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Savannah's breath caught in her throat, terror seizing her heart. She knew she had to act fast, or everything she'd worked for would be lost. Yet somehow, despite the fear threatening to suffocate her, a spark of defiance still flickered deep within.
"Give that back," she spat, her voice shaking but determined. "Or I swear to God, you'll regret it."
The man scoffed, a sinister grin spreading across his face. "You got guts. But you're playin' with fire, sweetheart. And if you ain't careful, you're gonna get burned."
“You know, theft is illegal,” said Savannah bravely. “Give it back now or . . . or I’ll call the cops.”
The man’s mouth twitched into a large grin and then he let out out an explosive belly laugh. “The cops? The cops! That’s a good one, lady. Real good. The cops.” He laughed some more. Then, suddenly, his face turned white and deadly serious. “Now get lost, cockroach. If I see your ugly freckled mush around here again, I'll break your neck. Hell, if I see your ugly face anywhere in Chicago, I’ll break it."
Savannah's heart pounded in her chest as she eyed him warily, trying to mask her fear with bravado. "You don't scare me," she lied through gritted teeth.
"I should," he sneered, stepping back and giving her room to breathe. "You're in way over your head, sweetheart."
As soon as he released her, Savannah stumbled away, her legs shaking. She forced herself to keep moving, even as her mind raced with panic.
This was bad. She’d been caught spying. She was a known enemy now. And her face wasn’t exactly forgettable. She had pale white skin, a ton of freckles, and the frizziest ginger hair of anyone she’d ever met.
"Damn it," she muttered, biting her lip, her thoughts racing. This wasn't just about her own safety—there were countless lives on the line if she didn't expose the trafficking ring. But she couldn't do it alone, not anymore.
She needed help—someone with the skills and experience to navigate this dangerous world. Desperation clawed at her insides, urging her to act quickly before the situation spiraled further out of control.
And as much as it pained her to admit it, she knew exactly who she had to call.
She ducked into a narrow alleyway. The stench of rotting garbage filled her nostrils, but she barely noticed. All that mattered now was staying alive and completing her mission. Pressing her back against the cold brick wall, Savannah pulled out her phone, hands trembling.
"Paladin Security," she murmured, her voice barely audible. It was a name she'd seen mentioned on a DDlg forum, of all places. Probably nothing to do with the lifestyle though—it was an organization set up for vulnerable women seeking private security.
They didn't have much of a web presence, which made her hesitate. What if it was just another dead end? What if they couldn't help her? What if it turned out thattheywere bad guys too? That the good things she’d read about them online was false?
It was probably crazy thinking, but part of her had wondered over the last few years if Paladin Security wasn’t somehow involved with the traffickers. She had seen their names crop up in association with more than one missing girl. What if the vulnerable women who approached them were funneled into the very system they needed protection from?
"God, I hope this isn't a mistake," Savannah muttered, swiping through search results until she found their contact information.But there was no time for doubt now. She couldn't afford to be picky. Taking a deep breath, she tapped the call button.
"Come on," she urged, her eyes darting around the alley, watching for any sign of danger. "Pick up, pick up . . ."
"Paladin Security, Blake Marks speaking," a gruff voice answered on the other end of the line.
"Hi, my name is Savannah Sweet," Savannah said hurriedly, her voice cracking slightly. "I need your help. Like, ASAP. I’m kind of on this mission and—"
“Savannah . . .Sweet?” replied the grumpy voice, both irritable and distracted. The unmistakable sound of gunshots rang out in the background, making Savannah's heart lurch.
“Yes,” said Savannah. “That’s me.”
“Right, MissSweet,” he said moodily. “You’re gonna have to slow down for me. What’s the reason for your call?”
“Well, my camera just got broken and—”
"How did you get this number?” Blake cut in.
“Uh, I saw it online,” she answered, her mind reeling. Why was this guy being so unfriendly? Paladin was some kind of ancient name for a protector, right? This guy sounded about as protective as a cardboard box in the rain.
"I’m an investigative journalist," she blurted out, trying to steady her breathing. "I'm investigating some very bad people, and they know I'm onto them." She glanced around the alley, half-expecting someone to jump out at her. "I'm scared."
"Where are you right now?" Blake muttered, and the urgency in his voice made her feel both reassured and terrified.
"Don’t worry about that," she replied, clutching the phone tighter. "I’ll get home safe. I just . . . need your help. I’m so close to blowing this story open. I need to go back and finish the job. So, I need security for maybe a couple of hours while I—”
“Where. Are. You. Right. Now?”
