Page 35 of Rusty's Command

Six women in identical white robes shuffled onto the circular stage at the center of the room. The harsh overhead lighting bleached their faces, emphasizing the hollows of their cheeks and the glassy terror in their eyes. Rusty’s gaze caught on the logo embroidered on their sleeves, and his blood turned to ice. It was the same logo on the robe worn by the unconscious woman he’d found in the drug den. His eyes dropped to their necks, and his breath hitched. Each of them wore a gold cross. He’d bet his RAM truck it was the same cross with red stones the woman in the drug den had been wearing.

The robe on the woman at the front slipped off her shoulder to reveal a blue bikini underneath. Rusty’s jaw tightened as he studied her face. “Oh fuck,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

“What?” Sienna’s whisper was tight with dread.

Rusty forced himself to swallow the rising knot in his throat. “That girl at the front is Grace Williams. I took her mother, Sarah, to the police station to report her missing. That’s why I was there when you were.” The implication behind this discovery slammed into him like a physical blow. “Son of a bitch.”

“What?” Her breath hitched as she curled her hair behind her ear.

His hands curled into fists around the railing as he stared down at the stage. “I think we’re in Pearl Lagoon Resort and it’s a front for their fucking human trafficking hunting ground.”

“Jesus.” She released a small sound that carried volumes of horror. “We have to save them.”

The pieces slotted together in his mind with sickening clarity. The luxury amenities, the smiling staff, the pristine reputation—it was all a carefully constructed façade to hide the nightmare unfolding beneath the ground.

How long had these bastards been operating here? How many lives had they destroyed?

Sienna’s fingers gripped his forearm, trembling. “What do we do?”

“I’m working on it,” he said, his mind racing.

They hadn’t just stumbled onto a trafficking operation. This could be their headquarters. And if that was true, the men he’d seen earlier with assault rifles weren’t the exception. They were the rule.

His pulse hammered as he glanced back at Sienna. They weren’t just trapped there. They were well and truly outnumbered.

CHAPTER 12

Rusty

Rusty watchedin sickened silence as each woman shed her robe with mechanical precision like dolls being manipulated by invisible strings. Their expensive lingerie beneath, designed with delicate lace and silk, conveyed an innocence that made his fury burn hotter. These weren’t women. They were girls. Some couldn’t be more than seventeen or eighteen, barely old enough to be in college.

Other than Grace, the other girls were Asian and Colombian. Their features told a familiar story. These vulnerable young women were lured with glossy promises like exclusive modeling contracts, prestigious hospitality positions, and even all-expenses-paid vacations at luxury resorts.

The perfect bait for desperate dreams.

But their real story was in their vacant, distant eyes which proved they’d retreated somewhere far beyond this underground hell. He’d seen that same empty stare in war zones and Colombian slums, where human depravity showed its ugliest face.

But this was his hometown, where sun-kissed beaches and warm smiles were supposed to be the norm. The evil that lurked beneath the surface of this island paradise was a stark reminder that horrors could hide even in the most idyllic of places.

Every muscle in his body screamed for action. He would tear this place apart brick by brick if that were what it took to bring these bastards down and make them pay.

“Turn,” the handler barked. “Slowly.”

The women pivoted like robots.

“Smile.”

Their lips curved mechanically upward, but their eyes remained dead.

“Arms at your sides.”

Each command met with instant, empty compliance that spoke volumes about what they’d endured to reach this level of submission. Or maybe they’d been drugged to make them comply. His mind swooped to the woman he’d found in the basement with the gold cross. Maybe she was meant to be with these women too, but she’d been pumped with more drugs than her tiny body could handle.

Something else gnawed at him. A setup this elaborate should have buyers, spectators—someone. “Hey, Sienna, where’s their audience?”

Sienna’s fingers dug deeper into his arm. “There.” She pointed to a professional array of equipment on the far side of the stage. From their vantage point, he could just make out the sleek cameras, the tangle of cables, and a wall of high-end monitors, each one likely streaming to some wealthy bastard’s private viewing room in fuck-knew where. The thought of invisible eyes watching those vulnerable women, ready to choose which one they were going to bid on made his trigger finger itch.

“It’s a livestream,” she breathed, horror creeping into her voice. “They’re probably broadcasting this globally.”

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