Page 39 of We Will Rise

I’m moving before I’ve even made a conscious decision to do so.

I lift the bolt cutters to the chains of the container I’m pretty sure the sound came from, and Crew curses behind me as he gets into position.

But nothing could prepare me for what we find when I swing the doors open.

At least ten women of various ages are piled inside the container, their eyes filled with terror as they huddle together, shielding themselves as best they can from the strangers that have found them.

“Fuck,” Crew murmurs behind me.

“I’m going to fucking kill them,” I growl under my breath when I notice the blood soaking the bottom of the container. “Call Storm. We need him and his team here, they’ll know what to do.”

He doesn’t respond, instead, he steps back away from me, putting some distance between him and the women.

I breathe out a steadying breath, forcing calm into my body despite the wild rage battering down on me. Rather than moving closer to the women, I drop into a crouch, hoping it will make me seem less threatening, but they all still look terrified. “You’re safe. I promise you’re safe. We’re going to take care of you.”

The lip of the woman closest to me wobbles as she buries her bruised face in her filthy knees. Her dark hair is matted around her shoulders, and one of her eyes is so swollen it’s closed over.

We may be the devil incarnate, but there’s a special kind of evil that can hurt women and children, and I’m making it our personal mission to kill every single one of them.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CAMILLA

Ifeel sick.

After years of training, being forced into situations no child or teenager should ever see, and being tortured to strengthen my resolve and make sure I’d never give up information under pressure, I thought I had a strong stomach.

But this is too much.

Hell, the minute I opened that cooler containing a set of human lungs on top of half-melted ice, I thought I’d hit my limit. But nothing could have prepared me for finding twelve women, some of whom I’m certain are underage, huddled inside a shipping container, terrified for their lives.

As soon as Crew found me and told me what they had found, I cleared the ship and the docks, leaving just myself and the men of the Legion.

Leighton is on her way, as is Storm Saint James, but he’ll take a little longer to get here from Chicago. Plus, I called Bonnie and Chloe to bring some clothes and toiletries to the docks. My father always kept them out of this side of our business, but I’m not willing to leave the women, and they can’t stay in the soaked clothes we found them in.

If I had it my way, we’d be on our way to somewhere with beds and a shower because I can’t imagine any of them have slept since they got on that ship, but I can’t ask them to put their trust in us so easily when we’ve done nothing to earn it.

I carry a handful of bottles of water toward where the women are sitting on the chairs the dock workers use to have lunch, but they’re looking anywhere but at me.

I drop into a crouch a few feet away from them, taking a moment to look at each of them. They’ve all been beaten to some degree, but some are worse than others.

If Charles Davenport wasn’t already at the top of my kill list, this stunt would get him there, even if we still have no logical reason for why he would do this in the first place.

“I have some water here for you and some food is on the way,” I tell them softly. “I can’t imagine how scared you must be, but I promise we won’t hurt you. We’re not going to let anything happen to you.”

“That’s what they all say,” one of the women sobs. Her blonde hair is stuck to her cheek with deep crimson, and her eyes are downcast, so I can’t see them.

“I know,” I agree. “I don’t expect you to trust us immediately, maybe ever, but I want to help you. Can any of you tell me where you came from? Where you were put on the ship, perhaps?”

There’s a symphony of silence, and I sigh. They don’t trust us, and why would they? We’re criminals. Every single person standing before them has killed people without so much as blinking. We’re ruthless killers, and these women need someone soft and nurturing to help them.

I move a little closer, thankful for the Converse Kaos had in his trunk for me, before handing out the water bottles. “I’ll go grab some more bottles, and the food will be here soon? Are you hungry?”

“You’ll probably just drug us like they did,” the one who spoke out before says, and I hear one of my men curse behind me. Being lumped into the same category as human traffickers stings more than I care to admit, but these women are entitled to their own feelings, and I’m not going to try to deny them of that.

“Does pizza sound okay?”

No one responds to me, and I push myself to my feet. I move toward the guys and don’t hesitate to lean against Bishop when he lifts his arm to accommodate me.

---