Deuces Wild Read online

  But… was she really lost to anyone besides me?

  I scanned the pictures – printouts from the video feed – again, searching for something, anything, to stand out. Her features were familiar – she looked like me. Not identical, but close as hell. Her lips were like mine. Her jaw was like mine. Her nose was like mine. Her eyes were like mine, but...lifeless. Despondent.

  Like she needed rescuing.

  And if the tiny rose tattooed just above her right breast was any indication… she did.

  I had one just like it, that I always made sure to keep covered. Once upon a time I’d been proud of the symbol of my transition. To woman, from child. From human to… rosebud. I’d carried that designation for just a year, until I turned eighteen. Then, I became a rose.

  The men were thorns.

  Her having that tattoo, in that place, wasn’t a coincidence. It couldn’t be. They were all very specific, always identical, every single time. That exact rose near the armpit for the women, a band of thorns around the bicep for the men.

  She’d been at the Belrose Compound.

  But in what capacity? And why the hell did she have my face?

  “I have to find this woman,” I whispered, as my eyes landed on the man beside her. My profession had given me a certain proficiency at spotting creeps, and I knew for certain that I was looking at one. From his greasy ponytail to the way she flinched every time he spoke, my mind wouldn’t process a conclusion outside of a scenario where she was being held under duress.

  Even that night I’d first seen her – the casual glance through the window that had changed my life – I saw it in her eyes. The simultaneous emptiness and fear… one of the hallmarks of trafficking.

  It was the reason my search had started with seedy brothels.

  “Well,” King started, scrubbing a hand over his chin. “I would say that I’ll get somebody to look into it for you, but…”

  “I’m the somebody you would call on to do the looking,” I nodded. “I know. I just… I really don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know this woman’s name, or who she is, and I… I can’t go through normal channels for this. This is different.”

  He shrugged. “Why?”

  “Why?” I scoffed, then pointed to the tattoo, visible above the line of her strapless dress. “Because nobody just “looks into” the Belroses. I was lucky enough that they honored the agreement made with your parents all those years ago, but I cannot go running into this willy-nilly. If they came after your family because of me—”

  “Fuck that,” King interrupted. “You deserve to have the truth. I can call in a favor with the police, maybe get them to use facial recognition on the picture. That would get you a name at least.”

  Sitting down at the counter, I dropped my head into my hands. “So, what… you think it’s gonna be that simple? Tell the police, hey, this family of arms dealers in France has a secret compound they use to brainwash teenagers into highly-trained assassins, signified by a very specific tattoo. Here’s one of them, maybe, on this picture. Think you can give me a name? Oh, and by the way, I’m one of them too! The Whitfield family won me in wager!”

  “You finished with the sarcastic bullshit?” he asked, once I’d stopped talking to prop my hands under my chin.

  We stared for a few seconds, and then I nodded. “Yes. Sorry.”

  “Good. And for the record, no, I don’t think it’s that simple. I’m just offering suggestions, trying to help your mean ass.”

  I blew out a sigh. “I know. I know.”

  “Well, if you know, tell me what I can do to help,” he said, shrugging. “Whatever we can do to help, you name it. The Whitfield resources are at your feet.”

  “Thank you,” I nodded, blinking back infuriatingly sudden tears. His family had already given so much, made so many allowances, that it felt a little unfair to accept the offer.

  But this wasn’t about fairness anymore. I’d had a good look at her face. I’d seen that tattoo. Now, it was about necessity.

  King gave me a nod of his own, and then with one last glance at those pictures, he left the kitchen, undoubtedly to join his fiancée in bed.

  It had been a long night.

  But I wasn’t tired.

  In fact, my energy was renewed.

  It was true that I couldn’t go through normal channels to figure this out, which made this even more challenging, but I wasn’t one to shy away from that. I’d find the answers I needed, no matter what I had to do to get there.

  I’d never been one to back down, and I wasn’t about to start now.

  Three.

  “Did you see all that blood? Where was it from? Was it—”

  “Shhh! Please!”

  “But—”

  Goddamn it!

  I let out a growl as my fist connected with the heavy bag, quickly following that blow with one from my foot. I was trying my damnedest to knock the bag from the chain, pouring every ounce of energy I could summon into my training for the day. My goal was utter physical exhaustion, with the desperate hope that the fatigue would leave me with just one choice – sleep.

  I’d been at it for hours, to the point that my bike shorts and sports bra were soaked with perspiration, and had become clammy against my skin. But I was still upright, which meant I wasn’t finished. I planted my feet, digging deep into my energy reserves for another attack on the heavy bag.

  It wasn’t over until my limbs felt like wet noodles.

  Sleep was getting higher and higher on the list of things I’d commit unspeakable deeds for, but I wasn’t yet at the point of unscrewing the bottle of pills I kept in the medicine cabinet for this purpose. I preferred lucidity, which wasn’t exactly the hallmark of narcotic drugs.

  Then again, sleep deprivation wasn’t exactly good for mental clarity either.

