The End of You: A Single Lady Spy Series Novella (The Single Lady Spy Series Book 3) (5 page)

The
car stopped after a while, parking outside of what appeared to be a nightclub.
I didn't even want to ask, but when we got inside my view changed. I wanted to
ask. I wanted to ask about every aspect of the club.

It
was a strip bar of sorts but the girls had on clothes. They danced with energy
and skills that I had to assume meant they were trained dancers. The men wore
suits and I was the only woman not working there, not technically. For all I
knew this would be the place Servario would actually betray me for real. Not
fake it and expect me to improvise.

No
one seemed to understand that I had been a mom for a decade, not an agent. They
all expected me to bounce back after ten seconds and remember what it was like
to be a hooker/agent/mom/wife/killer and whatever else they could add to the
pile.

Servario
slipped a hand into mine for a second. He squeezed and let go. It was so fast I
almost doubted it had occurred at all. We were escorted to a spot in the back,
something akin to a VIP section perhaps.

I
was offered a seat at a lone table by a man who resembled our driver. Servario
sat next to me, pretending to be enjoying the show—or actually enjoying
it. The girls wore bikinis and danced on poles, it was naughty for the Middle
East, I supposed.

The
music was loud techno with a slight Eastern flair to it. It was actually nice
to listen to. Several men walked toward us, sitting near Servario. One man
stayed standing, waiting, as Servario stood and they embraced. They hugged and
smiled like they were old school friends. I started to feel a little nauseated.
I had to chant that he loved me and wouldn't do that to me again. He wouldn't
leave me to be killed or worse.

The
man’s eyes darted to me but Servario brushed him off in Arabic.

They
talked for another second and the man embraced Servario again. I started to
glance about the bar, looking for any sign that I wasn't alone—that Coop
and Luce had come to be with me.

But
all I saw were business men and dancing whores.

Finally
they sat, Servario again next to me. The man nodded at me. “I understand you
have twenty girls.”

I
smiled wide, bringing out my best American accent from the South. It wasn't
great but there was no way they could tell. “Yes, sir. I do have twenty girls.
I have more than twenty but some are spoken for.”

He
gave me a weak smile. I wouldn't have called it that though; it was more of a
grimace. “You are a woman who sells women, not something we see very often.”

I
smiled wider, hating myself. “Well, everyone has to be good at something and I
happen to be very good at spotting a virgin.”

His
dark eyes widened. “Virgins—you have some of those for sale?”

I
sucked my breath through my teeth. “Not really. I have several but they are
spoken for, like I said. I have other buyers.” My heart was aching in a big
way.

He
nodded. “That is good to hear. We get a lot of demand here for virgin
Americans. Very hard to find. Your country doesn't savor their virginity very
well.”

I
laughed, hating myself and Servario equally for a change. “Well, you know those
girls in the North, they are loose. But the girls in the South have been raised
right. Real wholesome girls. You just have to convince them of the modeling
contracts and jobs as nannies. It’s easy when they come from real small towns.”

“And
because you are friendly and a pretty American woman. They trust your lies.”

I
smiled so wide my cheeks hurt. “Yes sir, they do.”

His
dark eyes darted back to Servario. “She is a—how do you say—piece
of work.”

Servario
snorted, coughing a little. “I think you mean keeper.” Their accents made the
mistake slightly less painful.

The
man shook his head. “No, I believe I know this word. Piece of work. Like rare
like art.”

Servario
chuckled again. “Do we have a bargain then? You will give us the guns and money
and we will give you the girls.”

“How
many virgins?” He looked at me again. “I will pay more for virgins.”

I
wanted to kick his fucking teeth in, but I pretended to be coming up with a
price. Servario leaned in, whispering something. The man’s eyes lit up. He
nodded and wrapped an arm around Servario. “Do you wish to stay for the
evening?”

Servario
glanced at me. “No, we have more business to attend to. I will meet you at the
drop spot to get acquainted with the area.”

“How
will you bring them in the country?”

Servario
glanced back at me, realizing he hadn’t told me that. I answered. “Au pairs.
Nannies. It works real well. We just need fake families to do the sponsoring
and hiring.”

He
nodded. “Let me take care of that paperwork. I will have it sent to Gustavo.”

He
called him by his first name. Even I rarely did that.

The
driver and I sat perfectly still, waiting outside of the building where
Servario would be met to exchange cash and guns with the worst people in the
world. They truly were the monsters your mother warned you about when you were
a child. The worst of men that laughed in the faces of victims as they took
everything they wanted. The sort of men who respected no one and feared
nothing.

They
made my blood boil.

I
sat there, tapping my perfectly sculpted nail against the rim of the window,
waiting for him to reappear.

The
driver didn't make a sound. He sat perfectly still.

I
sighed, drawing his face up so he could see me in the rearview mirror.
“Shouldn't be too much longer, ma’am.”

I
nodded, pulling out another dose of my amazingly poor Southern accent. “Y’all
are awfully polite for such bad people.”

He
lifted his eyebrows. “We are bad?”

It
made me smile my response. “Reminds me of home. We always like to say the
nicest thing and mean the worst.”

He
chuckled as if he knew what I was talking about. He leaned into the back, I
assumed to tell me some funny story about how his people in the Middle East
also did this. What I got was a hand up the skirt. I tried smiling and turning
him down politely. “Sir, please. Let’s not get into any trouble, huh?” I
swatted at his grabby octopus hands and arms but his size won over. He slid
into the backseat as if he didn't think Servario was coming back any time soon.
I had stashed one thing and one thing only on my body. The only weapon I had. I
remembered it from training; a woman’s best place to hide a weapon is her hair.
I lifted my hand, pulling the long, thin silver pin I had used to hold my half
twist in place. I let him slide his hand down the top of my dress the way
Servario had done and stabbed quickly, sliding away from the stream of blood as
he collapsed.

