Page 43 of Wicked Mafia Beast
"I don't know." I force myself to hold his gaze when the shame of the stains to my name threatens to pull my eyes to the floor. My fingers tighten around my coffee mug, the ceramic biting into my palms, and I use the small pain to anchor myself. "Ever since I understood where my father's wealth comes from, I've wanted to stop him and my uncle."
I swallow hard. The words taste sour, the way they always do when I say them out loud, when the reality of sharing blood with monsters sits heavy on my tongue.
"Now that I know there's a whole other level of depravity, my determination goes beyond snagging a coveted journalism job." My jaw sets. Something hot and sharp climbs up my spine, straightening my posture, pulling my shoulders back. "I want blood. I don't want to just hurt my family and put a dent in their operations."
My hand is shaking. I set the mug down before he notices, pressing my palm flat against the cool granite to still the tremor. But my voice comes out steady, harder than I've ever heard it.
"People are dying, Kon. Women are being sold. They have to be stopped permanently."
The last word splinters on its way out, cracking down the middle, and I hate myself for it. Heat rushes behind my eyes, the burn of tears I refuse to shed, and I blink fast, jaw clenching until my molars ache. I will not cry in front of this man. Not about this.
"I had evidence. Shipping manifests, financial records, witness statements. Enough to put Seamus away for life." I press my lips together and exhale through my nose, slow, controlled, forcing the tremor back down where it belongs. "At the time I thought it was maybe stolen goods and weapons. Now I know the truth." My throat tightens around the next words and I have to push them through. "But I had to leave it all behind when I ran."
His brow draws down a fraction. "All of it?"
"Yeah. Months of work. I cut out a piece of drywall behind my bed and stuffed, it inside before sealing it up." I push my plate away, appetite gone. "What I have on my laptop is the framework. Preliminary research. Public records. Enough to rebuild from, but nowhere near what I had."
"Names. Who does Seamus use on the ground?"
"A fixer named Brennan handles the dirty work. He's the one who grabbed me from the alley." My fingers tighten around my coffee mug. "And there's a port captain in Baltimore who looks the other way when the containers come through. I never got his name, but I have the schedule."
"Luca can find the name. Give us the schedule and he'll have the rest within a day."
"Of course he will." I almost smile. "Your intelligence guy is terrifying."
"He prefers 'thorough.'" The corner of his mouth twitches. As usual, it's gone before it fully forms.
“There’s nothing I can do about the proof unless I sneak back in and cut it out of the wall. I stayed with my father long after I should have left because it’s easier to hunt your prey from within. Now that I am out, I’ll just have to–”
"We rebuild," he cuts in matter of fact. "It's that easy. What else?"
"Easy? I risked my life on more than one occasion to gather my intel.”
“And now no one will get within one hundred yards of you.”
I don’t know what to say to that so I grab the cooled mug of coffee and take a swallow.
“What else do you know?”
I watch his mouth move over the question and take in the way he leans forward on the kitchen counter, those beautifully tattooed hands and strong fingers splayed out. Remnants of yesterday filter through my mind. It’s hard not to let my brain fall back on the moment we shared. He felt good on top of me and it’s easier to think about that than all the nasty shit my family does.
But instead of stating the truth running through my brain, I opt to stay on topic.
I push the mug toward him and he refills it with the poison I’m starting to like.
“When I was being held for the auction I overheard a few things and the women were free with whatever information they had once they learned I am a journalist.”
His expression morphs from pure business to something pretty damn close to what I think is pride.
“You’re a brave woman.”
To keep my fingers from shaking, I wrap them around the mug. “I was desperate to keep my wits about me and doing my job when I could allowed that.” I pause a moment. “You have to understand something about me, Kon. I won't give up.”
Dark, understanding eyes meet mine. “I’m counting on it."
I latch onto that detail and file it away too before continuing. “There's a warehouse. South side, near the old stockyards. Seamus uses it as a waystation. The women come in through the ports, get processed there, then shipped out to buyers. Only at the time, I thought it was anything else besides humans in those containers." I swallow hard. "I photographed it. Documented the schedule, the guard rotations, the vehicles. That's on my laptop.”
“What pushed your uncle to put you through the Society?”
