Say the Word (38 page)

I didn’t disagree.

Eventually, we reached the top of the flight, stepping out into a space nearly identical to the kitchen prep room on the first floor, but with no signs of habitation. No lights were left illuminated to aid still-working kitchen staff. There were no utensils lying about, no food remnants of recently-prepared appetizers scattered about the counters — the stainless steel tables were immaculate and not a single tool was out of place.

I held my breath as we crossed to the door, wondering what we might find on the other side. Had this all been for nothing — a misadventure, born of misguided hopes and ill-founded
wishes to find Vera? Had I been connecting invisible dots? Seeing illusory correlations between completely unrelated people and places?

Was
Labyrinth
even connected to my investigation? Because, so far, nothing here suggested anything remotely associated with human trafficking.

Short on the heels of that thought came another — one so paralyzing I felt my throat begin to constrict at just the possibility it might be true. I began to wonder if I really was crazy, after all. Maybe my conspiracy-theory wall mosaic was just that — a conspiracy, feigned and fabricated by a sad, foolish girl who couldn’t cope with the truth. Maybe, without ever noticing, I’d slipped off the ledge of sanity and fallen so far into lunacy I couldn’t even see it anymore.

Or, maybe not.

Because, when Sebastian opened that door, when we saw what lay in the empty space beyond, when I felt the air disappear from my lungs and the saliva evaporate from my tongue as my mouth went dry with dread… there was little room left for doubt.

I wasn’t crazy — but that was little validation when the truth was so repugnant.

Horrifyingly, cruelly, abominably…  I’d been right all along.

Chains hold better than rope, I suppose. They were a good choice — sturdy, of course, but also perfectly suited to the archaic nature of
Labyrinth
on the whole.

Why they needed to restrain the girls when they had plenty of sedation drugs at their disposal, I had no idea. Perhaps drugged girls were less attractive than those who could stand on their own two feet. Perhaps there was something thrilling to the men watching from their dark little booths about a small, defenseless girl, bound in heavy, inescapable chains.

I didn’t know. I didn’t want to ever know.

But as I stood on the threshold of the empty room, I was certain that the small round platform at the center of the
space, with its set of carefully coiled ankle chains, served only one purpose: to display property on sale.

This wasn’t a brothel as, in the dark corners of my mind, I’d allowed myself to prepare for during the past few weeks. It wasn’t a safe haven for sexual predators, or den of depravity, where the wealthy could come to indulge in erotic favors from underage immigrant girls at no personal risk to their careers or reputations.

No. This was something far more odious.

It was an auction block.

The private, dark booths lining the walls were the biggest indication. There were ten booths, arranged in a circle around the platform. To offer a semblance of privacy, each booth was cordoned off on either side with curtains and enclosed behind a wall of tinted glass, facing the small platform at the center of the room. A closer look inside the booth nearest to us revealed an electronic panel with buttons used for placing anonymous bets.

Those partaking in the auction could participate without ever revealing their identities.

I heard Bash swear under his breath as he slipped one hand into his jacket pocket and removed a tiny point-and-shoot camera. As he snapped photo after photo, I realized in a detached way that I was in shock, but couldn’t quite muster the energy to do anything about it.

I saw it play out in my mind in startling clarity — the whole organization, clicking into place like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle snapping together.

They scouted girls — young, pretty, poor, and preferably undocumented — on the streets of the city. Watched for opportunities to snatch them away from their families and took them somewhere they could be contained for a while: the brewery in Red Hook, most likely. There, the girls were given GHB, sedated past the point of ever putting up a fight or escaping, and held, like livestock in a pen awaiting their slaughter. Thugs like Smash Nose and the Neanderthal watched them for a time — days, weeks, maybe even months — until the rich men arrived at
Labyrinth
to examine the newly stocked wares and compete for their pretty new possessions. Just as Officer Monroe had witnessed in the back alley all those years ago, the girls were transported here, to this very room, and put on display.

And for a price — likely an extremely steep one — they could be purchased.

I pictured Vera on that stage, ten pairs of lewd eyes glued to her chained body as money changed hands, and had to turn away.

