Twisted Lies 2 (3 page)

One tip after another had led to dead ends.
Every time we’d gotten close to finding Lexis, Jeff would transport
her from state to state, changing their location and leaving no
trace.

The last hot lead we’d gotten was that she’d
been traded between traffickers across the country. After months of
attempting to infiltrate the seedy traffickers’ world, playing
cat-and-mouse games while trying to find her, we’d finally gotten a
solid clue from one of the girls whom Lexis had worked with that
had escaped Jeff’s clutches. She had given us one name. The
name, a flashback from our criminal past, was Ben Vargos.

“Where did they find him?” I snapped.

“He’s set up shop in the Bronx with some
butcher shop as a front.” Ram gritted his teeth.

We stood before the door in deadly hunt mode
with adrenaline coursing through our veins. This was a dangerous
slippery slope for ruthless men like us. It had taken us years to
leave our criminal lives behind, ones filled with the constant
chaos of brutality, most of it perpetrated by us. Now, we were
right back where we had started—a life of violence.

Ram grabbed the doorknob.

I clamped my hand on his shoulder. “Let me
do this, Ram. You’re in a real fucked-up mood right now. You might
end up killing him before we even get any information.”

His body stiffened as he turned to look at
me. Our eyes locked in battle.

“Core, I can do this without fucking it
up.”

“You can’t, not like this.” My eyes
narrowed. “Trust me.”

Ram roughly blew out before nodding.

Grinding my teeth together, I stepped into
the damp-smelling cell. My eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness as
we strode in. Ram closed the door with a decisive click. I nodded
curtly to Max and Rocco, my enforcers, before my eyes locked on the
man in his mid-thirties who was bound to the metal chair sitting
between them.

Ben Vargos was unshaven and his clothes
looked slept in.

I sighed heavily. What I was about to do
would drag me right back into the criminal world I’d left behind.
But we had to get Lexis back, and there was nothing I wasn’t
willing to do to accomplish that.

Ben’s eyes widened. “McKay?” he squawked.
His eyes turned to look at Ram. “Ram?”

My nostrils flared slightly before I
responded, “Hello, Ben.”

Ben glanced around in a furtive manner.

The room was silent, except for the low whir
of the air-conditioner. Ram moved toward the table smack dab in the
middle of the room. He snatched up a pair of black latex gloves and
impatiently snapped them on.

Ben bucked against the rope binding him to
the chair. “Untie me!”

Max growled, slapping Ben on the back of his
head. “I will snap your damn neck. Shut the fuck up.” Max’s voice
was flat.

Ben’s face contorted with pain. “Core? What
the fuck is this shit about?” he squeaked while watching me move
unhurriedly toward the narrow table. “I haven’t seen your ass in
years, and you send your men into my business to drag me out like
some punk.” He struggled uselessly against the rope.

I ignored him while taking off my leather
jacket, folding it, and then laying it over the table ever so
carefully. Cracking my knuckles before slipping on a pair of black
latex gloves, I stared blankly at Ben.

His eyes darted toward Ram. “Ram? Come on.
We go way back. Talk to Core.” Beads of sweat dripped down his
forehead.

Ram sneered but remained eerily silent as he
moved to sit on the edge of the table.

“Come on, man. This is totally fucked up,”
Ben screamed.

I fixed him with a cold stare. “He’s not
going to save your ass, Ben.”

“This is bullshit!” Ben’s panic was
distinct.

I smiled coldly as I rolled up my sleeves,
displaying my tattooed forearms. “This is how it’s going down. I’m
going to ask you some questions, and I want straight answers.”

“Fuck you, McKay!” Ben screamed.

I nodded toward the tub of water. Rocco
shoved Ben forward, ruthlessly slamming his head under the surface
of the water. Ben struggled, but Rocco didn’t relent. Ben struggled
more frantically until Rocco whipped his head up. Ben gasped for
air.

I twirled a chair around, and I sat in front
of him. “This is about unfinished business.” My eyes were cold, my
voice flat. “I hear you’ve moved up in the world, Ben.” I leaned
forward. “No more selling underage girls on the corner. You’ve
upgraded to sex trafficking.”

Ben nervously licked his lips. “What? No.”
He shook his head in denial, but the truth was written on his face.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about, man.”

Ram’s body tensed. “You don’t know what he’s
talking about? You piece of shit!”

