Page 24 of Mad Max

Two four-men teams in tactical gear get out and spread out around the front of the building. They get close but don’t notice us. None of us speak, just wait for Flint to do his thing.

“License plates are blacked out, but I’m getting a few hits on some of them with facial recognition. One of them has connections with a club out of Arizona, Vultures MC. Seems they like running prostitution rings. Guess they want in on the human trafficking bit. We keep low and out of this. No need to alert another club that we’re on to them. If we’re lucky, they’ll take out Duke for us.”

I barely contain my snort of laughter. Luck. That shit’s funny. I’ve never seemed to have any, and with the way this is about to play out, I don’t think the fairy’s got much either. Especially not when Duke’s men, more than what we initially saw, pour out of the factory and start firing without aiming at anyone in particular.

Wonder if the fairy can fly. ’Cause that’s about the only way she’s going to get out of this without getting shot herself.

Not without help, that is.

I look to Casper, who catches my line of sight and nods once before we make our move.

Chapter 11 – Cheyanne

Several minutes before

Y

ou’ve got this. You’re a badass bitch. You’ve got this.

No matter how much I give myself this pep talk, it does nothing to calm my nerves. I might not be emotional about this whole situation, but I’m not numb enough not to worry about what can happen if things go south.

Texting is one thing. It’s easy to come across like I want to with a tool that allows a person to double- and triple-check what you want to say. Being badass in person is tougher. I need my A game the whole way through this.

I park and take my first initial steps on the gravel. Christian Louboutins might not have been the best shoes to wear to this meeting, but they speak of money, the exact look I’m going for. I’m also hoping it attracts more attention than the chocolate stain still on my suit pants. Apparently, that shit is a bitch to get out, and taking it to a dry cleaner would have taken too much time.

The bay door lifts, and I stride toward it with a clear determination in my step. Heels might seem ridiculous in this place, but I can run in these if I need to. I’ve learned to love these things for my job since I wear them more often than not.

“Cheyanne.”

I nod to the guy who speaks my name and react on instinct when he holds his hand out, grabbing it to shake. He pulls quick and gives me no time to adjust before I realize he’s hugging me. I swallow the bile in my mouth as I attempt to keep my face neutral. The guy smells worse than five-day-old fish dropped in cat shit.

“Duke, I presume.”

I try to pull away, but his touch lingers, and I want to skin myself alive. I don’t like to be touched unless I initiate it. And he has harassment written all over his face. Not that anyone would say that to his face without getting a bullet to their head, I’m sure. Especially since this is his way of doing a pat-down. He told me to come unarmed, even though I knew he wouldn’t be. It’s a form of trust I’m showing. Thankfully, he doesn’t check my ankles or under my belt. Pretty sure he wouldn’t like seeing the number of weapons I have in both locations. Small, discreet, but lethal when I throw them.

“Presume away,” he says with one last squeeze on my hip before he drops his hands.

I take a step back and look at the man who’s trying to become the south’s main distributor for human trafficking. He doesn’t look like much. Greasy hair, smells bad, and not much bulk to him. If I passed him on the street, I would keep walking, not out of fear but disgust. And yet there’s a strange look in his eyes. Madness, if I had to name it.

“Clint tells me you’re looking to invest.” He nods to the man on his left, the one I gave my card to. I see only the two lanky guys who were with him before, but I can hear the murmurings of others nearby. Can’t tell how many, but enough to know Duke is more than a one-man operation.

We’ve been over this before. I’m sure he’s vetted my answers a thousand ways from Sunday. Just like I did before replying to each encrypted text he sent over the last two days. I know he has to be careful, but I’m tired of this same song and dance. And I use that.

“We’ve already talked about this. Either you weren’t the one I was talking to earlier or you’re playing games. In either scenario, I’m not interested.”

I can feel the smile slip from his face, even if it stays physically. The tension is clear now, while before we both used pretense.

“Let’s skip with the pleasantries, then. Buying or selling?”

“Buying. I have investors who are willing to take a sampling of those I bring to see how well the product is maintained. If they like what they see, as do I, we can negotiate with those who are looking to trade in their current model or just sell unused ones. What’s the price for a four-pack?”

He finally drops the smile and the act, and I see his true greedy self come out to play. “Price isn’t determined in advance but at the time of sale. As you say, negotiations can be taken into consideration. Same with a sale. Until the product is viewed, it’s impossible for me to determine a number.”

I bite my tongue in frustration. I know I’ll need to actually purchase someone, but till he gives me a number, I’m limited in my options. I can take a certain amount of money out without my bank calling the feds on me, I’m sure. But if I need to go above that number, with Jimmy’s history, I’m sure my bank accounts are already being monitored routinely. My accounts will undoubtedly be frozen quickly without question if I draw too much attention. If that’s the case, things are going to get a bit tricky.

“Got a ballpark number I can take to my clients?”

He shrugs. “Give me specifics. We talking a specialty item or generic?”

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