Chapter 1
Grace
I ran like a sprinter in the Olympics. At one thirty a.m., the streets of Boston looked like a ghost town.
I should’ve had Paul, the bartender at Yvonne’s, where I also worked, escort me to my car. But that would mean admitting my sense that I was being followed wasn’t just a delusion brought on by too many nights researching sex-trafficking statistics for my thesis. Because of my nightmares and the endless hours I’d spent poring over case studies at the Boston University library, I couldn’t trust my own instincts. After all, I’d walked these streets alone hundreds of times after my shift.
I dipped my fingers inside my purse and found my gun—a habit that had kept me sane and alive since that night Thea and I crashed in John’s SUV. The night I gained my freedom and lost my best friend. The memory of her sacrifice burned in my chest as I continually searched the empty streets over my shoulder.
You’re being paranoid, the rational part of my brain whispered.
But paranoia had kept me breathing for the last ten years, even when Miguel Rivera hunted me down, claiming that John’s family had put a bounty on my head. The only family John had was his thirteen-year-old son, Zane. The same asshole who, with hungry eyes, watched his father rape girls. The same person I feared would hunt me down now that he was of age to exact his revenge because I’d killed his father.
Zane would be twenty-three now, and the thought that he could be watching me made me stumble as I neared the parking garage.
I shook off the idea that he or someone else was following me. No one was following me.
My heart thundered in my chest as I entered the garage, my breath coming in sharp gasps. Then something hit me square in the eyes. What if Miguel was out of prison on early parole? What if he wanted revenge? After all, I was the reason he’d gotten arrested. He’d kidnapped my brother Dillon’s girlfriend, Maggie, who was now his wife. Miguel’s plan had been simple but cruel—grab Maggie to draw out Dillon, knowing I would emerge from hiding to save my brother.
It’s just your thesis messing with you.
I’d known when I started my research on sex trafficking that it would drum up memories of my darkest days. But I felt the choice of topic was necessary, a way for me to heal and for the world at large to know about depraved men, the eye-opening statistics of how many innocent girls were lost to an industry that saw women as commodities, and how the chains had felt against my skin, whips slashing my back.
I took the stairs to the fourth floor, climbing them two at a time. When I reached level four, I threw open the door and stopped. I couldn’t remember if I had parked on four. I pressed on the key fob, listening for three familiar beeps, but they never came.
Instead, a buzzing in my ears started low, sounding like a swarm of bees were heading in my direction.
Damn it, Grace. Where did you park?
I ran around, pressing on the key fob to no avail. Maybe I parked on level five. I flew upward, following the same path a car would. My legs burned, tears were ready to spill over, and my vision was blurry.
Turning the corner, I pressed on the key fob again. It was music to my ears when I heard beep, beep, beep.
I bolted to my Subaru as fast as I could. Once safely inside, I locked the doors, pushing out a sigh of relief, then sped down, taking the corners like a driver on the NASCAR circuit.
My heartbeat began to slow as I navigated the streets of Boston while constantly looking in my rearview mirror.
Stopping at a red light, I made a mental note to ask my sister-in-law’s dad, Detective Ted Hughes, if Miguel was out on parole. After all, Ted had arrested Miguel.
A knock on the driver’s-side window startled me from my thoughts, and I screamed, clutching my fast-beating heart.
“Ma’am,” said a tired-looking, unkempt man, “do you have five bucks?”
The Rolex on his wrist shimmered beneath the streetlight, and my anxiety shot from zero to two hundred in a flat second. Suddenly, I was back in time to the nights of rich men in suits, with hunger in their eyes, choosing their sexual conquests.
Red flags were waving in front of me.
He’s probably just a homeless man who could’ve stolen the watch. You’re safe.
Nevertheless, my foot hit the gas before conscious thought kicked in. I ran the red light, holding my breath and praying no other cars were on the road.
Tears flowed down my cheeks as I took in deep breaths, looking in the rearview at the disheveled guy watching me drive away.
He couldn’t be following me. He had come out of nowhere, and he didn’t know I would be stopped at that light. That notion settled my racing pulse until another idea had it creeping up again.
Duke had worked for the cartel, selling guns, so he had many adversaries. Maybe my brother had pissed off a former enemy who wanted to use me as a pawn, much like Mateo Alvarez had about three years ago. But if I asked Duke, he would bring in the cavalry, thinking one of his enemies was stalking me, and I was tired of bodyguards and the watchful eye of my brother. After he’d gone to prison, I had enjoyed a quiet life of no one protecting me, suffocating me, or following me around like a puppy dog wanting food.
I checked the time on the car’s dashboard. I was tempted to pay Dominic a visit. But at two in the morning, my ex was probably curled up with his new girlfriend.
