Savage Queen (The Dark Elite #3) - Eva Ashwood Page 0,47

between a groan and a whimper. For a second, I think the guy might still be alive, but there’s no fucking way with a bullet in his brain. Besides, that’s not the noise of a dying man.

It sounds feminine. Scared.

With my finger resting lightly on the trigger of my gun, I take several steps deeper into the alley, passing by the man’s limp body.

When I finally see what made the noise, I mutter a curse.

Behind the crates that are piled into a rough stack near the back of the alley sit three women, bound and gagged, barely dressed against the chill of the Chicago night. It doesn’t take me long to put two and two together and realize what kind of goddamn deal we intercepted tonight.

Fuck.

So this is why Grace was asking about it—human fucking trafficking.

There’s no doubt in my mind that’s what the Rook men and their buyers were here for, that these three women were an essential piece of the deal that was going on.

I’ve never hated someone so much in my life as I hate Camilla. For putting Grace through emotional hell. For putting these poor women through the nightmare they’ve clearly been through.

They flinch away from me, staring at the gun. I raise it, lifting my finger off the trigger before holstering it.

“Look at me,” I tell them, my tone firm but gentle. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Three sets of eyes go wide, haunted and terrified.

17

Ciro

When I step forward, Hale and Lucas leave me alone with the women. The stacked shipping containers and wall create a little shadowy alcove where they sit, their shivering bodies thin and covered in bruises. They’re practically naked against the cold night air, thin camisoles and colorless boxer shorts identical to each other. It’s almost like a uniform, and that indicates one thing.

They’re not the only victims.

“You’re safe,” I say quietly. Taking a cautious step forward, I proceed another when they don’t immediately shrink back. “We’re going to help you, okay?”

I glance back at Lucas and Hale, considering calling for them, but I don’t want to scare the girls. It’s likely that they’ve already had enough of barked orders, and anything I say or do could trigger them at this point. Walking away slowly from the corner, I step out into the warehouse and get Lucas and Hale’s attention.

“Jackets,” I say, when they’re close enough to hear. They know what I’m talking about, immediately shucking their suit jackets and handing them to me.

I tug off my own, ignoring the bite of chill in the warehouse. When I walk back to the women, their eyes widen, their gazes flicking from me to the dark fabric in my hands. Not even their feet are covered, damn it.

I crouch down in front of the one at the front of the group, careful not to make any sudden movements. “Hey. I’m not gonna hurt you,” I say. The wild animal look in their eyes makes old memories rise up in my mind. “I’ll tell you what I’m doing, how’s that sound? I’m going to start by unbinding your wrists, okay?”

Even though I’m offering help and safety, they flinch. They flinch because whatever the Rooks have put them through are things no human should ever have to experience. They flinch because they’ve likely been teased with promises of safety before, only to have it taken away. Only to be mocked.

I talk to them in low tones as I work, explaining what I’m doing. When all of them have been un-gagged and untied, I carefully wrap a jacket around the first girl’s shoulders. When she finally realizes that I’m not the bad guy, her small body sags in relief, swallowed whole by the fabric. The other two girls take the jackets willingly as I move on to them next.

“Thank you,” one of them says. Her thin brown hair sticks to her face, and her voice is hoarse.

I give her a small nod, keeping my gaze on them. I know that she’s not just talking about the physical cold—she’s also talking about everything else they’ve been through. The fear. The violence. The pain.

Fuck.

A violent rage fills me. If we hadn’t already capped those motherfuckers from the Rook Syndicate and their buyers, I’d kill them a lot slower than we did the first time. I’d make it slow and painful, and unlike my usual interrogation jobs, I think I’d enjoy it.

“Do you think you can stand?” I ask. “Are you strong enough?”

No one answers. They’re all covered in