Page 86 of The Twins

When Vegas opens the door to enter the car, I see Tara.

“Tara, I’m sorry—” I begin, but I never finish.

“No worries. Duty calls,” she says, leaving me confused. Behind Vegas, she climbs into the car.

“What’s going on?” I ask. “We’re just helping out my client. You don’t have to leave your party.”

“Oh, but I do,” Tara insists, fastening her seat belt. “This is Hugh Abbott we’re talking about here.”

I sink where I sit. Who is Abbott to them?

Carey remains on the line for the entire excruciating drive to her gated community. When I ask how we plan to enter it at night without being suspected by anyone, the men tell me not to worry.

It’s late, and traffic has simmered down, but that doesn’t mean we arrive early.

We reach the gated community, and as expected, a guard’s there to obstruct us. I shift where I sit, and Vegas has to caress my thigh to get me to calm down.

Charles shows the man his badge, and the guard shuts up, letting us pass without another word. I flop back into my seat.

By the time we get to Carey’s home, Hugh Abbott and his car are missing.

“Fuck,” Vegas curses.

“What is going on?” I ask, begging for an answer.

“We’re looking for Hugh Abbott,” Remo reveals. Charles turns off the car’s engine and an eerie silence

My shoulders slump. “Of course we are.”

“No, Grey. We are looking for him,” Charles informs me. He grinds his teeth. “Hugh Abbott is the man we’ve been looking for, the one that always gets away. He has partners in the LAPD, and he bribes them with real estate. There are no files on the man himself or his properties. He’s like a ghost, but fuck… He’s been a major contributor and enabler of the wider child prostitution ring in Los Angeles for almost five years now.”

My chest feels tight, and I struggle to breathe. I kick the car’s door open, and I storm Carey’s home, breaking one of the tall windows with my fist. It stings, and I cut myself, but I don’t halt to check my injuries. I climb through the rubbles, and I head for Carey’s room.

“Carey, it’s me!” I yell as I approach her space.

The girl hangs up on the phone, and she unlocks her door with a shaky hand. She’s paler than I’ve ever seen her, with messy hair and her pajamas. She holds her stomach with one hand, and she doesn’t even look at me.

“Grey… He left right before you arrived,” she mumbles. I step into her room, and I ignore the mess of it. I help the kid pack a backpack with chargers, clothes, and anything else she requires. “Where are we going?”

“You’re coming with us for the night,” I tell her. It’s not our place, but I’m not leaving her at home, where she’s alone and vulnerable. “When your mom returns, we’ll bring you back.”

Carey nods. Before we leave her room, she grabs a stuffed turtle from her bed. She holds it close to her chest as we depart her home. She begs, “Don’t laugh at me.”

“Never,” I promise her. “I just didn’t think you were a stuffed animal type of teen.”

“It reminds me of my childhood,” Carey gasps.

“But Carey… You’re still a child,” I remind her.

She shakes her head, and it’s too late to discuss what she just said because three angry men stand by the car, staring down at me.

“What the hell were you thinking, Grey?” Charles demands. Tara shoves her elbow into his stomach, but he doesn’t flinch.

“Hi, my name is Carey Jean,” Carey says, stepping forward. She offers her hand to Charles, the most intimidating of my men, and, well, I admire her for the ballsy move. “And you are?”

“He’s the unhinged son of a cartel drug lord, so you better step back, young lady,” Vegas comments. He is the least upset out of my men. I don’t want to, but I quake with fear. My men assure me that we can get mad at one another without ending up hospitalized, but I can’t shake it off that easily. After six years of brutal punishments, it’s difficult to believe that people aren’t the worst versions of themselves.

“You’re joking, aren’t you?” Carey asks my man. She remembers him from when he came to pick me up from here earlier.

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