The next day, I’m just turning into the hospital hallway where Rock’s room is, when I see something that stops me in my tracks.

Coming out of Rock’s room is the mayor of Tanner Springs, Jarred fuckin’ Holloway.

It’s such a surreal image that for a second I can hardly believe my eyes. Holloway hates the Lords of Carnage. Or rather, he loves to blame the Lords for what he’s fond of calling the “unprecedented crime wave” that supposedly hit Tanner Springs about a year before he was elected. It’s what he campaigned on, creating all manner of boogeymen to make the citizens of our fair city freak the fuck out and start locking their doors against us at night. Even though Tanner Springs was, and still is, one of the safest towns around — mainly because of our club. The Lords have done our bit to keep order in the city limits, because the less crime there is here, the less heat and attention there is on us.

Which leaves us freer to do what we please, outside of town and in the confines of our clubhouse.

So, Holloway gets elected on this “holy hell, it’s a crime wave!” fake bullshit — which he knows is fake — and then after his election, he gets to sit back and announce that crime has gone down and the streets are safe again. Meanwhile, he and the police force he packed with his toadies do absolutely fuck-all, because they don’t have to.

I gotta hand it to Holloway, he’s a lazy piece of shit, but a clever one.

Holloway doesn’t see me right away, since as soon as he’s out in the hallway he pulls out his cell phone and starts tapping on it. By the time he looks up, we’re almost eye to eye. He startles for a second, but then almost instantaneously, his mask slips into place. His mouth contorts into a polished smile of even white teeth. I’ve seen him give that exact same smile to pretty much every person in Tanner Springs. I wonder how many of them notice that his smile never reaches his emotionless, dead-fish eyes.

I have a sudden impulse to punch him, just for the pleasure of it, but somehow I resist. It ain’t worth the headache, even though I know it’d feel goddamn fantastic. I don’t bother making casual small talk with him, because Holloway knows I can’t fuckin’ stand him. Instead, I narrow my eyes and sneer at him, altering my path so I come just a little closer to him as I pass. His shitty politician’s smile falters and he darts to the side. When he’s safely past me, he clears his throat and keeps walking like nothing happened.

Jesus Christ, I hate that little prick.

Rock’s alone when I get to his room.

“What the fuck was Holloway doin’ in here?” I ask as I come in, jerking my thumb back toward the hallway.

“What?” Rock looks up sharply, seeming alarmed, but then after a second he lets out an abrupt chuckle. “Oh, yeah, that. He just had the wrong room. Came in here by mistake.”

“You sure about that?” I cock my head at him. “I don’t trust that fucker as far as I can throw him. Though I could probably throw that asshole pretty damn far. Preferably through a plate glass window.” I grab a chair and flip it around, then sit down and rest my elbows on it. “You want the club to station someone outside, to stand guard? Keep old Holloway from making any more ‘mistakes’?”

“Nah,” he waves me off. “It’s fine. I’ll be gettin’ out of here soon, anyway. The doc says if I take it easy I can probably leave tomorrow.”

“That’s good news.” I reach up to my pocket for a smoke, but then remember where I am. “You had any visitors today?”

“Thorn’s here,” Rock replies. “He’s down at the cafeteria, gettin’ some coffee with Isabel on her break.”

I grin. “He visitin’ you, or her?”

Rock snorts. “Good damn question.”

“How you feelin’?”

“Like shit. But don’t tell them that, for Chrissake, or they’ll never let me leave.” He shifts in the bed, wincing a little. “What’s the word on the drop for the Outlaw Sons? Everything good?”

“Yeah. It’s been pushed back a little, though. We’re goin’ out there in a couple days. Angel’s on top of things. Don’t worry, Rock, it’s handled.”

But Rock doesn’t seem reassured. “We’ll see,” he grunts, his brow furrowing.

I figure he’s feelin’ pissed being cooped up here and having to let Angel do his job, so I don’t say anything more. Instead, I distract the prez with news about what’s been goin’ on at the clubhouse. I tell him how much shit Lug Nut’s been gettin’ lately for showin’ us the yoga moves Eden taught him. “Everyone’s been callin’ him Yogi ever since,” I say, and Rock starts laughing so hard I feel like maybe I’m not supposed to get him so worked up. “He might be lookin’ at a change of road name, whether he likes it or not.”

Rock’s still chuckling quietly when the door swings open behind me. Isabel comes into the room dressed in her nurse’s scrubs, followed by Thorn.

“Hey, brother. Isabel.” I stand. “What’s up?”