  This training session was my final attempt – tire myself out so completely that sleep was inexorable, no matter how much my brain rebelled against the images that haunted my dreams. If enduring disjointed nightmares was the cost of getting the physical rest my body badly needed… so be it.

  By absolute necessity, grit had been exhaustively trained into me. There were no allowances because you were emotional, or even incapacitated. You did your job or you were eradicated, period. There was no room for error. No second chances.

  Do, or die.

  The fact that my professional efficacy was being completely derailed by these visions, by this strange, familiar woman…. It was offensive. This level of weakness was beneath me.

  I sucked in a deep breath and corrected my stance for one last attack, fully intent on either tearing the bag from the ceiling, or passing out from the attempt. Before I had a chance to move though, a loud chime sounded, so unfamiliar to me that it took a moment to realize it was my doorbell.

  I was so rarely in my own home that I barely knew what it sounded like.

  And I wasn’t expecting visitors.

  I’d made it clear in the meeting with my staff earlier in the afternoon that I didn’t wish to be disturbed. Our clients were all covered, so I was taking the rest of the day off, with no intention of looking at or talking to anyone. Most of my friends worked with me at my personal security firm, and the ones who didn’t, knew better than to come by without calling, which was just manners honestly.

  A lesson that had been skipped by whoever the hell was at my door.

  I shook my arms as I headed down the hall from my home gym, trying to rid myself of the tension that came with the annoyance of being interrupted. Instead of going straight to the door, I stopped at the tablet affixed to the wall nearby, tapping a few buttons to pull up the camera at the door.

  My eyes narrowed at the familiar face on-screen.

  With my annoyance dialed at least two notches higher than it had already been, I moved on to the door, unlocking and pulling it open. Crossing my arms, I locked eyes with the person on the other side, making no attempt to camouflage my disdain.

>   “What the hell do you want?”

  On the other side of the threshold, Cree Bradley grinned – a sight I enjoyed much more than I cared to admit. I absolutely hated the way his physical presence affected me, because I didn’t want to be attracted to him. Not that there was anything wrong with golden brown skin or neatly trimmed beards or broad shoulders or nice teeth or long legs. The problem was the man himself.

  “Good afternoon to you too, Alicia,” he replied, in a casual tone that irked me even further as he leaned against my open door frame, hands pushed into the pockets of his slacks. “Or should I be calling you the Dark Knight? Or would it be a dame, since you’re a woman…?”

  I frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  He eyes roved my face for a moment before he answered. “That’s a conversation we should probably have inside.”

  “I am not inviting you into my home.”

  His eyebrows went up. “Oh? You want to talk about your involvement in the Playpen raid out here in the open?”

  Immediate tension locked into my shoulders at his words, and after a few seconds, I stepped back, motioning for him to come in.

  “Yeah,” he said, wearing a smirk that begged to be smacked off his face. “I figured that might change your mind.”

  I closed the door behind him once he’d stepped inside, then turned to face him. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about, but I’d rather not have my neighbors thinking I fraternize with your kind.”

  He put a hand to his chest in faux offense. “My kind? What kind, exactly, is that?” he asked, eyes glittering with amusement as he stepped a little closer, but stayed out of range for me to sock him in the face.

  “I am quite sure you already know the answer to that.”

  My disdain for law enforcement was very high, and my trust and respect for them was very low. Corruption was prevalent, and there was no reason for me or anyone else to have any hope that would improve, not when the people in power were the crooks.

  Cree… was an exception.

  I knew for a fact that he was a good man, with a steadfast sense of right and wrong. He’d somehow managed to not let loyalty to a uniform trump his moral center – had pulled strings to do the right thing, instead of maintaining some false adherence to unwritten rules.

  But none of that meant he wasn’t an arrogant asshole.

  “So you’ve got beef with LVPD… but it didn’t keep you from calling my precinct to give an “anonymous” tip, did it?”

  I scoffed. “I have better things to do than listening to your fabrications.”

  “Fabrications?” Cree’s eyebrows folded together as he frowned, then pulled his cell phone from his pocket. He tapped a few buttons, and then held it up, as an audio file started playing.

  Playing the message I’d left for him.

  “What is this supposed to prove?” I shrugged, willing myself not to break my casual façade. In addition to scrambling my number, I’d purposely used an app that modified the pitch and cadence of my words – I may have been doing the talking, but it sounded nothing like me. So much so that I was very confident in adding, “that could be anybody.”

  He nodded. “It could be anybody, but it isn’t, is it? It’s you.”

  “Again – I have better things I could be doing, so unless you’re accusing me of a crime—”

  “Accusing you of a crime?” Cree chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah, I’m not here for that. I’m here looking for a… how did Roach describe you… you remember him, right?”

  Shit.

  “Detective Bradley, I can’t say I’ve ever considered a roach to be anything more than a disgusting, inhuman thing to be crushed under my foot. Not something to remember.”

  “Wow. That’s interesting, because he definitely remembers a “fine ass, redbone bitch with long braids”.” Cree’s eyes went to my hair, still in last night’s cornrows. “Does that sound as familiar to you as it sounds to me?”

  “This is cute and all,” I told him, stepping into his face. “But I’m not the only pretty, light-skinned bitch with braids in Vegas.”

