Page 114 of The Payback

“Nah, I’m kidding. I’ve had this in the works for weeks and need to take care of it.” I meet Dimitri’s eyes over Ellie’s head, and what I see there gives me pause. Concern laces his gaze, but there’s also confidence mixed in. He’s been so guarded around me since I returned from Interpol, and maybe airing our shit out in the car was the last thing holding him back.

“Be careful,” he says quietly. “In and out, then get back here.”

“Yes, sir.” I give him a mock salute and take the lift opposite theirs to the parking garage.

The lift doors open, and I walk to our parking area. I snag a black helmet off the shelf and shove it over my head. My go-bag is in the cupboard just below, so I throw the straps over my shoulder, tighten the slack on the backpack, and climb on my motorcycle.

I fly out of the parking garage and onto the streets of New York. The roads are still busy, but not so much that I can’t slip between taxis and cars, weaving in and out of traffic. I head towards the bridge and make my way into Brooklyn. Manhattan is too expensive to justify a sex den.

Mr Richard Holden is the next name on my list. I’ve worked through the remaining buyers I didn’t compile for Ellie to send to the agencies as they quietly cleaned up the mess Sergei made.

I saved ten for myself—the ones who sought the youngest girls from this god-awful enterprise. Since Ellie told me about Bella, the kills have become messier than usual, more violent, and more primal. More personal.

It’s no wonder Ellie reacted as she did when she found out about the girls. Now that I know we have our own, it’s brought up a lot of new feelings I need to confront. More than anything, it makes me want to know who’s watching after my daughter and that she’s safe.

But Ellie wouldn’t trust her with just anyone, and I’ve been biting my tongue whenever the question comes to mind.

It’s clear Ellie wasn’t ready to tell me about Bella, but Dimitri’s slip forced her hand. The last thing I want to do is push her and have her keep her away from me—which she has every right to do, even though I’m her father. I haven’t been heractualfather, just the sperm donor. But I want so much more.

I park my bike down the street and unfold my body, standing to my full height on the pavement. I count down the addresses as I walk closer to Holden’s place.

The lights are off in the townhouse except for a yellow light coming from the top floor. I pull up my phone and check the security cameras I installed last week when no one was here. Holden didn’t even spring for a home security system; that’s how cheap this man is. And yet he’s spending hundreds of thousands of dollars on girls, not to mention the other six homes he’s got sprinkled around the country.

The place isn’t in great shape, but it blends in with the neighbourhood well enough.

After checking that the street is relatively clear, I jimmy the lock and enter the same way I did last time. The cameras show Holden is in his bed, and he’s not alone. I turn off the cameras remotely and fire off a text to my contact for a pickup.

Skipping the creaky third and sixth steps of the staircase, I silently make my way up. The hallway light is on, the same one I saw from the street, and I reach the door to his bedroom. The house is quiet, and there’s sparse furniture here; clearly, it’s not a house meant to be lived in permanently.

I twist the knob and carefully push it open, holding a finger to my lips as it swings open because the girl in his bed is still wide awake. Holden’s heavy body is to the side, but his arm keeps her in place. The girl’s eyes swing towards me when she sees my movement from the corner of the room. The dead look in her eyes when they connect with mine will haunt me for months.

From my pocket, I pull a piece of paper I’d stuffed in there and hold it up. In Russian, it says,I’m here to get you out. Stay quiet and wait in the kitchen. Help is coming to take you home.

Her eyes slowly move from me to the arm on her stomach. She doesn’t think she can get out from under him. I hold up a hand, palm facing her, telling her to wait.

I remove a coil of rope from the backpack and quickly cut off a tendril from the end. I put the knife away and hold up the rope, showing the girl it’s not a weapon.

I cross the room to Holden’s side of the bed and carefully tickle the shell of his ear with the frayed cord. He stirs but doesn’t move his hand. The girl’s eyes are wide with fear, her blue irises nearly gone with how dilated her pupils are. She catches on quickly, and her breathing halts as I reach forward with the cord again.

This time, Holden picks up his hand from around the girl and swats at his ear. It’s all she needs to slip out of the bed and bolt to the other side of the room. She stands by the door, and I urge her to wait for me downstairs. I hear her little footsteps and hope she listens and doesn’t try to leave through the door.

Then again, I relocked it, and Holden secured it with a key, not just a flip lock. If I were him, I’d have hidden that key. It’s not as if she can go through the windows; there are bars on all of them. I tuck the rope piece into my breast pocket and carefully cross back to my backpack to pull out the tools I’ll need for tonight.

Holden’s phone is on the nightstand, so I pick it up and slip it into my pocket before shouting, “Wakey, wakey! Eggs and bakey!”

Holden’s eyes fly open. He looks around in panic before settling on my face, and the maniacal grin stretched across it.

“What? Who are you!?” He panics, shouting until I clamp a hand over his mouth.

I shush him and press the knife against his throat.

“The other girls. Where are they?” I demand.

“What?” he mumbles under my palm.

“The ones that you bought and then later sold after you were done with them. Or when they got too old for you.” I push the blade harder, a drop of blood slipping over the side and onto the pillowcase. I remove my hand so he can answer my question.

“I don’t have them anymore,” he stammers.

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