Meet us on the tarmac, and have the rest of my payment for delivery.”

“Thank god,” Harris mutters, his wife’s cry of elated relief ringing through the phone. “I’ll have your payment.”

“I’ll text you during our descent.”

“We’ll be there.”

My gaze only drifts to the child briefly before returning to the beautiful woman cradling her. It’s impossible to take my eyes off her. Lexie sits on the sofa, Lottie’s dirty head in her lap. Tender fingers stroke the little girl’s dark knotted locks, gently untangling and comforting as the rocking of the plane lulls the girl to sleep. Her attention moves diligently to the IV drip hanging beside them, monitoring the line flowing into the back of the child’s hand.

Lexie’s eyes meet mine, catching me staring. Unashamed, I don’t look away. I can’t. The small smile she gives me—filled with so much relief, hope, and joy—pierces my chest and runs through my veins like a drug.

“How is she?” I ask, keeping my voice low so I don’t disturb the sleeping child. Lexie takes a moment to look at the little girl in her lap before answering.

“She’s dehydrated, malnourished, and she’ll need therapy for PTSD.” Her eyes lift to mine. “But she’s resilient, and the IV is already helping. Until she gets a full physical exam, there’s no way to tell exactly what she’s been through. But from what I’ve seen, that’s the extent of it. God, I hope that’s the extent of it.”

The chances that Lottie’s been sexually violated are slim, but it’s not impossible. Men like Jimmy and his guys are exactly the type to sample the merchandise before the sale, including women. But with this particular type of transaction, the value relies on the girls remaining unharmed. And more often then not, their condition is verified before payment. Virginity sells, and underage virgins sell for even more.

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