Page 70 of Conceal

Sure enough, my fears are confirmed. I rush to the bathroom and empty my coffee into the toilet violently. After hurling so much, my ribs ache. I rinse my mouth and brush my teeth before standing in my bathroom doorway, just staring. I’m not sure I can bring myself to look anymore.

Shaking out the nerves I feel, I gather all of my courage and bring the laptop back to my desk. Having it anywhere near my bed feels wrong.

A professional-looking dossier greets me of a young girl - maybe seven or eight. She’s a beautiful little girl with blonde hair and blue eyes, and pale skin. She looks like she could have been me at her age. But she looks at the camera with dead eyes.

Below are statistics that make my stomach churn painfully. Age, height, weight, location, price, and condition. I almost throw up again reading “untouched” under condition.

Jesus Christ. I remember the horrific date with the red-pilled guy asking about my “condition”. A horrified shiver wracks my entire body.

My hands shaking, I close her dossier and open a few more just to confirm that I’ve found what I think I’ve found - a human trafficking ring.

My head starts to swim reading these. Some say “breeder” under condition. Some say “wife”. As if you could simply purchase a wife. But isn’t that what happened with me? Giovanni didn’t even pay for me. He just shook my father’s hand in some backroom deal that benefited both men, at the expense of a woman.

My horror morphs into rage. My vision starts to redden on the sides as I feel my blood pressure raise. My head aches with how angry I am. Anger doesn’t describe it. I’ve never been this furious.

I click another document, and this is of a young boy - maybe twelve years old. The look on his face breaks me. I’ve never seen someone so broken. Except for maybe Mik, the night that I found him in the alley.

Now I don’t want to just get out of here safely and run away with my guys. I want to burn the entire enterprise down. I want to do every horrible thing these men have ever done to these women and children. I want them all to hang.

I don’t give a fuck if they’re sleeping now. I call Hannah.

“Bueno?” a groggy male voice answers.

“Rico?”

“Si.”

“I found it. Do you have any contacts I can send this to?” I answer, my voice strong. But it cracks when I add, “he’s trafficking children.”

There’s a deafening silence on the other end of the line before I hear what I assume are blankets rustling.

A feminine voice in the background asks a question, but I can’t understand it. Tears prick my eyes as a deep shaking sets in. Hannah has children. Surely, she’ll want to know that this fucking operation gets shut down.

“I do. Standby.”

The shaking is bone-deep now, and I’m barely holding it together. Tears break free, pouring down my cheeks, but I’m able to keep the sob buried.

For a moment, I want to call Mikhail. I want him to come in, pick me up, and tell me I don’t have to look at any more.

I want Lev to take the computer and deal with it. I want Roman to decide what matters.

The old Tatiana wants to run away from the horror and pretend I never saw it. The new me doesn’t get that choice. I have to bear it if these people will ever get the chance of getting free. It’s no longer about me and what I want.

“I’m texting you the number of someone I trust. They’ll know what to do.”

I nod before realizing he can’t see me. “Yes. Good. Thank you, Rico.”

“De nada,” he says before hanging up.

A text appears.

Unknown number: Johnson 860-400-0321

I take a few more steadying breaths, willing my fear and disgust, and sorrow to take a back seat while I do this. I can fall apart later.

Me: Mr. Johnson. I'm Tatiana Chernov. I got your number from Rico. I have proof of something I think you should see

His response is immediate.