The room began to shake, as though an earthquake was rumbling the entire city and disturbing the building’s foundations. I pressed a hand to my stomach, hoping I wouldn’t wretch on the lushly carpeted floor. Belatedly, I realized the trembling wasn’t the room — it was me. I’d begun to shudder violently, and no amount of deep breathing would soothe me this time.

It was too much. All of it.

“Come on, I have enough.” Bash grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me lightly. “Lux, we have to go. Pull it together.”

I knew I was spiraling quickly into panic, and would soon be of no use to anyone. Looking up into Sebastian’s eyes, I tried to ground myself. The steadiness in their depths lent me strength enough to snap myself out of it.

“I’m fine.” I swallowed roughly. “Let’s go.”

He laced his fingers through mine and pulled me back toward the kitchen door. We flew down the pitch-black stairwell as fast my heeled feet would allow, emerging into the downstairs prep room breathless and fraught with tension. When Bash opened the door to the sitting room, we rushed inside so quickly we nearly plowed straight into the small man standing a few feet away, seemingly waiting for us.

“Charles,” Bash said, coming to an abrupt halt and squeezing my hand a little tighter.

“Sir.” Charles did not look happy. In fact, he looked downright peeved that we’d been caught outside his carefully laid boundaries. “Were you looking for something particular in the kitchen area?” he asked in a smoothly cultured voice that totally contradicted the vexed glare his eyes were shooting at us.

“No, the door was left open and we wandered inside by mistake.” Bash forced a grin. “Sweet knife set — are those custom-made Shun blades?”

Charles glare intensified. “I believe so, sir.”

“Excellent.” Sebastian sidestepped and pulled me along with him, angling us closer to the
exit. “Well, we’ve had about as much exploring as we can take for one night. You’ve been a great help, Charles.”

“We hope to see you again in the future, Mr. Covington.” Charles seemed all too eager to be rid of us, practically escorting us toward the door and back into the atrium. “I’ll call for your car to be brought around.”

“Thank you, Charles.”

“Goodnight, sir.” The mysterious butler vanished in seconds, slipping into an alcove somewhere or perhaps simply fading into the wallpaper like a chameleon taught to camouflage itself in the presence of predators. Though I could no longer see him, I felt his watchful eyes still lingering on the back of my neck as we headed for the mammoth front doors and out into the night, leaving behind a well-
moneyed, well-secluded auction room where business of the most deplorable kind was conducted — as well as a small piece of my soul.

Bash was pacing.

He’d been pacing for an hour, and I was worried he’d soon begin to wear a tread mark into the lovely hardwood floors of his loft. I was curled up in a ball on the window seat, my borrowed heels discarded on the floor next to me. I didn’t know what to say to him — there was nothing I
could
say to make this right. When another twenty minutes ticked by in the dark, silent room and he showed no signs of stopping, I sighed and hopped down from my perch.

I walked over and planted myself in his path, slipping my hands around the back of his neck and forcing him to still. His head was bowed, his breathing labored — it seemed the shock that had hit me in the auction room was only now catching up to him.

“Bash,” I whispered. “Look at me.”

He raised bleak eyes to meet mine. A moment of silence passed between us, and when he spoke his voice was haunted. “You were right.”

I arched my brows in question.

“I’d half convinced myself that you were delusional. I didn’t want to believe…” He trailed off.

“I know.”

“My father…” Bash’s lips twisted in revulsion and his eyes pressed closed. “If he’s involved in this…”

I was quiet, my mind fully occupied by memories of a cold December night on the eve of Sebastian’s eighteenth birthday. Andrew Covington — his hands roaming the body of a defenseless young maid in his pantry. I knew, with unshakeable clarity, that the senator was capable — more than capable — of rape. Why shouldn’t he be capable of this as well?

“You aren’t your father,” I said, cupping Bash’s face between my palms and drawing his gaze back to mine. “You cut him out of your life a long time ago.”

“He’s my family.” Bash’s voice held both contempt and disgust. “His blood runs in my veins.”

“You once told me that you believe family isn’t determined by the crib you’re born into — it’s the family you
make
with someone you love.” I held his gaze intently. “Blood isn’t always thicker than water, Bash. I believe things like friendship, things like love — the things you get to
choose
in this life — are the most important things we have. They’re what we have to hold on to. