Chapter 31
Alex

His heart hammered in his chest. Alex hoped Faith couldn’t tell how terrified he was, though the adrenaline had started to overpower the fear. When he’d agreed to this so-called stakeout, he’d thought the worst they would find would be a bunch of kids drinking, smoking, and vandalizing the island. Sure, the KKK arsonists and vandals were off-putting, but this is the South. He could see how such overt racism would shock somebody like Faith, but unfortunately for Alex it hadn’t been surprising.

Seeing millions of dollars of cocaine being unloaded, though? Worse, human trafficking—likely sex trafficking? That he hadn’t been prepared for. When he’d packed the pistols, it had almost been an afterthought. More for peace of mind than anything else.

He willed his breath to steady as he made his way down the path. This trail wasn’t burned into his psyche like the trails near Greystone. Roots reached for his feet, and he stumbled. Alex didn’t have a plan. There was a small part of him, a part he was ashamed of, that hoped he wouldn’t be able to find them.

“Vámanos!” The grizzly voice with the wretched Spanish accent was just around the corner. The traffickers didn’t seem to be using flashlights. The moon was enough for them.

Alex had a feeling this particular crew wasn’t the same as those who had lit the house on fire. Nah. They probably hired some low-level thugs for that, he thought. This was a professional ring.

He pressed himself against a massive oak and listened to the sounds on the other side.

“Ten cuidado,” one of the traffickers said.

He heard the sound of a boot hitting flesh and a low cry from one of the girls.

“Fuckin’ spics,” one of the men said. “Lazy as hell. Rodney, you Gonna have to help ʼem.”

“Y’all ain’t doin’ shit,” a man said. It must have been Rodney. “Y’all can’t help, too?”

“Me?” one of the men laughed. “Shit, one of us gotta supervise.”

“I think this coke’s gettin’ heavier,” Rodney said with a grunt.

A smattering of Spanish broke out. Alex heard a slap. “Cállate. Volver a trabajo,” one of the men said.

Alex peeked around the tree and saw the girls as they were forced to pick up and carry the bricks. They transferred the bricks from the trolley used to get the cocaine from the bank to a bigger cart that was easier to navigate. Where the hell did they have that hidden?

When he saw the men up close, he realized there were four of them. Three of them he recognized from trips on the ferry or markets on the mainland. All but Rodney, who worked among the girls, were stationed in a lazy cluster toward the rear of the group. Each of the three men cradled a few bricks in their big hands but seemed to leisurely enjoy the show before them.

That’s one advantage, at least, Alex thought. The men seemed at ease, completely sure of their anonymity out here. How many times have they done this? Alex thought.

One of the girls paused to yank her hair into a ponytail. However, one of the three men was faster. He rested a cigarette between his lips, reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small whip. It was black, leather, likely from a sex shop rather than a grange or feed shop. Still, she cried out when he whipped her across the back of her legs.

“Damn, Frank,” one of the men said. “Not on the legs. These bitches gotta ways to walk, and customers want ʼem lookin’ pretty.”

“Pretty?” Frank asked with a laugh. “They as pretty as any wetback Gonna get. She Gonna walk it off just fine. Ain’t that right, mamacita?” he said.

The girl could tell she was expected to smile, and she shot a grimace toward Frank as she picked up another brick to transfer.

Alex took in the three men and ignored Rodney. He was obviously at the bottom of the totem pole. The other three had their hands full of cigarettes and bricks, which they tucked like children into their arms. He scanned their bodies for firearms. Surely they had them, but they were either in ankle holsters or behind their backs.

He’d have to pick them off one by one as best he could.

“I gotta take a piss,” one of the men said.

“You need one of these bitches to hold yo’ hand or somethin’?” Frank asked. “Y’all don’t need permission. Go on.”

The man bristled slightly at Frank’s tone. As he stalked off into the woods, Alex scanned his body. He didn’t see a gun in the back waistband, but that didn’t mean the man wasn’t packing.

Alex backtracked slightly and moved through the trees. The one who searched out a place to piss whistled as he walked. Thanks for the cover, Alex thought. A few yards away from everyone else, the man stopped in front of a magnolia tree with his back to Alex.

“You need one of these bitches to hold yo’ hand?” the man mimicked. “Fuckin’ Frank.”

Alex waited for the sound of a zipper, of urine to hit the tree. It didn’t happen. Instead, he watched the man pull a pocketknife out and cut into the brick. Even just with moonlight, he could see how snowy white the powder was.

The man dipped a finger into it and brought it to his mouth to test. “That’s the shit,” he said to himself.

Alex glanced behind him, toward the rest of the group, but they seemed to be hard at work. He heard the snort of the man in front of him, gripped his handgun, and rushed the large man.

When he was a foot away from him, the man turned. His eyes were wide with surprise, and the powder had streaked from his nose to his lip. “What the—”

Before he could finish, Alex pistol-whipped him in the head. He’d thought he’d get the back of his head, maybe the neck, but the butt of the gun landed squarely between the eyes. A burst of blood exploded into the air and sprayed across Alex’s shirt. The man hit the ground with a thud while the brick fell from his hands.

“Joe?” one of the men called out. “You taking a shit out there or what?”

Alex steadied his breathing and waited. “Joe? Motherfucker,” he heard one of the men say. “That bastard took one o’ the bricks with ʼim. I’mma be right back.”

Alex looked around wildly, but there was no way to hide Joe’s massive body sprawled across the ground. Instead, he raced to a tree between Joe and the man who approached. At least he could take him by surprise.

