as I speak, I realize I don’t have enough details. All I have at this point is my word. And three women, but those women are currently in the custody of the Novaks, which doesn’t exactly look good. Hale did the right thing by saving them, the honorable thing, but it’ll only make him and his organization look more guilty in this federal agent’s eyes.
As if he’s read my thoughts, Brady grunts softly when I finish speaking. “That’s an interesting story, Grace. But the FBI won’t believe you unless you have proof. I can’t just take your word for it.”
“I’ll get you proof,” I tell him. “I swear.”
Somehow.
“All right. If you’re able to deliver proof—solid, actionable proof—that this Rook organization is the one running the trafficking ring and that the Novaks have no involvement, you have my word that this investigation of them will be dropped.”
“Thank you. I’ll call you again soon,” I promise.
Guilt consumes me the second I hang up, coursing through me like poison in my veins.
“Fuck.” I mutter the word in a whisper, shoving the phone back into the middle of a roll of toilet paper before hiding it under the sink again.
I hate this.
It feels like I’m betraying the men, like I’m taking the tenuous trust that’s built up between us and crushing it beneath my heel.
But I’m doing this to keep them safe—I have to keep reminding myself of that. Even though I’m not being completely honest about the FBI’s involvement, even though I haven’t told them, this is the best way to protect them.
It’s the only way to get the FBI off their backs, and maybe even bring down Camilla.
I just have to find proof, like Brady said.
Easier said than fucking done, but I’ll do it somehow. I have to.
As I creep back into my bedroom and crawl back under the covers and into Hale’s warm embrace, I repeat the words over and over in my head like a mantra.
Find proof.
Keep the Novaks safe.
Get the FBI off our backs and shift their focus to Camilla.
My turn to kill two birds with one stone, bitch.
19
Grace
Over the next couple of days, things are relatively calm.
On the outside anyway.
But I know it won’t last. The FBI still suspects the Novaks of human trafficking, and Camilla still plans to destroy us.
And these three stolen women are trapped in the middle of it all, just like I was once.
I wanted to cry when I saw the rescued women for the first time. Their thin bodies barely filled up the clothes the guys had given them, and purple and yellowish bruises marred their cheeks and arms. I don’t even want to know the horrors they’ve been through these past couple of weeks, months—however long it’s been since they’ve known freedom.
I’ve spent a lot of time at the safehouse since the women’s arrival. Hale had a doctor come and examine them, and although they’re all beat up and malnourished, they should be okay eventually. Physically, anyway. Mentally? Emotionally?
Jesus, I have no idea.
I can’t even imagine what they’ve all been through. I think the only one of us who can is Ciro, and although he doesn’t talk about it, I see how his eyes go hard and his jaw tightens sometimes when he looks at the girls. I know he sees himself in their shell-shocked pain.
I hate that so much evil can exist in the world.
Sometimes it feels hypocritical to think that when I’m falling deeper and deeper into the criminal underworld. When I’m falling in love with four men who belong to a mafia syndicate, one of whom leads it.
But the men who’ve earned my love and respect have honor. They might run on the wrong side of the law, but they protect women and children—not just their own, but all women and children. That’s why even though Leland was a traitor, his family is still safe and alive.
It makes me feel better to think that these women are at least in a place where they can begin to recover. Begin to heal. I bring them food, both the healthy stuff and the comforting junk food that always cheers me up when I’m feeling shitty. Sometimes we’ll watch a movie or something, although I’m not sure they really care what’s on the screen. Sometimes we just sit. Sometimes I talk to them, but they don’t usually talk back.
It’s a tricky fucking balance. They might know things about the Rooks that could help us in our war against my mother, but I’m