With a Twist Page 3

  In other ways, not so much.

  Kyle works as a mechanic for a motorcycle shop in Cheyenne, Wyoming. He moved out there from our small town of Little River, Alabama when he graduated from high school. We had moved to Little River from Washington, D.C. after Dad died to be nearer to my mom's family, and it's all I ever really knew. I loved it and missed it, but Kyle? Not so much. He never looked back after he left. He's a biker through and through and belongs to a pretty tight-knit motorcycle club out there, and the way he tells it, they are just as much his family as I am.

  Regardless of his close connections out in Wyoming, Kyle would never turn his back on me and would come running if he was needed. Just three weeks prior to my graduation, my mother died from a brain aneurysm and I was left all alone. That is, until my BPA came home and stayed with me for a few weeks, nursing me through my heartache and bitterness at being left fully parentless. I obviously don't remember my father, and neither does Kyle for that matter, but both of us were extremely close to our mom. Kyle's visits back home may have been infrequent and brief, but he talked to Mom and me every week on the phone.

  After I graduated high school, Kyle took back off to Wyoming and I puttered around my mom's house all summer until college started for me in the fall. We still stayed in close contact although we didn't see each other often. Kyle had his life and I had mine, and my goals were set. I was going to be an FBI agent like my dad and the first step was to graduate college. The second was to graduate law school. Third was to become a special agent.

  I accomplished those goals but not without tremendously hard work. With mom dead and unable to help with my tuition, I started dancing halfway through my freshman year of college at UVA. I had to brave lecherous touching from drunk men who wanted to put dollar bills in my panties and knowing smirks from some of my classmates who ventured into the strip club where I worked, stunned to see me on stage. Didn't matter to me though. I looked right through their judgment, turned my nose up at their requests for dates, and kept repeating my goals.

  College.

  Law School.

  FBI.

  "Sis... you there?" Kyle says into the phone, and I blink my eyes.

  "Yeah... sorry... went down memory lane for a moment," I tell him sheepishly.

  "Thinking about Mom?" he asks gently, and I smile to myself. Kyle is a big dude... has long hair, tats, and most people think he's pretty scary. I think he's a big teddy bear.

  "Yeah... just thinking about how you came back home after Mom died so I wouldn't be alone."

  "Stop being such an LPA," he fake sneers into the phone. "You're going to make me cry."

  "Dork," I tell him fondly.

  "So why did you call?" he asks. "I just talked to you day before yesterday."

  Absently fingering a lock of my blonde hair, I tell him, "I'm going to North Carolina on an assignment. It's undercover, and we won't be able to contact each other. If anything happens and you need to get word to me, you need to contact my SAC, Dale Lambert. I'll text you his info."

  "What's the case about?"

  "You know I can't tell you that," I admonish gently.

  "Then why you? Why are they sending an agent from Pittsburgh to North Carolina?"

  It's classified information but even if I could tell him, I wouldn't. I'm not about to divulge to my older brother that I stripped my way to a higher education, therefore I'm the perfect candidate. He'd never understand and then feel guilty as shit that he couldn't help contribute to my education.

  "Top secret," I tell him.

  He sighs in frustration, and I can just imagine him running his hand through his own long, blond hair. "For how long?"

  "I have no clue but if you get worried because you haven't heard from me, just call Dale. He can give you reassurances."

  Kyle is quiet a moment and I hear him expel a deep breath into the phone. "Are you going to be in danger?"

  Probably.

  "Of course not," I lie baldly. "It's an easy operation. We'll laugh about it over beers when it's finished, I promise."

  "You're a terrible liar, Andrea," he murmurs into the phone. "Your voice gets shaky when you fib, so you best get that under control before you go undercover."

  "Don't worry about me, Kyle. I'll be fine and careful, and when it's all done... I'll be a hero and you can worship at my feet."

  "I already worship at your feet, brat. Have since the day you were born."

  But now only from afar, I think to myself before shaking my head. I can't be bitter over the fact that Kyle leads his life and I lead mine. The important thing is that he's there for me when I need him.