I
contemplated leaving the thin, sword-like hairpin where it was, embedded into
the side of his head, but it was my only weapon at this point. I dragged it
out, feeling his body twitch over mine as he died slowly and his grip lessened.

I
slumped him onto the floor of the backseat with a huge amount of effort,
ripping my dress a little but not caring the slightest. I felt his warm body up
for a piece, but there was nothing. He was unarmed. I jumped into the front
seat, feeling around the car for a gun. Finally, I opened the trunk and sighed
when I discovered a cache of weapons. He had grenades, handguns, and assault
riffles. My best chance was with some handguns but I grabbed a grenade just in
case and tucked it in my cleavage.

I
turned and ran toward the direction I had seen Servario walk when he left with
Harry, the man who had been hugging him and calling him Gustavo.

The
streets were busy, even there in the industrial part of town. I hurried past
several groups of people. Walking quickly with handguns seemed completely
normal. No one even gave me a second look.

I
stopped walking and listened for any sign that they were left or right on the
street of buildings. The heat had sweat plastered to my forehead and underarms,
and I dearly regretted not wearing underwear.

A
red light inside of a building caught my eye. The outside was sandstone and old
looking, like it was charming. But the inside had several red lights glowing
through the windows. To me a red light always meant prostitutes so I decided to
give it a go and see what happened.

My
heels clicked against the beautiful street as I rounded the side of the
building to the back. A single steel door with dark-green paint sat there,
looking awfully lonely, considering the larger doors had been at the front of
the building. I tucked my guns and pulled my hairpin out and thumped on the
door. It hurt my knuckles to do it.

I
rapped again, only harder. The door groaned as a large man opened it, giving me
an odd look.

“I’m
here to meet Harry. I have the virgins.”

He
scowled, about to say something but I jumped, driving the hairpin into his
temple, right where I’d lodged it in the driver. He staggered back but I pulled
him forward and let him fall onto the street. I really hoped I was right as he
died and I pulled the hairpin out of his head and crept inside of the building.
I closed the door, letting my eyes adjust to the dark and creepy glow of the red
lights.

A
sound near the back of the large open warehouse-style building drew my
attention that way.

I
slipped my shoes off and tiptoed over the pale stone floor. When I got to the
back there was a long hallway with nothing, just silence and lights, thankfully
not red ones.

At
the end of the hall there was a door with a sign in a foreign language. I
twisted the handle slowly, peeking past the thick door. It was a waiting room
with seats made of leather and a basket of magazines, only they were not like the
ones my doctor and dentist had. They were porn.

I
closed the door, slipping the hairpin into my hair, trying my best to ignore
the human remains on it, and pulled a gun. Ever so softly, I slinked down the
hall, searching for the answer to the question of who keeps fucking porn in the
magazine basket. The answer came in the second hallway, behind the first door I
opened. It was just like the office we had raided and saved the sex slaves last
time. Every door I opened revealed a mess, something I didn't want to see so I
chose not to. I snuck in the first one, leaving the door ajar and my heart
closed. I pulled out my hairpin and stabbed as the frightened eyes of the girl
being assaulted closed. She didn't see the horrors I committed just as I
overlooked the ones she did.

I
lifted a finger to my lips, a bloody finger. She shook, sobbing and scared.
Needle marks scarred her arms and a black bruise marred her face. “Are you
American?” She nodded, heaving when she heard me speak. “Just stop crying and
follow me. I’ll get you out.”

“My
sister—” Her Southern accent rotted me.

I
nodded. “We’ll find her too. Just shut up, please. We can all cry and drink
some scotch on the plane ride home.”

She
stood on filthy feet and shaky legs and followed me from the room. She leaned
against the wall in the hallway as I interrupted in room number two. It was
much worse, a horror show, but both men were dead within seconds. I dragged the
young girl, who was maybe nineteen, from the room. She collapsed into the
sobbing arms of the other girl.

“Is
that your sister?”

She
shook her head as silent tears rolled down her cheeks.

I
turned and started toward door number three, scared of what we would find. Each
door got worse as we went along. The sex of the slave changed a couple times
but the age stayed very close to twenty. It was sick and disturbing but I
thanked God for that. I didn’t need to see a small child in the arms of a grown
man. There are things you cannot drink away.

We
cleared a whole hallway without any interruptions. That made me suspicious. So
I put them all into a room, the sobbing and traumatized mess they were and told
them to wait for me—I would come back, no matter what.

Not
a single one believed me.

I
snuck down another corridor until I reached a large area. Men were laughing and
playing cards. I could see them through the slight crack in the open doorway.
Servario was one of them. Guns sat on the table as they laughed and joked.

My
heart was racing, imagining the worst of him. He wasn't in trouble. He wasn't
scared. He was drinking scotch and smoking a cigar. He was fine and I was a
mess.

I
turned, certain he had a reason for staying and laughing while the driver
sexually assaulted me and everyone who knew about the place sexually assaulted
teenagers down the hall. Whatever that reason was though, I didn't give a
flying fuck.

I
stalked back to the room I had left them in, opening the door slowly. One of
the boys jumped at me but I caught his weak arm in my hand. I lifted a finger
to my lips. They gripped to one another and followed me back to the green door.
We slipped out onto the road, each of them crying and sobbing and wanting to
kiss the ground but I shook my head. “Kiss American soil when we get home.
Right now, we gotta go.” I started to run, a light jog, back to the car with
the dead driver. I grabbed my cell phone from my clutch in the backseat and
dialed 9-1-1.