Page 77 of Shattered Veil

“It’ll be smaller media—it’s not like the bigger ones are going to report a random woman dying here or there,” Colton told her. “But add illegal substances, suspected prostitution, or exotic dancer to the search bar…they’ll pop up.”

Claire’s voice quavering as she stared at the screen, “Jesus Christ,” and Luke’s Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he swallowed were all that we needed to see to know that Colton’s accusations were true. She murmured disbelievingly, “These go as far back as May—Salem, Hanging Rock, Bennett Springs—”

“Did ya not fact check me the last time I was here?” Colton questioned her.

Claire tossed her phone to the table, signifying that she had seen enough. Cassie’s focus remained locked on Claire’s cell, no doubt considering what she had just seen, and while everyone continued to speak, she reached for her own phone. A single glance downward confirmed that she was, indeed, searching what Claire had—her search bar read:

Virginia exotic dancer death.

“We were a little busy with our own shit, Colt,” Claire stated in a groan.

“So,” Zoey spoke with an edge, and I glanced down at her, “women have gone missing. So, they had sedatives—or drugs, or whatever—in their system when their bodies were found. So, 2D had sedatives and that room. Coincidental? Yes. Related? No.”

Liam quietly uttered, “Zo’.”

She looked up to him and snapped, “No, Lee.”

His eyes landed on Colton. “Why are the women being taken?”

“Liam,” she admonished him, and he gave her a quick shake of his head.

Colton replied somberly. “Lots of reasons. Forced work, mostly. Drug ring shit. Sex shit.”

Claire asked, “If they’re being forced to work, why are they being found dead?”

His unhurt shoulder bobbed up and down. “Repeated sedation would take a toll on a body, right? That or they’re just, ah,” Colton’s tone turned meek, “not of use anymore.”

The noise that came out of me, unbidden, was gravelly and rough, and I reached up to rub at my eyes while Zoey nervously trilled:

“Well, good news there! I don’t think I was going to be forced into slavery; I’m pretty sure the guy just wanted to take me and fucking rape me. He tried plenty of times to make his message crystal clear.”

Liam miserably groaned, “God, Zo’.”

She continued to rattle off, “The sedatives don’t shock me. I don’t give a shit how he got them. This shit is heavy enough. 2D was just—just fucking crazy. I’m refusing to believe that—”

Colton told her with purpose, “He knew about the women going missing, Zoey.”

Our collective gasp was audible, and Zoey squeaked, “What?”

As if he were sorry to be confirming it for us, Colton’s torso sagged with an exhale, his expression pinched as he said, “It’s in the laptop. Old search history…he looked up those articles. Repeatedly, actually.” Colton muttered, “Obsessively…and then, he stopped,” before grabbing the computer and extending it to the table. Being the nearest person to it, Luke grasped it in his hands, hesitating for a beat before quickly setting it on the table in front of Zoey. We all stared at it as Colton near-apologetically remarked, “Listen, I wasn’t trying to get in your shit. I just—that room felt wrong, and then I saw the closet, I just—I felt like I needed to know. All I did was charge it and look at the search history.”

Green eyes large, Zoey blinked at the laptop several times and finally murmured, “Oh. That, um—that doesn’t mean—”

“Oh my God.”

Cassie’s voice was just above a whisper, wavering from her pretty mouth as if her chest were being rattled from the inside. My attention snapped to her; everyone else followed, and I looked at Cassie’s cell to see that she was slowly scrolling through a news article. The header of the local news outlet, ‘The Salem Pulse,’ remained at the top of her screen in dysfunctional, clashing greens and reds. The colors grated on my eyes, but not so much as the content that was displayed beneath Cassie’s trembling fingers.

The woman in question was named Delaney Pierce. Her face was smiling up at us—eyes full of life, deep dimples in each cheek, and a head of short, black hair so curly that it stood up on end. Though it was clear that she was surrounded by friends, the image was cropped to the point that no other person was shown, and she was gone as quickly as she had appeared when Cassie scrolled downward.

“Ah,” Colton spoke, having peeked at Cassie’s phone from over her shoulder, “Delaney, she’s a recent one. It’s fucking disturbing, right? Stripper with no close loved ones, no next of kin—it’s targets like that that get swept under the rug…I mean, they all have been, but—”

“Um—I—fuck,” Cassie stammered, “e-excuse me.”

She stood from her chair so quickly that everyone flinched, and she all but ran toward the bathroom.

“Shit.” I didn’t think—I just went after her. In the midst of standing and striding my way across the bar, I quickly told the group, “I got it; I got her.”

It didn’t matter if they thought anything of my racing to Cassie. Perhaps they wouldn’t, because the situation was dire enough that we were all dancing on eggshells…and that was what we did as a family, after all. Through the craziness, trials and tribulations, murder and all, we inevitably leaned on each other. Ran toward each other rather than away.

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