A second shadow slanted across the windshield. “Get that blond bitch. She saw me. And hurry up. She called the cops,” the first man said.
The driver’s door handle rattled. “You’ll have to pull her out that side. The door’s stuck.”
“Fuck it. Just go. We need to get out of here.” They dragged Jewel from the vehicle. One of them reached back into the vehicle and took Hannah’s purse and phone from the floorboard.
Minutes later, men shouted. Footsteps approached. Hannah’s vision blurred as her eyes teared.
“Miss, are you all right?” Someone was at the car window. “Hold on. The police are pulling into the lot.”
Too late. Sirens blared, and voices shouted. The emergency crew arrived, pried the door open, and lifted her out of the vehicle. A single idea dominated her thoughts: in the span of five minutes, she’d failed, and that poor girl was gone.
Chapter Three
Mother. Fucker.
What to do?
Smoothing his goatee, Mick glanced over the seat at the girl lying prone on the floor of the SUV. “You just fucking don’t get it, do you?”
Her only response was a whole-body flinch. The two girls who shared the second row of seats in the big SUV had drawn their legs up onto the seats. Three more girls crowded the third row. None would so much as look at Jewel, as if the sight of her was enough to earn them a pounding.
Maybe it would.
Mick had learned early on in this business there was nothing like a good beating to make a girl behave.
“What are you going to do with her?” His little brother, Sam, glanced at him from the driver’s seat. A cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth. One hand dangled over the top of the SUV steering wheel. His white wifebeater showed off full sleeves of multicolored tats covering wiry arms and shoulders.
“I want to kill her.”
“That would be fun.” At twenty-three, his skinny brother was a Chihuahua, small but always eager to attack. Regret filled Sam’s words. “The boss would be pissed.”
They both went quiet for a second, remembering their last meeting with the boss, when Mr. K had personally castrated one of his other lieutenants before slitting the man’s throat. Bad management skills weren’t tolerated.
“You’re right,” Mick said.
Sam was the only person on earth that Mick trusted.
His little bro could kill effectively with any weapon, explosives, or his bare hands. The US Army had trained him well, then kicked him out when his love for violence became too apparent over in Iraq. Sam had never been the same after he’d come back. Instead of PTSD, Sam had acquired a bloodlust that he couldn’t legally satisfy back in the States. Killing was as natural to him as swimming to a dog.
“She’ll pay.” Sam flicked his cigarette out the window. “Just in another way.”
Curled on the floor of the SUV, the girl cringed. Mick craned his head over the seat. “I’ve told you this a hundred times: We own you. If you try to run, we will hurt you. What is it about that statement you don’t get?”
Sam steered the SUV off the main highway and drove into a residential area. Small, cracked houses squatted on small, cracked lots of dried earth. He turned right and passed two vacant properties before pulling into a stained concrete driveway. A small whimper sounded from the backseat as he shifted the car into park.
“You gonna kill the blond?” Sam asked. “She saw us.”
Mick scratched his goatee. “Maybe.”
“It’d be fun.” The gleam in Sam’s eyes caught the moonlight. “No restrictions on her. I’ll do it for you if you want to keep your hands clean.”
It wouldn’t be the first time Sam had killed for him. At the age of twelve, he’d taken out the neighborhood bully with a hammer to the head to defend his brother. That kind of loyalty couldn’t be bought. Not that Mick had needed the help, but he’d wanted to consider all his options. He had a tendency to overthink a situation. They hadn’t been caught, and Mick had learned to trust his little brother’s killer instincts.
Jewel groaned.
Mick leaned over the seat. “Hear that, Jewel? Whatever happens to that bitch is on your hands. You involved her in this.” He got out and opened the back door. “Let’s go.”
Five girls made a hasty exit, but Jewel, with her hands tied behind her back, was wedged in tight. He pulled the knife out of his pocket and unfolded the blade. Her eyes widened as he leaned over her. His hand trembled. He wanted to do it. But she didn’t belong to him. She belonged to Mr. K.
The boss had hammered the math into Mick’s head. An ounce of cocaine or a hit of crack can only be sold once. A girl can be sold hundreds of times.