“Joe?” The man who came through the woods wasn’t Frank—and, fortunately, he didn’t have a gun pulled. “What you doin’—goddamn it.” The man stopped three feet away from Alex and bent down to tie his shoelace.

The timing couldn’t have been more perfect. Alex jumped him. This time, he got the back of the head. He was grateful he didn’t have to look this monster in the eye. Like Joe, this one also went down nearly in silence, just a small grunt.

Now what? It was just Frank and Rodney left, and he had a feeling Rodney wouldn’t be a major threat. But Frank, the boss? He was surely locked and loaded. And it wouldn’t be long before he came in search of his minions.

Alex leaned back against the tree and tried to anticipate the next best move. Should he wait it out here or take the offensive?

He listened for any clues from the trail but only heard the shuffle of feet and the occasional drop of a brick onto a stack. Frank and Rodney were silent. Alex knew that couldn’t be a good sign.

He started to make his way back to the trail, giving it a wide berth. Alex hoped they couldn’t hear his footsteps. Maybe if I come up the trail the way they’re headed, it’ll catch them by surprise. He knew it wouldn’t be long until one of them found the unconscious bodies in the woods. Damn, I should have taken their pictures, Alex thought. He didn’t know if he’d make it out of this alive. But at least he could have left behind some type of evidence of who was behind all this.

Finally, he came to the overgrown path they would soon be headed down. It couldn’t be much longer before all the bricks were stacked. Alex hugged the edge of the trail and started to sneak toward the crew. Suddenly, the girls came into view. He saw Rodney alongside them, but Frank was nowhere to be seen. Shit.

Alex sneaked into the bushes that skirted the trail. Then he saw Frank. The man frowned at the girls and surveyed the area. He had deep crevices in his face, bushy brows, and a mean slit of a mouth. Without warning, he walked toward the wagon and placed his brick on it. He looked at Rodney and jerked his head.

Rodney stopped in his tracks, shoved a brick into one of the girls’ hands, and bounded to Frank’s side.

What the hell?

He watched Frank drop his head and whisper something to Rodney, who nodded eagerly.

Just as Alex started to recede farther into the bush, Frank and Rodney turned with inhuman speed toward him and opened fire. Fuck. The bullets missed, though two whizzed through the bushes and shook the leaves.

Alex tumbled backward to an oak tree and waited for the hail of bullets to stop. He could hear the girls screaming between the shots. As soon as there was a break, he leaned out from behind the tree and took aim.

Frank was no stupid southern redneck. He stood behind the girls and used them as a shield. Rodney was another story. He stood stubbornly in the middle of the trail. Alex took aim, but even as he fired the shot, he knew it was way off.

He’d never been much for hunting, and clay pigeons or the shooting range were nothing like this. Alex was a decent aim, but he couldn’t bring himself to fire anywhere close to the girls. Even though Rodney was eight feet from them, it was too close for Alex’s comfort.

Still, just the sight of Alex taking shots at them was enough to make Rodney panic. He screamed, high pitched, and fired wildly into the night.

And Frank smiled. In that moment, Alex realized Rodney had probably always been on the crew as a distraction. Frank raised his pistol and took aim at Alex, even as Rodney hollered into the night. Move, Alex told himself. Move!

He barely made it back behind the tree in time. Pieces of bark flew off the trunk as Frank’s shots came as close as they could. What does he have, anyway? A Colt? Whatever it was, it couldn’t hold that many bullets. Then again, neither could Alex’s. He only had four left in the chamber. Fuck. I should have checked the other guys’ bodies for firearms.

Rodney’s screeches stopped, and Alex could just make out quiet whimpers and cries from the girls.

Frank let out a low wolf whistle, like he’d just spotted a gorgeous woman on the street. “Come out, come out,” Frank called in a singsongy voice.

Alex heard the chamber of Frank’s gun snap closed. He’d just reloaded.

Frank fired another shot into the tree. It shook the entire trunk. “Wherever you are,” Frank called. Another shot hit the tree and bark flew.

As soon as the shot stopped, Alex peered out from behind the tree again. Rodney now stood next to Frank behind the girls.

Four of them were curled up and rested on their haunches with their arms over their heads. One of them started to keen, a feral cry, and Frank didn’t even bother to stop her.

Rodney held one girl in front of them, though most of her body protected Frank. She clawed at his forearm, but it was locked tight across her chest. Her bare feet dug into the dirt, and even from fifty feet away, Alex could see the whites of her eyes. “Por favor, please, no quiero morir,” she begged. When that failed, she started to pray. Her Hail Mary rang through the night. “Dios te salve, Maria, llena eres de gracia . . .”

“I see you!” Frank called out, his voice full of cheer.

“Bendita tú eres entre todas las mujeres . . .” the girl in Rodney’s arms cried. Alex raised his pistol to take a shot, but he knew he wouldn’t. There was no way he could guarantee he’d miss the girls. With a groan of frustration, he went back behind the tree.

“ . . . Santa Maria, Madre de Dios, ruega por nosotros pecadores . . .”

“I don’t think he wants to play with us,” Frank said to either Rodney or the girls.

Alex’s heart began to race. He was stuck. At this point, he hadn’t heard Frank reload. Everyone probably had the same number of bullets left—four at the most. And what happens when we all run out?

“ . . . ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte.”

“Amen!” Rodney shouted.

“Ready or not.” Frank’s voice lilted in melody. “Here I come.”