Page 25 of Mad Max

“Generic. A newer model with no damage.” God, I really hope I sound like I know what I’m talking about. There really wasn’t a ton that Google could offer me on how to speak human trafficking if working undercover. Really hope if the police are monitoring my web history that they at least think I’m writing a book or something cool like that.

“Thirty grand to start. Specific color could be an upcharge.”

I really do try to keep my face neutral, but fuck. All a person’s worth is thirty grand? So fucking sad. But I can’t show any emotion. He needs to see me as a go-between—not the buyer or the seller but a broker who brings in the clients. Someone who can be trusted to look at the cargo and pick. I need to see all he has to offer and hope I can find Candy and then alert the feds.

Reminder to self: ask the creepy people on the dark web what Candy looks like. I might not have the best of luck, but I’m not unlucky either. Doubt she’ll be the first girl offered to me, but I need to be prepared if she is.

“So… we going to deal or what?” he asks with a grunt of annoyance that I didn’t jump right on board at his price.

Tires on gravel have me turning my head to see two sets of headlights coming to a stop. They keep the high beams on, so I can’t see anything, but I can hear doors opening and people getting out.

It takes me a second longer than anyone else to realize this is a threat. Duke’s already screaming, and so many people start coming from all directions, but they seem to stop short once they take a step on the gravel, dropping dead in a line as more come to replace them.

I don’t think about where the bullets are coming from or what they’re aiming at. I tuck tail and run toward the back of the factory as everyone runs to the front, pushing my way past the men who keep coming out. Seriously, this guy is fucking prepared even if he’s the worst kind of human on the planet.

I know I said I can run in high heels, but I never actually expected I would be. The shoes are holding up, and I’m not out of shape, but I feel jittery and a bit clumsy, even if I’m not falling down.

I keep looking over my shoulder as I take a few turns, but I don’t see anyone behind me. I turn back around and scream into the hand that covers my mouth a second before I can make a noise.

It takes a moment for my eyes to focus on the glaring beast before me. I don’t take the time to feel at ease with this as I’m dragged down another hall and pushed against the wall.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he growls.

I react like I always do when I feel trapped—I push that shit back on them. “Me? What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Saving your ass, it looks like,” says another voice behind Mad Max.

Only then do I notice the three others with him. I recognize the one who spoke from the club’s visit with my uncle and when he installed my new lock, but I can’t remember his name. I have no clue who the other two are. Must be others in the club, if I were in the habit of making assumptions, which I have been lately. Can’t be sure since none of them have a vest on. Not sure if that means they knew what to expect and how this would go down or if they’re the ones who started shooting.

I look them over, but other than a handgun in each of their hands, they have nothing on them that makes them a threat. Then again, a gun is a gun. Be it military grade or a small peashooter, bullets still come out and can kill a person.

“Relax, Fairy. We didn’t start this.”

Now I’m the one going bug-eyed at his nickname for me. It’s almost comical, and I’m sure I mirror his reaction to me calling him Beast the other day.

“I’m supposed to trust that?”

“Sure. Just like we’re expected to believe you’re innocent in all of this, like your uncle says,” the one from the jail quips before he starts talking to someone else. “Flint, give me eyes.”

“Rear side of the factory, facing east,” says another one with a faux hawk, but I have no clue what he means.

“Negative, got one casualty.” This again from the first guy.

I can’t take it anymore. Any other night, I would be happy to sit here and figure this shit out on my own, but not now. I just want answers. “Who are you talking to?”

“Flint, our tech guy. He’s got eyes in the sky,” Mad Max supplies as he taps his ear.

I lean to the side and get a very nice view of an expensive-as-hell earpiece. Trust me, I know. Uncle Jimmy had a pair just like it that were sent to him as a gift. And of course I opened the package since he was in jail and looked them up to see what they were. Not sure who would send that as a present, but he has some pretty rich friends, apparently.

“And when you say ‘eyes in the sky’…?”

“Drones,” the last one replies, speaking for the first time.

I really want an introduction, but I doubt I’ll get one at the moment. To calm myself, I just give them all nicknames. Jock is the last one, ’cause I swear he looks like every typical football player on the magazines at the grocery checkout line. Short hair but physically lean and fit. The one giving out directions is Punk Rocker. He’s got to be in a band or something with the way his hair is styled. And the other one, well, he didn’t say much the first time I saw him, but I have a feeling he’s more of the leader type than the follower, so Captain it is.

Punk Rocker grunts. At first I think it’s because I missed the obvious answer, but he’s leaning against the wall across from me and holding his leg.

“Is he going to make it?”

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