“The coffee in the cafeteria is a goddamn abomination, that’s what’s up.” Thorn’s face is contorted with disgust. “Sweet baby Jesus, I don’t know how they can get away with sellin’ that shite. There should be a law against offering something so vile to people whose loved ones are sick.”

Isabel laughs softly. “You do get used to it. Which, to be honest, is probably not a good thing.”

I look at her and motion to the seat I just vacated, but Isabel shakes her head. “I can’t stay,” she says, glancing up at Thorn. “He’s claimed all my break time. I should be getting back.”

“I’ll walk you out, then,” I reply. “I’ll let Thorn have a turn with the old man.”

“Fuck you with that old man shit,” Rock says irritably.

Thorn shoots me a grin. “You headin’ to the clubhouse?” he asks me.

“Eventually. But I thought I’d drop by Twisted Pipes first.”

“All right. I’ll see you.”

Thorn pulls Isabel to him, giving her a long, deep kiss that goes on just long enough for Rock to clear his throat. “Okay, okay. That’s enough of that bullshit,” he mutters, only half joking.

Thorn snorts and releases Isabel, who rolls her eyes playfully at Rock. “You,” she points at him. “Get some rest. And you,” she continues, turning to her man, “Don’t overstay your welcome. Rock might look fine, but he’s still in here for a reason.”

I go out into the hallway with Isabel. As we walk down the hall, I notice she looks tired, and her face is pinched. Even though her job is hard, she’s usually smiling and happy when she’s here at the hospital. But not today.

“You okay, Iz?” I ask her. “You don’t seem yourself.”

“I’m fine,” she says, her voice strained. “I’m just a little upset. I was telling Thorn about this in the cafeteria. A girl was brought in a little while ago. She’s young, maybe fourteen or so. Doesn’t really speak English other than a couple of words. She was barefoot, no identification. Barely even dressed.” Isabel’s face is covered in worry. “I think she might have been locked up somewhere. Like a slave,” she says. “And from the look of the clothes she came in wearing, I’m afraid I know what kind of slave.”

“Shit. Are you for real?” My mind instantly goes to Brooke, and why she’s in town. “Sex trafficking?”

“It seems like it,” she nods sadly. “She sure wasn’t wearing a maid’s uniform.”

“Holy shit.” The gears in my head start to turn. I run a hand through my hair, thinking. “Isabel. Could you take me to her room?”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Beast.” She looks suddenly uncomfortable. “I probably shouldn’t have talked about this with you. Or Thorn, for that matter. It was unprofessional of me.”

“Come on, darlin’.” I put my hand on her shoulder and look down into her sad eyes. “Look, I got a reason for asking. I know someone who’s in town right now. Someone who’s here investigating a trafficking tip. A fed.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah. I am.”

I watch her as she processes what I’ve just told her. “Wow,” she murmurs, lost in thought. “I was thinking that once we managed to find someone who speaks her language, we should probably call the police. But we’re not there yet. We’re still trying to track down the blue phone.”

“What blue phone?” I ask, puzzled.

“The CyraCom.” She looks up at me. “It’s a blue bag, with this blue phone in it, and a booklet. The booklet has a message in it, written in a bunch of different languages. When you have someone who doesn’t speak English, and you don’t have an interpreter for them on hand, you have the patient look through the book until they recognize their language and point at it for you. Then we can call a number on the blue phone, and we’ll get an interpreter in that language to help us communicate with the patient.”

“Huh,” I say, impressed. “That’s a pretty fuckin’ cool idea.”

“It is,” she nods. “Especially for smaller facilities like ours, who don’t have a lot of people on hand who speak different languages. Hospitals are required to have one. But we hardly ever use ours, so no one knows where it is. It’ll turn up, I’m sure. But in the meantime, we just have to wait, and treat her as best we can.” Isabel bites her lip. “I just hope she knows how to read.”

“Look,” I say, making a decision. “I’m gonna go talk to this person I know. If it’s what you think it is, this girl deserves to have someone listen to her story. And you and I both know that the Tanner Springs police are worthless.” I look her in the eye. “We good on this?”

Isabel takes a reluctant breath. “I’m not the person to make that decision, Beast. But as of now, she’s just a patient with no identification being treated for minor cuts and bruises and exposure. We’re not barring people from visiting her. So…” she shrugs. “I mean, your friend can come try to talk to her, and unless the girl refuses, the hospital won’t stop him.”

“Her,” I correct.

She raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment. “Okay. I better get back to work. Oh, and Beast? Don’t ask for her room number at the information desk. They won’t give it to you.” Silently, she mouths: Three-oh-four.

“Got it. I’ll be in touch.”