Page 78 of Preying Heart
Guess he just wants to ruin my day.
I go on the internet instead and check my email to see if Slade responded to my last message. He did. About a week ago when Heath and I took off for Wyoming.
Hey, it’s me. Doing good. Stay away from you know who. Heard he’s put a bounty on you. Dude smoked his dad. Bad stuff going down.
I don’t bother answering in case Gavin has access to Slade’s account. The message makes no sense. Who put a bounty on me? Gavin? Or the mystery man? The one who wants my baby. Is he saying Gavin killed his own dad or that the mystery man, the one we call Big Dude smoked Gavin’s dad?
I then search the internet for sex trafficking cases but the sheer number of stories sickens me. People are being trafficked everywhere. They’re found in the backs of tractor trailers, work in massage parlors and strip clubs, hidden in suburban houses, stashed away in basements with secret entrances and exits—the speakeasy of our day. And as I saw with Jodi and Pearl, taken to tourist areas to solicit visitors. Every time there’s a big event—like a big sports event, rock concert, or business convention, trafficked workers are brought in to hook up with the fans and conventioneers.
I can’t see Slade raping anyone, but I can see him handling the money. He always liked easy money. Free money. Found money.
I can’t sit here doing nothing—not if Gavin is framing Slade to punish me.
There’s only one thing to do.
I have to go back and figure out what he wants and stop him cold.
I have to leave Heath, and I know he won’t understand.
I take out a legal pad and write him a long note.
ChapterTwenty-Nine
Gavin
Yes! I circle my fist in victory.
The trap is set, and I’m the big winner.
I ignore Remi’s frantic calls.
I know her next move.
She’s coming home, and I didn’t even have to create a gigantic piece of fake news to lure her in.
I have to show someone how smart I am, so I put on my blue-collar worker outfit and take the junker pickup to the deserted campgrounds of the defunct dude ranch where Guy and I have Slade stashed.
It’s cold and damp, and Slade has developed a ragged cough. He’s shut alone in the dark, and like any good jailer, I’ve made him dependent on me for basic things like light, fresh air, conversation, and a snack. Amazing what people will do for crumbs.
I bring him a bag of potato chips, a sugary soft drink, and a donut as a treat.
“Oh, Slade,” I call out in a teasing manner. “You’re in luck. I’ve come by with good news.”
Guy unlocks the padlock and pulls back the hasp. The door flaps open along with a blast of fetid air, a mixture of body odor and human waste.
“You’re living like a pig. Come on out. Guy, clean the pigsty, will you?”
Slade is in worse shape than a week ago. His skin festers with open sores, and he moves stiffly, like he’s aged thirty years.
I watch his greedy eyes track the donut so I make him beg for it. “Down, boy. On your knees.”
He’s shackled with his feet tied together and his hands cuffed in front of him, but he’s able to gingerly get down on his knees.
“What do you say to me?”
“Good day, master,” he greets me. “Please. I’m so hungry. Please.”
I hold the donut to his lips and let him take a bite before yanking it back.