  "I know," I tell him with love in my soul and tears threatening to form in my eyes. "Listen... I need to get going. Packing and other stuff to do. You'll be the first call I make as soon as this is over, okay? Maybe I'll even come out for a visit."

  "Before you go," he says softly. "Are you going to tell me why you want me to call your SAC rather than David if I need information?"

  Shit.

  I close my eyes, rub the bridge of my nose, and take in a deep breath.

  Kyle continues. "And are you going to tell me why you haven't mentioned David at all in the last few weeks?"

  "Kyle... now's not the time--"

  "Spill it, sis," he orders me gruffly, and I recognize that tone. It means he's not going to let up on me.

  Sighing, I slide my finger over the shoebox sitting beside me. Flipping the top off, I see several photographs inside of David and me, along with a black velvet jewelry box. "David broke off the engagement three weeks ago."

  "That fucking shit," Kyle explodes into the phone. "What the fuck did he do that for?"

  I grit my teeth, because even as sad as I am that David and I are no more, I'm also still really pissed at him. "He doesn't want to move from Pittsburgh if I get transferred. He wanted me to pull my application from the BRIU. I refused, and he broke off the engagement."

  "What a bastard," Kyle grumbles. "Let me guess... he couldn't stand to give up his precious season tickets to the Steelers."

  "He couldn't give up any of it," I clarify. "His job, his family... he is Pittsburgh through and through. It's all he's knows, and he doesn't want to know anything else."

  "I'm sorry, Andrea. He's a fucking pussy, and you deserve better," Kyle says, and my heart swells for love over how indignant he is. I want to be totally indignant too, but I succumb to moments of utter self-pity that the man I love doesn't love me enough to let me pursue my dreams.

  "Look... I really need to get going so I can finish getting ready to fly out tomorrow."

  "Yeah, okay," he says sadly. "We'll talk more about this when you get done with this operation. Stay safe. Love you."

  "Love you too," I whisper and hang up.

  I tilt my beer back and take another healthy swig. That was the hardest part about going undercover... telling Kyle and knowing he's going to worry. But I have to put that aside now and start mentally preparing for this job. Because while I'm confident we're going to take these scumbags down, there's a possibility things could go to hell and I could find myself abducted and sold into sexual slavery.

  And that certainly is not on my list of goals.

  Chapter 3

  Wyatt

  Sitting at the main bar that runs perpendicular to the dance stage, I pour over the inventory spreadsheet before me, actually relishing over this rare opportunity to actually do non-criminal work for Simon. I take note of the current stock of beer, wine, and liquor laid out in neat columns, mentally calculate what will be needed for the week, especially given it's a payday weekend, and then handwrite out on a small pad of paper what I'll need to order.

  I'm immersed deep in my work so much that I don't notice Lance take a seat next to me at the bar. It's quiet in here... just after ten in the morning, and we're the only ones here. The bartenders and dancers won't be in for another hour for our noontime opening.

  "Need you to audition some fresh talent," Lance says beside me,
and I give a slight jerk before turning my head toward him.

  "Fuck, man... gave me a heart attack," I grumble good-naturedly.

  Lance snorts out a laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Oddly, I've become sort of friends with Lance. Well, my alter-ego Raze has become friends with him. He's a morally depleted criminal who helps his boss sell women as slaves for a living, and yet, while immersed deep in the role as a criminal myself, I've found that we've forged a tentative sort of friendship. He's sharp, witty, and loyal, which makes it easy to find something in common I can hold on to. He's also coldhearted, dangerous, and my enemy... something I never let myself forget.

  "What kind of talent are you looking for?" I ask as I swivel my bar stool to face him. Even though we're the only ones here, I keep my voice low.

  "Need at least two... no preference on coloring. And most important, they need to be expendable. Simon's getting buyers lined up."

  I nod sagely at him. By expendable, he means no one will miss them if they go missing. "Two in one month?"

  "Nah... we'll unload one within a few weeks and then hold onto the other for a month or so. At the price they're generating, we don't have to move as much stock as we did before."

