Page 50 of Filthy Devil

“There’s nothing here,” he mutters. “If he dropped it, maybe it was only by accident.”

That doesn’t sound like Nash. I may not know everything about him, but I do know that he wouldn’t just drop his phone for no reason. Everything he does is intentional. Every little thing. I don’t say any of that, though. Instead, I go with Bugsy and Rev.

“I’ll get a truck here to load up his bike. He wouldn’t want it sitting out here,” Bugsy murmurs.

But I’m still stuck on the fact that not only was his phone left here, but this man walked into work, and someone was waiting to ambush him. Someone who wasn’t seen on any cameras, and someone who was able to either already be inside of the building or get inside undetected.

“What about dancers?” I ask.

Bugsy clears his throat. “Babe, let us take care of this. We are going to find him.”

But I can’t just let them take care of anything, not when it comes to Nash, and especially not when this is probably all myfault. So, instead of sitting in the backseat quietly, like a good little girl, I talk.

“No, hear me out,” I begin. “If those guys, the Southern Mafia, got me to sign my life away, and one of them has already been to the club here, what would stop them from trying another way? What would stop them from offering money to a stripper to be a decoy?”

Both Bugsy and Rev’s spines straighten, and then they swing their heads around to look back at me from over their shoulders. Their eyes are wide, their lips parted in what I assume is awe. And I’m not sure if that awe is because I thought of it when they hadn’t or if I am just some twenty-year-old who thought of it.

Either way, they seem somewhat impressed. “I think you’re onto something,” Bugsy grunts before he turns back around to face the windshield.

We leave the parking lot a few seconds later, and with each moment that passes, my heart cracks a little more. I’m falling in love with this man, and something has happened to him. He’s vanished from thin air, and I’m scared. Not for myself, for what could happen to me if he doesn’t come back, but for him.

Because I am done falling. I’m in love with him.

NASH

I’m notsure how long I’m left alone in the cement block of a room, but my stomach growls and I need to take a leak. Thankfully, as if Pencil Dick can read my mind, the door opens, and he’s standing there with a smirk on his lips.

“Come on,” he demands.

Standing with a groan, I limp a few steps on my stiff muscles, following behind this prick. He stops at a doorway and holdshis hand out as if he’s presenting something to me. “If you try anything, I’ll come in there and fucking watch,” he grinds out.

I don’t know if he thinks he’s scaring me or intimidating me at all, but he’s not. Without a word, I walk past him and slam the door closed. I don’t bother flicking the lock into place. If he wants to walk in and compare dicks, he can do just that. But I know that mine’s bigger. I don’t even have to look.

Once I’ve pissed, I wash my hands and wrench the door open. Jerking my chin toward him, I arch a brow and wait for what’s next. I expect to be taken back to my cell, but I’m not. Instead, he lifts his hand and motions for me to follow him.

Interesting.

Moving through the building, I’m not surprised to see that it’s one of those metal warehouse-type ones. When the hallway comes to an end, it opens to a huge room, and I should not be surprised to see women everywhere.

They are lining the walls, standing side by side, shoulder to shoulder, wearing panties and bras. Looking around, I try to find the bitch who played me, but she isn’t anywhere to be seen.

I don’t ask Pencil Dick what is happening here because I already know. These women are getting ready for transport and, ultimately, sale. Pencil Dick stops and turns to face me, his eyes finding mine.

“James agreed to this life. She signed on the dotted line just like these girls. Except, unlike these girls, she was promised better.”

“Better?” I ask, knowing that there is no such thing as better in this world.

There is slavery, there is abuse, there is being used for the totality of what is between your legs, and then there is death. There is no better or worse to that. It’s all fucking bad. And there is no sugar that you could coat it with to make it better or any different.

“These women are all going to buyers. No vetting, no idea who the fuck they are, and I don’t give a shit either. My job is to find buyers and collect money.”

“But James wasn’t going to have that fate?” I ask, knowing already that the fucker I killed claimed she was going to be his.

He tilts his head. “Are you seriously asking me a question when you already know the answer?” he asks.

My lips curve up into a grin. “Are you seriously pretending you don’t know that the fucker who said James was his is dead? Because he is. I watched the life drain from his body myself, and I smiled when I did it.”

Pencil Dick flinches for just a moment, then replaces that flinch with a cocky smirk. It’s his go-to expression I’ve discovered when he wants to hide his reaction. He’s just not fucking good at being indifferent. Obviously, he hasn’t been properly trained. Which makes me wonder how high up he truly is in the Southern Mafia.

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