Page 80 of Jersey

He shrugs, not bothering to pull his eyes from his phone.

Irritation swims inside of me, and it takes all I have not to pull the guy over the counter and curb-stomp his face into the shitty, stained carpet. It's unlikely that anyone connected to trafficking or Nathan Adair would confide in a guy like this, but they may have underestimated his lack of attention. It's possible he heard or saw something that would help me track them to their next stop.

"When. Did. They. Leave?" I growl again, the animosity in my tone drawing his attention finally.

"I don't know, man. I had two days off and when I got back to work tonight they were gone. Did you need a room or some shit?"

I swallow down my frustration. "I want to speak with housekeeping."

"We don't keep housekeeping staff overnight," the guy says waving his arm to indicate the entirety of the hotel. "If you haven't noticed this isn't exactly a five-star sort of place."

"When do they get here in the morning?" I ask looking down at my watch and realizing it's later than I thought.

"Noon."

"Noon?"

"People around here don't check out early, man. Plus, I got word that the two women who were working housekeeping quit the other night. Don't know what the owner plans to do about that shit, but I'm not changing cum-covered fucking sheets again," he says before mumbling more as he looks down at his phone.

The women working housekeeping quitting is a very bad sign. It's Adair's MO to take women from one location to sell them in the next, and it seems even with the leader's death, it's still business as usual.

A quick glance around the lobby tells me they aren't even pretending to have a security system around. I have no doubt that's why this place is so appealing to all of them. They pay cash to desk clerks who don't ask questions.

There will be no leads, and sticking around will only be a waste of time, but it doesn't make me any less angry. More women have been victimized and I don't have a single fucking clue as to where they were going next.

North takes them to Detroit. South goes to Cincinnati. East and West would take them to Columbus and Indianapolis. Dayton is the perfect fucking place to disappear. Even in death, Adair is able to stay operational.

I grind my teeth as I head back out into the cold. My leather gloves creak as I ball my hands into fists. There seems to be no fucking end to the way people hurt others, and it's absolutely appalling the way people use others for financial gain. They're sick and depraved and leave these women mere shells of themselves.

Saving them is great. It looks incredible on paper, but many of the women we encounter never get back to what society would consider normal, and how can we even expect them to after enduring so much trauma? Cerberus always provides safety and counseling, but it doesn't always work. Some women end up right back in the same situation because it's all they know. Sometimes they seek out the group who hurt them in the first place because they were abused so badly they fear for their lives even after safety is provided.

The idea of something happening like that to Caitlyn, and that's what has caused her trauma makes me want to rage at the entire world. I don't know why I didn't consider it before with the work I've done my entire life and the things I've seen.

Jesus fucking Christ, what have I done?

I told a woman who had clearly gone through something terrible that all I could give her was sex. She's been hurt, and I just proved that all men are fucking dogs by practically telling her she's only worth a couple of good fucks.

My entire body is trembling as I climb on my bike, making me regret, not for the first time tonight, that I took this out instead of one of the SUVs.

In hiding what I can't seem to get past, I have no doubt hurt her further.

It was never my intention.

I care for her. That's clear by the way I can't seem to get her out of my mind, and I know I could've handled things much better than I did.

It would've been ten times better if I had just put an end to what we were doing. I could've cited the conflict of interest considering she's Eli's therapist.

But instead, I told her where I stood, and then had sex with her again. I devalued her in the worst way, and I can only imagine what a strike to her psyche it was for me to carry through with the physical part of what I had to offer.

That fucking tear.

It's all I can think about as I rev my bike and point it south.

I hurt her without meaning to. I hurt her without consideration of why she might be the way she is.

I hurt her, and there's a part of me that will always hate myself for doing it because I can't get the woman out of my mind.

She's more than a quick fuck, and I knew that the second I told her that's all I had to offer.

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