I was sad that he and I couldn’t make our relationship work. He was certainly handsome—former military, muscles in all the right places, and a smile that melted women’s panties. But for some reason, he didn’t do it for me. Even though Dom was gentle, he wanted more from me than I was willing to give—sex, a future, my heart. But I couldn’t give him what he needed. In fact, in some ways he was more like a brother than a boyfriend, an anchor in my dark world and nothing more.
My phone rang, cutting through my spiral into a hell I wanted no part of.
My roommate’s name flashed on the car’s touchscreen. Andrea Baker—or Andie, as she liked to be called.
At thirty, I was the oldest woman in the college dorm, and at times I felt like a big sister to most of the other residents, especially Andie. But despite my age, I’d wanted the full college experience, since I’d missed out on so much in my life.
I tapped the green icon. “Andie, I’m—”
“Grace, you need to come get me.” The slur in her voice sent chills down my spine.
Music thumped in the background, reminding me of other parties, other nights when music had drowned out the screams.
“What frat house are you at?”
I hated parties, and parties at fraternities were the worst. When pledges were handed down to newbies, they sometimes involved how many girls the newbie could screw in a weekend. If a college boy was desperate enough to meet that pledge, he could give a girl a roofie. That had happened. But I discarded the idea. Fraternities went through pledges at the beginning of the school year, not in March right before spring break.
“I’m at the Omega House,” she drawled. “Please hurry. I feel weird.”
My hands clenched around the wheel. “Weird how?”
“Weak… sleepy…”
“Dollface, there you are.” A deep baritone voice sent ice through my veins.
“Andie, talk to me!”
But the line went dead.
I sped through the streets of Boston, fury and paranoia stealing the air out of my lungs.
Suddenly, images of Thea and me at one of John Smith’s parties danced in my vision.
“Darling,” a thinning bald man said as he grabbed my ass, “you’re mine tonight.”
I balled my hands into fists as I stood by the bar, locking eyes with the bartender, silently pleading with him to get me out of the coven of hungry old men who wanted to fuck Thea and me until we couldn’t walk.
The middle-aged bartender gave me a pitiful look.
I mouthed, “Help me.”
He shook his head. He knew if he attempted to rescue any of us, he was dead.
The bald man with a gut the size of two basketballs slid his hand up my dress. “I can’t wait to fuck you senseless.”
A horn blew, zapping my trip to hell. I blinked to find that I was stopped at a green light, shaking.
I was turning mad, crazy, and I was a second away from a nervous breakdown. But I had to stay strong. I couldn’t allow my own problems to get in the way of saving my friend. So I continued my trek to the frat house, trying to regulate my breathing and praying like a girl in church that Andie was okay.
A few minutes later, with my purse to my chest, I pushed through the rowdy crowd at Omega House, the bass of the music vibrating through my bones.
I searched the sea of drunken college students, the stench of alcohol and sweat hanging heavy in the air.
“Andie, where are you?” I mumbled as I entered the kitchen where students were playing beer pong, a favorite of hers.
But no sign of a petite redhead.
I poked a tall brunette by the sliding glass door in the arm. “Hey, have you seen a short, wavy-haired redhead? Her name is Andie.”
Her eyes glossy, the brunette shook her head.
A dangerous blend of anger and fear coursed through me as I checked the deck and backyard with no luck. I rushed through the house, found the stairs, and took them cautiously as I stepped over people lounging on the steps.
If that frat boy was forcing himself on her, I swore he was a dead man.
I checked room after room on the second floor, yielding nothing but couples rolling around on beds. Panic simmered beneath the surface as I approached the last door at the end of a long hallway.
I inhaled deeply, turned the knob, pushed in the door, and froze. The sight of a burly frat boy straddling an unconscious Andie shattered something inside me. Suddenly, I was watching Thea again, helpless while John’s clients—
No, not this time.
“Get off her, you sick bastard!”
The naked giant barely looked up, his hands on Andie’s underwear. “Fuck off,” he growled, his dark eyes swimming with sexual hunger I’d seen many, many times before. “Or maybe you want to join us.” He stroked his erection, grinning. “I could fuck both of you with this.”
Blinded by red fury, I charged him and was met with a fist to the nose. Stymied, I stumbled. “You fuckwad.”
He yanked Andie toward his dick.
Oh my fucking God.
My hands shook as I pulled out the Glock from my purse, its weight grounding me to what needed to be done. “Hey, asshole, unless you want me to shoot off your dick, I would get off her right now.”
He laughed. The black-haired, pockmarked-faced bastard laughed then proceeded to guide his erection toward Andie.
In that moment, I saw every man who’d ever hurt us, every girl I couldn’t save. But I wasn’t that helpless teenager anymore. I was a grown fucking woman who didn’t take shit from anyone.
Growling like a mother bear, I pulled the trigger.
