Page 125 of Faith and Fury

“Name it,” I pipe up. I can ruin this asshole’s life later—right now, I’ll give him whatever he wants.

“No jail time.”

Caleb scoffs. “You think you can walk away from human trafficking with community service? Best I can do is a reduced sentence—five years instead of ten.”

“You want information?” Axe shrugs. “No jail time.”

“The judge will never allow it.”

“Then I guess I can’t help you.”

My glare flicks to Caleb. It can’t end like this. We can worry about the judge after we’ve found Faith.

“Hang on a second …” Axe’s eyes light up. “They got her, didn’t they? No wonder you’re so pissed—I’ll bet they stole that feral little bitch back.”

“Watch your fucking mouth,” I snarl.

“Three years,” Caleb snaps. “Three years, in a protected ward.”

“Hmm …” Axe licks his lips. “This is too good. I warned you, didn’t I?” Then his voice hardens. “No jail time. That’s my final offer.”

“I can’t promise you that,” Caleb says, “even if I wanted to.”

“Hang on.” I hate the words bubbling up inside me. They feel like oil, slippery and tainted, as they roll off my tongue. “We … tell the judge he’s a victim. Trafficked by the ring, indoctrinated—I mean, there’s a case of Stockholm Syndrome if I ever saw one.” I clench my fists. “He’ll go to a refuge. A guarded refuge, but still …” I cut Axe a loathsome glare. “Better than prison.”

I dread to meet Caleb’s look. Don’t even want to imagine the way he’s looking at me—maybe with disappointment, or surprise, that I’d even suggest such a thing.

“Sure,” Axe declares at last. “You get me off on Stockholm Syndrome, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

I blink. Caleb blinks.

That was easier than I thought.

“Done,” Caleb bites out. “Now tell us—where are the ringleaders?”

There’s another, agonizing beat of hesitation. I’m worried Axe is about to demand we put it in writing—waste even more of our time—when he sighs.

“They’re still underground. Just not in the city.”

I scowl. “What? They left New Caniss?”

“Not exactly. There’s this rich fuck—pretty sure I already mentioned him to your boss over there—” he nods at Caleb. “Old alpha, smokes cigars, probably owns more yachts than t-shirts.”

Caleb’s jaw slackens. “The one who bid on F-7.”

“That’s your guy. He’s got a vested interest in making sure the ringleaders don’t get arrested.”

“So he’s what?” I throw my hands up. “Letting them camp out in his mansion?”

“No.” Axe grins. “In his bunker.”

No wonder we couldn’t track down their new base. We assumed they stayed on the move, making themselves impossible to pin down. Instead, they’ve been sitting still, tucked away in a top-secret hideout.

“What’s his name?” I demand. “This rich fuck. Better yet, what’s his address?”

Axe sighs. “Like I said last time, I don’t have a name. Or an address. They were real picky about getting us in and out—only the top-ranking ringleaders knew where we were going.”

My frustration boils over. “Then what the fuck good are you?”

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