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Glee skitters through me. The thought of making Hustle pay for what he tried to do in our city with more pain than a single bullet can give is intoxicating. I don’t even care if that makes me a little unhinged; he deserves it and so much more.
Lucifer must smell the bloodlust around him because he just nods slowly while meeting our eyes with promises shining back at us that we’ll get to have a little fun with him. Internally I’m rubbing my hands together, but I keep my face held in a neutral mask for the moment because Prez has more to tell us.
“Adam was right outside the door. He had subdued a fourth Rebel.” Lucifer puffs up his chest a little bit with his words and I’m sure he’s feeling the same pride swelling inside of me hearing about our Prospect’s actions.
We weren’t sure how he would do in the situation we were throwing him into, but it seems like he held his own. When his year is up, he’ll make a great brother.
“There was a holding room of sorts for men paying for the services of the females in the house and getting high. When they heard the shots, a few stumbled out to investigate. Instead of surrendering, they thought they could fight their way.” I almost laugh because there is no way they were successful. “The only one who had to be put down was one with a weapon. The rest are now in police custody.”
Yeah, it helps to have friends on the force.
“Our friends are very grateful for the assist. They do think that Hustle was able to slip away, and I suggested that he probably skipped town since his dirty little income stream has been shut down,” Lucifer informs us, a certain type of glee in his eyes.
Whether the cops Prez talked to believe him or not doesn’t really matter. We cut through a lot of fucking red tape by taking down that house instead of sending the cops in. The judicial system has a way of fucking up the simplest of things.
What the females we rescued last night endured is something no one should have to go through. If the cops had done the sweep, they would have arrested the women and the Johns. It would have been a shit show and instead of being the victims in all of this, the females would have been dragged through the mud and I doubt they would have gotten the help they clearly need.
No, taking care of it ourselves was the right way to go.
Scythe has an edge of glee in his voice when he asks, “When are we taking care of Hustle?”
Lucifer smirks. “I figure we can let him marinate in his own juices for a few days. He’s going to be wishing he was anywhere but here because he’s just as addicted to his own shit as the females he preyed upon.”
My lips stretch into a wide, feral smile. I probably shouldn’t find the satisfaction I do in Lucifer’s words, but I do. I’m not at all surprised either. It seems the men of the RRMC can’t keep their heads on straight when they’re given even the smallest fraction of power.
I think back over the events of last night and reconcile it with what Lucifer experienced. We went in, executed our plan perfectly, and got the job done. Not a single shot was leveled at us and there were no brothers injured.
I nod at Scythe, and I can see the wheels turning in his head. I have no doubt he’s coming to the same conclusion that I am. When he smirks, I know I’m right.
The quiet around the room isn’t unsettling, it’s introspective and I think it’s a moment we all need to take. The shit we saw last night leaves a scar, one that might not heal and disappear completely. We’re riddled with scars, but this one feels different and deeper.
I never want to see another young girl victimized the way I saw last night.
We have to do better. We need to figure out a way to get in front of the problem because Hustle isn’t going to be the last person to push their shit onto kids. Then there’s the Martinez problem.
Fuck, our work is far from done.
“Okay,” Hacker says, pulling me out of my thoughts as he sits back in his chair. His eyes are bloodshot, but fiercely determined. He hits the screen of his tablet and a picture pops up on the TV screen. “Let’s get started.” His determined voice turns detached. “Two of the other females from last night are underage. They’re 17 and will both be 18 within six months, just to get everyone up to speed on just how sick and depraved the RRMC is. You know about the other two,” his voice is a rough whisper.
Hacker nods toward the screen and we direct our attention there. The picture is of the girl who we found first upon entering the house. Her name, birthdate, age, and information on her family. That’s not what has most of my attention.
It’s how normal she looks in the picture. It’s clearly one taken on a school picture day and she’s grinning from ear to ear. Her eyes are bright and look alive. It’s hard to reconcile the image in front of me with the girl I saw last night.
I shake my head and glance around the table to see that my brothers are having just as much difficulty with this as I am. It’s written all over their faces.
Hacker gives us the basic information he’s found out as we all look at the screen. When his voice changes from detached to morose, I look at him, “Her parents were going through a divorce when she ran away. They each thought that she was at the other’s place and the hatred they had for each other caused them not to talk or check on their daughter for two weeks. Both thought the other was taking care of her. But she was,” he clears his throat and squares his shoulders, “on the streets.”
“Didn’t her school notice that she wasn’t there?” I growl the question, incensed that this girl fell through the cracks so horribly.
Hacker shrugs his shoulder and looks at me with lost eyes. “I can’t answer that question, Apostle. It doesn’t make any sense. Someone should have noticed she was missing, but they didn’t. It was her best friend’s parents who ended up calling the police because they were worried about her when their daughter finally told them she hadn’t been to school or in contact for so long.”
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath and my eyes slide closed.
“The parents were upset when cops showed up on both their doorsteps and were horrified to find out that their inability to coparent and care for their daughter, without bringing their hurt feelings and anger at each other into the mix, meant they didn’t even know their daughter wasn’t where she was supposed to be. Since then, they’ve been trying to find her.”
“I’m sure they didn’t expect her to be on the fucking streets,” Tack sneers.
I’m not surprised at his reaction. The man is very black and white, right and wrong, and the nuance of a situation is almost always lost on him. That means he believes that parents should put their kids first and make them a priority.
