Page 22 of Jersey

"You were looking around a lot during your session as if you were worried about something. Is there something I should know?"

My head immediately shakes. I had no idea I was looking around, although I have been concerned that either Jersey or Zeus would pop up and share about the other night.

"I have no concerns," I tell him. "See you on Saturday?"

"We'll be here," he says, his eyes still on me as if he isn't taking my assurance at face value.

With as much confidence as I can manage, I gather my bag, tell Eli another quick goodbye, and make my way to the front door, fighting the urge to look around on the way out.

Chapter 8

Jersey

I grind my teeth as I press harder into his back with my knee.

"I'll be out before the sun rises," the guy grunts, still not accepting his fate.

It's very possible that this guy isn't as entangled with the crew we just took down, but guilt by association is a real thing. There's very little chance the guy will make it out of jail any time soon.

All the men have been talking shit except for the one who Hemlock has handcuffed. They're in the corner of the room, and that guy looks like he's well aware of the reality of his situation.

This craft beer brewery is just on the edge of historic Asheville, North Carolina, and it has been the location of a sting operation that Lark has been working on for several weeks.

Their hidden menu was selling a lot more than pale ale to specific discerning customers. Although the women working here were doing so willingly, the escort service and prostitution ring are not only illegal, but they've been loosely connected to a trafficking ring that's been traveling through from further south.

"Here," Zeus says, tapping my shoulder to hand me a pair of zip-tie cuffs.

The guy under me continues to fight to get away as if being pinned down is a slight to his masculinity. Even in his rage at being busted, he's no competition for me. Without much effort, I get him cuffed, resisting the urge to slam his head into the floor before pulling him to his feet.

One of the SWAT guys who assisted us today walks up and takes the degenerate off my hands.

The best part of working for Cerberus and no longer working for ICE is that all that red tape and paperwork are left up to other people. We get to come in and do a lot of the surveillance and the arrests. Then we get to walk away without having to sit at a desk and type up reports.

I walk past the others, leaving the room, making sure to keep my eyes down as I pass by the women who are somehow wrapped up in this. A lot of times, the girls are simply workers who are trying to make enough money to live on, or they're somehow either being forced or coerced into sex work.

Periodically, they're actually part of the problem and are actively and willingly helping the business run. It means they have to be interviewed by authorities to determine their place in all of it and if charges should be brought against them. It's one of those delicate situations where I'm severely underqualified to help.

We never want to further traumatize someone or increase their victimization, but gone are the days of assuming that just because they're female, they aren't part of the problem.

The cool air is a relief to my skin, but despite the clean breeze coming off the mountains, it doesn't clear my head of the thoughts I've done my best to remove from my mind.

She's never far from my thoughts whether I want her there or not. Thinking about her tied to that St. Andrew's cross feels wrong, but that doesn't stop my heart from pounding when those memories flash in my mind.

I'm not into that sort of thing. Women being tied up or restrained has never been something that gets me off, but that's how I've seen her now twice. It makes me want to see her differently, maybe lounged back on my bed or smiling at me from the pool in that demure little one-piece bathing suit she wore not long ago.

It seems like hours drag by as the different teams trade all the information needed to end this case. I spend the majority of that time on the small deck just outside the back door of the business, waiting for Lark to give the feds all the information he gathered.

Each job we work should make dealing with the other agencies easier, but since we're all over this side of the United States, we always run into folks who feel as if their toes are being stepped on.

They don't have the time nor resources to do what we do, but they're also never grateful to have cases solved by outside forces in their jurisdictions. It's weird that they'd have a problem with criminals being stopped, especially the kind who hurt women, but we always catch attitude.

I can't count how many times I've been told the evidence I've gathered isn't good enough or won't hold up in court. We make a point to make sure we have enough to convict before pulling the trigger on a raid.

"You gonna sit out here all damn night with your dick in your hand?"

I turn and narrow my eyes at Nyx. The man is a fucking menace, but I know he doesn't mean anything offensive. That's just how he is.

"Everyone done?" I ask, standing from the small pub-style table.

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