  "Heard that," I quip as I stand up from the stool. "Give me a few days and I'll have them for you."

  Lance holds his fist out, and I bump it with mine. "You're the man," he says with a grin.

  "You the man," I joke back while pointing at him.

  I gather my spreadsheet and tablet, making my way back toward the small office that I use. It's really nothing more than a large broom closet, but when I was promoted to General Manager, Simon seemed to think I needed my own place to do my work.

  It has a metal desk with peeling, brown faux wood on top and a rickety old chair behind it. And that's pretty much all there is to my office besides a Playboy calendar hanging on my wall with a thumbtack, which I thought would lend credence to my overall scumbag cover.

  Closing the door behind me, I sit down and let my shoulders sag with the weight that rests upon them. I just held a thirty-second conversation with a man about selling women to sex slavers, and for all Lance cares about this business, you would have thought we were discussing cattle. My stomach seems to be constantly pitching and turning from the sickness of my involvement and how deeply I've become immersed in this darkness.

  Yeah... my full-fledged membership in the circle of trust came fortuitously last week, and by a sheer stroke of luck. Despite having worked at The Platinum Club for almost three and a half months, I still had not been able to find one piece of evidence tying Simon to the dancers' disappearances. It was frustrating, and I was wondering at what point the task force was going to continue with this operation.

  I had just begun to think that maybe we were barking up the wrong tree, when one night, just as we were closing the doors and shutting off the lights, two Alcohol Law Enforcement agents showed up. Flashing their credentials, they demanded entrance and then audience with the owner.

  I walked back toward Simon's office and gave a quick knock on his door before opening it up. It had become my habit to do that since he brought me in on his prostitution scheme, and rather than waiting for him to invite me in, I walked in boldly and with the hope I'd catch him doing something he shouldn't.

  It was my lucky night when I walked in.

  Lance was holding Carla--one of the dancers who had just come off duty--in his arms while Simon was pulling a needle out of one of her veins. Carla's eyes rolled back and her head lolled to the side.

  Simon's head whipped toward me, and his eyes seethed with anger. "Get the fuck out," he barked.

  "Sorry, Boss," I hastily said as I stepped all the way in and closed the door behind me. "But ALE is out there... demanding to talk to you. They want to search the place."

  "Fuck," Simon muttered and glanced at his watch. Lance shifted and adjusted Carla's weight in his arms.

  Simon's eyes narrowed on me, and I let my gaze dart over to Lance and Carla before looking back at him.

  "What can I do to help?" I asked boldly... helpfully... trying to calm my pulse. There was no doubt that I had just walked into the middle of an abduction, and my head was spinning over what to do.

  He was sizing me up... I could tell. His eyes held me with keen inspection, and I held his stare with confidence and an eager look to please my master.

  Simon strode across his office and got right in my face. "You fuck this up and you're a dead man."

  "I won't. Just tell me what to do," I said confidently.

  "Take Carla... put her in your car and drive. Don't go too far but get to the outskirts of town. Be careful and don't get stopped. I'll call you when I'm ready for you to come back with her."

  I nodded quickly and stepped over to Lance, taking Carla from him and hauling her up over my shoulder. By the way her body rolled, I could tell she was passed out cold.

  "Lance... I need you to get rid of the shit in my safe. No clue if they have a warrant but get it out of here. I'll go stall ALE for a few minutes but be quick. And then call our buyer. Tell him there's a delay, and we'll deliver the package mostly likely in a few hours."

  I had no clue what kind of "shit" Simon was referring to in his safe, but I bet it was documentation about the slave sales he'd made.

  "Got it," Lance said, heading toward Simons' safe behind his desk. Lance was really within the circle of trust because he spun the combination dial efficiently.

  "Need me to do anything else?" I asked as I grasped onto the fire exit door that led out of the back of the building from Simon's office.

  "No," Simon growled, sparing me a brief glance. "Just keep your phone on and I'll call soon."

  I didn't respond just pushed my way out of the door and headed across the darkened parking lot toward my car. After unlocking the door and carefully laying Carla across the backseat, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and called my handler, Special Agent Mike Gomez.