He stalked toward Ben before hitting him
hard across the head. I watched with disinterest.

“You pimp out underage girls, and when
you’re done with them, you sell them to other traffickers,” Ram
accused as he studied Ben with murderous cold eyes.

Ben grunted in pain. “Not everyone can go
straight like you two.”

“I’m going to cut to the chase, Ben.” My
face remained emotionless. “I know you’re part of a sex-trafficking
ring that’s making a lot of money pimping out college women. I’m
looking for one of your buddies, Jeff Barolo.”

Ben squirmed. “I don’t know him.”

I arched a brow. “Our informant says you do.
We need to have a little talk with Barolo. And given your
precarious predicament, I think you need to be quick about
snitching on his whereabouts.”

Ben’s face tightened. “I’m not saying
shit.”

Ram shouted, seething with anger, “Where is
he?”

I had to move quickly before Ram completely
lost it. I bolted to my feet, upending my chair, before shoving Ben
forward, bending him over the tub of water. I was done playing
around with him.

My voice dropped to a lethal low whisper.
“You either give me the info I want, or I’m going to torture your
ass with no mercy.”

Ben’s whole body trembled. “If I tell you,
they’ll kill me.”

“And if you don’t tell me, I’ll kill you. So
it sounds like you’re in a real fucked-up situation. But the
difference between them and me is I’ll make sure you stay alive for
five long, agonizing days until you bleed out completely.” I smiled
coldly. “Your choice.”

“Fuck you, McKay,” he spit.

His bravado amused me. “No. Fuck you.”

I plunged Ben’s head back into the water. He
struggled, but not as much as before. I pulled his head back out,
and Ben gasped, but I gave him no time before I pushed him back
under. Again and again, I forced Ben down. The water stilled. Ben
was under, but he’d stopped struggling. When I pulled him out, he
didn’t gasp for air. His head lolled back, and he was barely
coherent. His brow was gashed and raw.

“I know your lungs are burning.” I stepped
back, drying my hand on a black towel. “I can see the panic in your
eyes. You want this to end, and I promise, I will end it. Just tell
me what I want to know. Where’s Jeff?”

“I don’t know.” Ben coughed. “Jeff was
recruiting women for me, and then I would bring them to my loaded
connection to pimp them out to his rolling-in-it friends.” He
shrugged. “But Jeff got smart. He cut me out of the deal and went
straight to my contact, Bigsby Calhoune. He’s Bigsby’s errand boy
now.”

“Holy shit,” Max mumbled.

My mouth tightened. “Bigsby Calhoune? The
politician running for New York City mayor?”

“Yes,” Ben responded.

“Bullshit!” Ram barked.

Ben jumped apprehensively. “I’m telling you
the truth.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Think about it. Why can’t you
find Barolo?” He looked around with uneasy eyes. “He’s protected by
Bigsby. There’s a huge demand from his rich friends who think
nothing about paying to fuck fresh untrained women any way and
anywhere they want.”

Ram snarled, “You fucking bastard.”

I grabbed Ram’s hand, stopping him from
killing Ben. “Go on.”

“Jeff fucking me over like he did should
have earned him a dirt nap, but I’m not about to make waves with
Bigsby, since he’s helping us clean lots of dough.”

Ram’s fists tightened at his sides. “Who the
hell are
us
?”

Ben gulped. “A bunch of us traffickers got
smart. For a huge fee, Bigsby arranged to help us clean our money
through his shell company called Pomtonic International. On top of
that fee, we’re also pumping a hell of a lot of money into
UF-Star.”

My mind spun with this new information.
UF-Star was a Super PAC. The independent political action committee
had been spending a ton of money to advocate Bigsby for New York
City’s new mayor.

I couldn’t believe it. After all these
years, fate had finally thrown me a bone. I was one step closer to
bringing down the man who’d killed my mother. I’d be avenging her
death
and
helping Ram get Lexis back in one fell swoop.

“Why the hell are you contributing to
UF-Star?” I hissed.

Ben tried to bite back a response. Rocco
grabbed the back of his neck and squeezed.

“Once Bigsby gets elected, he’ll turn a
blind eye to all our illegal activities for a percentage of our
profits. That’s all I know. I swear.” Ben’s eyes pleaded. “Look, I
told you what you wanted to know. Now let me go.”