  Cree bit his lip, then grinned. “But you just might be the only one brave enough to force her way into a sex trafficking ring with her homegirls, release hostages, and leave the bad guys tied up for the police to find – hence, the Dark Knight reference.”

  “As flattering as it is that you think I’m a superhero, you’ve got the wrong girl,” I shot back, maintaining an attitude even though the clean, earthy scent of his cologne was making it hard to stand still. I glared right into his face, daring him to do anything other than accepting what I was saying.

  At first, he didn’t back down, holding my gaze with just as much indignation as I was giving him. But then, his eyes dropped, traveling down from my face to take in my half-naked, sweat-soaked appearance for seemingly the first time.

  Slowly –appreciatively? – he shook his head. “Nah… I don’t think I do.”

  I smirked, then raised a hand, using his preoccupation with my body as a chance to weave his tie between my fingers, teasing him. “Detective Bradley… if you had some evidence of wrongdoing, I’d be in handcuffs right now.”

  Bringing his attention back to my face, he grinned. “Damn… this feels like déjà vu.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You don’t remember? You and I have been in damn near this exact position before.”

  My eyebrow hiked up. “Oh. You mean that day you showed up at Kingston’s place with bullshit allegations. Him harassing some French guy, me wanting to fuck you. You’re a big fan of fairytales, aren’t you?”

  Cree chuckled. “You know what? I’m man enough to admit that I was wrong about Kingston harassing Sebastian Gray. That was my bad. That other thing though… I still think I’m right about that.”

  I tugged at his tie, bringing his head down, just as I had during the incident he was referring to, damn near two years ago at this point. With barely the length of a dollar bill between us, I smiled. “Just like I told you before, if I wanted to fuck you –”

  “I’d already be on my back,” he finished for me, tweaking the end of one of the braids hanging over the front of my shoulder. In doing so, the back of his hand brushed my bare torso, setting off a reflexive sigh deep in my throat. He smirked. “Yeah. If you say so.”

  I immediately broke contact with him, releasing his tie and stepping out of range to be touched. “I’m tired of looking at your face. Get to the point, and go.”

  He smiled. “You said you were tired of my face last time too.”

  “What do you want?!” I snapped, nostrils flared.

  “To know who you were looking for,” he said, returning his hands to his pocket, retaining that casual stance that turned me on and pissed me off. “Roach said you were looking for somebody.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You should know better than to trust anything out of that man’s mouth.”

  “Oh, so that means you don’t know anything about the missing girl then.”

  “No. I don’t.”

  For the first time, something like annoyance crossed his face, but he quickly tamped it down, making his expression neutral. “Hm. Roach says you described the woman you were looking for with damn near precision detail, then left in a hurry after you saw the girl he had. Even though you claimed she wasn’t what you were looking for. Then, in a total coincidence, his shit gets attacked by women in all black, wearing masks, just before the police arrive. All the women Roach was holding, they stay behind to give statements – except the girl you described. Big brown eyes. Lots of hair. Tattoo of a rose, just a little off from her armpit. You don’t know anything about that?”

  Instinctively, my eyes wanted to shift, wanted to make sure that my own tattoo was covered. But I held firm, glaring right into Cree’s face instead of doing what would have been a dead giveaway, while simultaneously hoping that my sports bra was in the right position to keep my rose out of sight.

  “I sure don’t.”
>
  “You’re lying.”

  “Arrest me for it,” I dared, eyebrows raised.

  “It’s not a crime. Not a good idea, but not a crime. Tell me who you were looking for.”

  “I wasn’t looking for anybody, because I wasn’t there.”

  “Then why did you abandon your duty last night to chase after a woman in the crowd?”

  My whole body went tense, eyes narrowed. “How do you know about that?”

  “It’s Vegas,” he shrugged. “People talk. Heard Kingston Whitfield wasn’t too fond of you leaving your post. You must have made a pretty compelling argument to keep your job.”

  “The details of my employment are none of your business.”

  His lips twisted. “Or maybe they are, since there’s no record that Alicia Miller even existed until you started working for the Whitfields. You in witness protection or something? Why don’t you go ahead and tell me what your name was before, so I can look you up.”

  “I’m not telling you anything, and if you were smart, you would leave this alone,” I warned – foolishly, since my words only made his face light up even more.

  He pulled his lip between his teeth again, nodding. “Fine, Alicia – or whatever your name is. I see you aren’t interested in answering questions right now – looks like I interrupted a pretty intense workout.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out a card. “My number, when you’re ready to talk. If you were smart… you’d use it.”

  “Get out of my apartment,” I told him, not moving to accept the card.

  He flashed me another smile, then tossed the card onto my counter before he turned for the door. “I’ll be seeing you,” he called over his shoulder, apparently oblivious to the fact that I was just barely holding back from killing his ass and getting rid of the body.

  Instead of saying anything, I slammed my door behind him, taking extra care with the locks before I turned and pressed my back to it, face in my hands.

  If I wasn’t certain of anything else… I was sure he wasn’t going to let this go.