  He answered on the second ring with obvious worry in his voice because I wasn't to call unless it was a dire emergency.

  This constituted dire emergency.

  "Raze?" he answered, careful to call me by my alias.

  "I need you to meet me out on Six Forks Road, north of Durant... there's a small country gas station about quarter of a mile down on the left."

  "I'm familiar with it," he said.

  "I'll be there in twenty minutes. Have EMS there and tell them they'll need Narcan," I said quickly as I got in the driver's seat and started the engine.

  "What's this about?" Mike asked quickly.

  "I just walked into the middle of an abduction. Simon and Lance drugged the girl. I've got her in my backseat."

  "Fuck... are they on the run?"

  "No. He asked me to get her out of there when ALE showed up. Wants me to bring her back when it's clear."

  "Then that's what the fuck you do," Mike growled. "If you don't return her, you blow this entire operation out of the water."

  "We are not turning her back over to them. I overhead Simon... he was taking her to a buyer tonight."

  "Wyatt... we have to let him take her to the buyer. We can follow and make the bust there."

  "No fucking way," I snarled. "You're not putting her at risk. You said we had an agent ready to come in on the inside. We need to go that route."

  "And just how do you think you're going to explain this girl's disappearance to Simon?" Mike asked skeptically.

  I took a deep breath and blew it out. Putting the car in reverse, I started to back out. "I'm not sure yet, but I'll have something figured out by the time I meet you. Just get there on time."

  Disconnecting the call before he could argue with me, I pulled my car slowly out of the parking lot of The Platinum Club onto Kramer Street, heading toward the outer beltline. My mind was racing but by the time I met Mike and several other agents at the gas station, I knew what I had to do.

  Mike had made a judgment call and did not bring in an EMS unit
. He felt it would call too much attention and didn't want it out on the airwaves. Instead, he insisted they'd take the girl to a hospital for treatment.

  We made the transfer quickly as I assured Mike I had a plan. He accepted me at my word although his face held worry, and as soon as they were out of sight, I pulled my phone out and called Simon.

  "What?" he whispered harshly into the phone, so I knew ALE was still there.

  Putting on my best frustratedly panicked voice, I said, "Fuck, Simon. We got a major problem."

  "I'm listening," he said quietly.

  "She started convulsing, man... vomit and foam coming out of her mouth... shaking and shit. I tried, man... I tried to save her. Fucking did CPR... got her fucking vomit in my mouth. SHIT," I yelled for good measure and then groaned into the phone. "She's fucking dead, Simon. What in the hell did you give her?"

  I heard some shuffling noises, and knew Simon was moving somewhere for privacy. "You're sure she's dead?" he asked urgently.

  "Yes," I yelled into the phone. "Fuck, what in the hell do we do now?"

  "Just ease the fuck up, Raze. Listen... you dispose of the problem, you hear me?"

  I took a deep breath and let out a shaky breath, but I was smiling on the inside. Simon just bought my panicked lie hook, line, and sinker. "Yeah, man... I got it."

  "Don't fuck this up," he warned.

  "I won't," I said with confidence. "I got this. Don't worry."

  "Come straight back here when you're done," he said and then disconnected the call.

  I leaned back against my car and looked up at the stars in the night sky, immensely relieved I just saved Carla's life and kept the operation intact.

  So yeah... I was now fully in the circle. I went back to the club and relayed again in detail to Simon and Lance what happened. They didn't seem to have a doubt over my veracity, and in fact, Lance muttered that he was afraid they'd given her too much of whatever drug they had pumped into her, hypothesizing she was probably high on something else and overdosed.

  I assured them both that I weighted her body down and dumped her in Falls Lake, and that she would never be found. I said it with almost a pride in my voice over having done such a bang-up job for Simon, sounding like an eager puppy looking for praise. They accepted that as well, and then proceeded to bring me in on the details of their sex-slave trade. There was some concern that Carla's buyer would turn tail and run, but after a call to him to explain the situation, he said he'd wait for another girl.