Falcon (Kindred, #5)

TEN-2

She couldn’t feel flattered, he didn’t hint at gaining any enjoyment from being there, but he made it sound like an event. She wondered if they had a bar or a buffet, if canapes were passed around as buyers hobnobbed or if it was much less civilized with men skulking in corners, grunting to make their bids.

“I’d never thought about the details.”

“There are several different gangs, who sell in different ways. We’re invited to most of the auctions, because we always buy. They assume I have... particular tastes that require me to need a constant supply of new women.”

Disgust made her sneer, not because she believed he did have those tastes, but because the g**g members revered him for being such an important repeat customer. “You risk your reputation going there,” Devon said.

“We deal with a man called Carlos. He’s not in charge, he’s a go-between, he notifies contacts about the auctions.”

Hearing the extent of his experience, she was both repulsed and sympathetic. “You’ve been there countless times, aren’t you terrified that they’ll find out what you do?”

“They kept you for months,” he said, his voice descending into a growl. “Almost three in fact.”

“What?” she asked, forgetting that he had dodged her question. “A quarter of a year?”

“What I feel is insignificant,” he said, and she realized that in an indirect way, he’d answered her question about his feelings on attending the auctions.

“If you were discovered, they would kill you.”

“They might try. We’ve done this many times, and part of the reason I’m accepted is reputation. They won’t hurt me.”

He didn’t elaborate, and she didn’t know if he meant his Kindred reputation or some other rep. If those dregs of humanity knew about the goodness of his work, they would never allow him over the threshold.

“I don’t understand any of this,” she said, collapsing against the back of her chair and forgetting the manners she’d tried to fake.

It wasn’t like she was raised to sit up straight at the table and keep her elbows off it. She’d seen sophistication in movies and read about it in books but had never been taught it growing up. Devon did her best to exude class, though it was likely she’d fail to convince him.

The harsh edge left his voice. “I know it must have been difficult for you. But it may work out in our favor that you were there for so long. There are only three or four premium auctions a year, hence why they held you for so long. They had to wait for the next auction to come up.”

“How do you figure that it was good I was there for months?”

“That duration allowed you to be exposed to their conversations.” Crossing his forearms, he leaned towards the center of the table. “You’re the first woman we’ve had who speaks their language. You’ve lived on the inside, closer than we’ve ever gotten.”

And so they’d returned to her usefulness, to how the Kindred needed her and how she could be of use to the women still trapped out there. Of course, she wanted to be a hero as much as anybody would. She would love to liberate every woman who was held against her will and to see these men brought to justice, but she still struggled with the motivations of this man and those around him.

“How did you get involved in this?” she asked, meeting his gaze with a frown. “I need to know why this is so important to you, why talking to you any different to me talking to the FBI?”

Rig had told her to cooperate and she would, but she needed to know why the Kindred would have more impact than those with a national reach.

“Law enforcement can’t keep up. They have turf wars, agency conflicts, the process is far from smooth. We do have a contact in the FBI who we keep in the loop unofficially.”

So the Kindred had some reach of their own and could either be tipped off or pass on information. Rig had implied that his relationship with Rave was sort of quid pro quo. If they worked the same way with the FBI maybe inadvertently, these men could be brought to official justice. Except, “That doesn’t tell me why you’re doing this. You said this started with a girl...”

Bess and Wren had referred to a woman, as well. Something had happened that had spurred them all into action. Of all the causes in all the world that these men could’ve taken on as their own, they’d chosen this and Devon had to know why.

“Bronwyn wasn’t just any girl,” he said. “She was Wren’s girl. She was taken and she was dead before any of us knew what had happened.” He slackened, like a daze passed over him. “I had the means to save her... if we’d known she was gone...”

From his reaction to the memory, Devon guessed this had happened quite recently. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry, that must have been awful for him... for you all.”

Clearing his throat, Zave starched his posture again. “It took a long time for us to get here and hone our operation.”

“And now you’re dedicated to rescuing women?”

Despite it being a losing battle, because there would always be sick individuals stealing and enslaving others, it was noble of Zave and the Kindred to at least try to make a difference in a fraction of the women’s lives.

“It didn’t seem right to let women keep dying while we took their organization apart.”

“That’s a never-ending job with crooks like that,” she said, sitting up to lean on the table again. “You take one out and two pop up.”

“We’ll take those two out, as well,” he said and his determination was admirable. “We’re coming at this from many different angles. We plan to be the thorn in their side for as long as we can... to explain it all in detail would take too much time. Suffice to say, we’re all over it.”

