She picked up the shampoo but didn’t recognize the brand. It looked expensive and smelled divine. She bought her toiletries at the discount store.
Someone opened the door, and Elena immediately covered herself. The matron returned carrying clean clothes. “Put these on.” She picked up Elena’s neatly stacked ones and walked out.
Relieved she wouldn’t have to dress in her dirty slacks, stained white blouse, and soiled undergarments, she finished washing. After she towel dried, she looked at what the woman had brought.
Horror raced through her. The panty was a thong, the bra wouldn’t even cover her nipples, and the skirt might not go over her rear. The shirt looked five sizes too small and was a low V-neck. Mother, Mary, and Joseph. If her mother saw her, she would die a hundred deaths.
Elena placed her palms together and began to pray.
Chapter Two
Christ. “This is worse than a sleazy ‘B’ movie,” Dirk said.
The sale was being held in a seedy strip club. The neon lights rimming the outside had several of the letters unlit. He’d never been here before, which he considered a good thing on many levels. One, places like this disgusted him, and two, none of the employees could recognize him.
For their own safety, he and Clay had opted out of wearing a wire. Hood’s men would identify them as werewolves. What they wouldn’t know was whether they were members of the Pack, if they belonged to a Colter organization like Hood’s, or if they were random shifters who were interested in beefing up their stock of women.
When they stepped through the main entrance, the music blared, the smoke-filled room clogged his sinuses, and the stench of bodies became unbearable. To a human, the smell might have been passable, but not to him. It took most of his control not to cover his nose.
Women gyrated around poles and a few men with drinks waved dollar bills at the scantily clad dancers. Dirk had met a few girls like these. Some were trying to pay off college loans, but many were into drugs or had given up on life. They’d turned to dancing at strip clubs as a way to keep food on the table. He wished he could help them, but a man could only do so much.
Clay flashed their invitation, and the redhead smiled. “Right this way, gentlemen.” She led them past the customers down a long hallway. “It’s the last door on your right.”
Showtime.
Dirk was more angry than anxious. He wanted to shift and tear Hood’s throat out for what he was doing to helpless girls. But unless they stamped out the head honcho, along with the entire organization, the Colters would keep on coming. Too bad they had yet to identify the mastermind behind the group. The only name linked to this human trafficking scheme was Harvey Couch’s, who was dead, and now, John Hood’s.
Killing Hood wouldn’t solve the human trafficking problem, either. Even reaching the head Colter would only interrupt things for a while. Leaders always had replacements nearby.
Clay knocked on the door and entered. This hallway led to another room and then another. Talk about a maze. They finally reached a long corridor with rooms on both sides. The place smelled as if the girls were doused in cheap perfume. Two things struck him as odd. No privacy existed. Each door contained a window. Secondly, a guard stood in front of each one as if someone expected trouble.
As soon as they walked by the first guard, the door at the end of the corridor opened. An older man dressed in a black pinstripe suit, polished loafers, and more rings than a five-time Super bowl winner stepped forward. He graced them with a wide smile. Hood.
His stone cold eyes shot a shiver up Dirk’s spine. At the malevolent vibe radiating off the man, it took a lot of control not to do battle, but he and Clay wouldn’t get within ten feet of the guy with all his men around.
The werewolf moved forward with the grace of his kind and held out his hand. “Gentlemen. John Hood.”
The man’s accent threw Dirk off balance. Russian, he’d guess. The general’s intel never uncovered this fact. The stakes just shot higher. Then Dirk’s body responded to something else nearby. He couldn’t figure out why the urge to shift enveloped him. Everyone in the hallway was a werewolf, so that didn’t explain it.
I’m feeling odd. Maybe Clay had an explanation.
Me, too, but keep cool.
Not being in control bugged the shit out of him. Going undercover at the exact moment his body decided to go haywire wasn’t a good omen.
“Gentlemen, tell me what you’re looking for in a woman. Perhaps I can guide you.”
Just then, the door they’d entered through opened, and Dirk glanced behind him. Two more gentlemen he didn’t recognize walked in. Neither were shifters. Interesting. Hood nodded to them as if he knew them well. Both men acknowledged the guard stationed at the second door on the right and slipped into the room. Dirk hoped Elena wasn’t the one in there.