I menacingly leaned forward while pulling
off my gloves before putting them into a black garbage bag. “You
actually think I would let a piece of shit like you back on the
street?”

Ram smiled coldly before nodding over to
Rocco.

Rocco slammed Ben’s head in the water.
Eventually, the water stilled. He was under, but he’d stopped
struggling. When he was pulled up, he didn’t gasp for air. His eyes
rolled back into his head, and he dropped to the floor. He didn’t
move.

Ram pulled off his gloves while looking over
at Max and Rocco. “Bury him somewhere he won’t be found and then
clean this place and get rid of all the evidence.”

They both nodded.

I pulled out my cell, quickly swiping my
finger across it. “Kevin, pull up everything you can on UF-Star and
Pomtonic International.”

“Will do,” Kevin responded before
disconnecting.

“I have a feeling once Bigsby finds out
we’re digging into UF-Star and Pomtonic International, he’ll be
more than happy to shove Jeff out of hiding and put him right on
our doorstep.” I looked over at Ram while grabbing my jacket.
“Let’s go. We have lots of work to do.”

My eyes snapped open to the sound of my cell
phone ringing. Grumbling, I rolled over to grab it off the
nightstand. “Yes?” I answered.

“Sinthia Michaels?” the man drawled.

Groaning, I gingerly sat up in bed, putting
my cell on speaker. “Yes?”

“My name is Kevin Rawley. I’ve been calling
you for days.” Kevin’s voice was annoyed.

I swung my legs over the bed and leaned
forward, putting my elbows on my knees and clutching my head. I was
exhausted from working on my collection late into the night.

“I left you several voice messages and sent
multiple emails.”

I could hear the exasperation in his
voice.

“And?” I snapped.

“I work for Core McKay. I’m his accountant,
and by virtue of your contract with him, I’m now yours, too.”

Sighing, I sat up before scrubbing my hands
over my face. “How can I help you, Kevin?” I stood and decided to
get a cup of coffee before taking a nice cold shower.

“Why the fuck do I deal with this shit?” he
muttered under his breath. “Like I said on all the messages I left
for you, I need access to your business records—more specifically,
your invoices.”

“No,” I responded bluntly while putting on
my silk kimono and going downstairs. “If McKay wants my records,
tell him to man up, call me, and demand them,” I countered.

I stepped into my gourmet kitchen, pressed
the button on the espresso machine, and placed a cup beneath the
brew head to capture the wonderful stream of black liquid gold.

I was chilled to the bone at the thought of
how many things had gone wrong in the last couple months. I had
gone from being the sole proprietor of a thriving fashion
business—one that had been ready to go live in a matter of months
with my highly anticipated Sin Michaels women’s wear collection in
luxury goods department stores—to none of the retailers willing to
return my calls. Moreover, the most frustrating part of it all was
Core McKay, the gorgeous but major asshole, now owned ninety-seven
percent of my business. Either I had some pretty fucked-up karma or
fate was just playing a bad joke on me. Either way, I was royally
screwed.

“You know what you’re doing doesn’t make
sense,” Kevin stated flatly.

“I’m still the designer, and he won’t make a
damn dime if I decide to sit on my ass and do nothing.” When
sufficient coffee flowed into the cup, I lifted it to my lips and
took a small sip, savoring a much-needed awakening.

It wasn’t about playing games. It was about
respect. I wasn’t going to stand for McKay sending his minions
every time he wanted something from me. And I didn’t give a shit
that he now owned ninety-seven percent of my business. I wasn’t
about to bend down and grab my fucking ankles every time the king
of bullshit bellowed from his damn throne.

“Ms. Michaels, he’s going to get what he
wants. Fuck it. Let’s be blunt. He already has what he
wants—ninety-seven percent of your business.”

“A valid point. However, I won’t be treated
like a prison yard bitch.”

When he chuckled, I jumped.

“I love your spirit. I truly do, but I’m
sure you can’t be happy that all your retailers have pulled out of
the deal to distribute your collection.”

My body tightened in tension. “No, I’m
not.”

“And your bills? How are they being paid?”
Kevin asked acerbically.

I put down my cup and crossed my arms,
staring at my unfinished Sin Michaels collection, which was hanging
on racks in parts of my four-thousand-square-foot townhouse. I
sighed heavily. There was no working around the missing custom
fabric I’d ordered. I had no hope in hell of getting it until I
paid the overdue bill, which should have been cleared days ago.