Fixating on his story of Bronwyn, she drifted in her thoughts. Wren had lost the woman he loved to these monsters. He’d called in his mother and cousin to get some justice for her or maybe it was revenge for what they’d done. Whatever it was, there were women saved, maybe not all of them, but for those the Kindred did pull out, it made all the difference in the world that they tried.

Zave was right that law enforcement would struggle to cripple such powerful cartels. They had their hands full combatting d**g smuggling, racketeering, and money laundering. Layer upon layer of criminality that was almost impossible to pick apart.

Being a witness for the FBI would be so insignificant. She’d tell her stories, maybe shed a few tears, and they’d tell her they’d call, but she doubted they ever would. Who would they bring to justice? The men who’d snatched her from the street? She couldn’t identify them. The men who’d kept her locked up? She’d never seen their faces in the dark either. The truth was those men were grunts who could be sacrificed. Pawns were expendable and losing one, ten, even a hundred of them, wouldn’t slow down the kings, knights, and bishops at the top of the hierarchy.

Even if the Kindred weren’t saving every woman, they were taking action and trying to make a difference. Sitting on her hands, ruing the world, and being terrified to set foot outside her apartment wouldn’t help anyone, and Devon couldn’t turn her back on this.

“Ok,” she said, folding her arms as she made her decision. “I’m in.”

For the first time, a flicker of surprise touched him and his chin tilted a fraction. “Excuse me?” he asked. “You’re what?”

“You want intel,” she said. “And I want to help, I don’t want these bastards to keep getting away with what they’re doing.” Zave wasn’t open to her suggestion. In fact, she’d say he prickled as he sat back. “I’m not asking for anything from you, I’m offering my assistance in your mission.”

“You live in New York,” he said, monotone in almost one syllable.

If that was his only argument, it was a weak one and she pulled her plate closer to slurp up some more pasta. “I have nothing to go back to, Zave,” she admitted. “I won’t even have a job if I’ve been gone for months.”

“You’re suggesting that you would relocate?”

If that was what it took then she would do it. Rig was her only tie to her previous state. “Yes,” she said without flinching and wasn’t sure if he could understand how her experience had affected her and her perspective. “Some events in life are defining. I can’t go back to slogging my guts out for a paycheck, pretending this didn’t happen. I want to get these bastards.”

Rig had made it clear he’d do the barest minimum to keep her safe. She didn’t have other family or a boyfriend to go rushing back to. There was no one she could share her ordeal with if she returned to New York to try to scrape her life back together. She’d have to pretend that this never happened and let these men keep doing what they were doing without consequence.

Suppressing her trauma would guarantee it ate her alive from the inside. Devon knew she would never be the same person that she’d been before this experience. But she couldn’t be naïve and ignore the evil in the world. She had to do something to fight back. It was vital for her own self-respect and for her sanity.

Zave was shaking his head. “I can’t let you do that,” he said. “All we need from you is information.”

“Information unlocks all secrets,” she said as Bess once had. “I need to know what happens to the information after I’ve given it to you.” Even if she couldn’t be a vital part in the practical aspects of the mission, she wanted to be a support, even just for a short while. “I can’t leave and go back to the way things were. You weren’t there, Zave... You weren’t there.” Suddenly the food became heavy in her stomach. Sitting with this spread of food, in the luxury of this house and the bedroom she’d slept in, she became disgusted with herself and pushed the food away. “I shouldn’t be here.”

“That’s what I’m trying to say,” he said, but it was her turn to shake her head.

Old insecurities and self-doubt rose up within her. “No, you shouldn’t have picked me.”

“You think someone else was more worthy?” he asked, losing his defensive tone he became softer.

“No one would’ve missed me,” she said, staring into her food. “Some of the girls there probably had parents or partners who are desperate for word on their loved ones, who’ll never know the truth of what happened to them.”

“That doesn’t make you expendable. Someone had to catch you before you vanished.”

“No one would’ve noticed,” she murmured, reflecting on the sad commentary of her life.

Rig would’ve been pissed for a while, he’d have stomped about and punched things, but his life wouldn’t have been any different without her in it. He’d kept her far enough away that she had no daily impact on his life.

“I would’ve noticed,” he said, attracting her focus and once again, he was looking right through her. “I did notice you.”

With their eyes locked, they both relived their own experience of the auction night and managed to share their perspectives without words. Her lack of apparel on that stage didn’t make her self-conscious anymore. Somehow, she knew he saw beyond that.

Despite hearing a door opening, she couldn’t tear her attention away from his. Bess was all the way at the side of the table before Devon or Zave broke their stare to look at her.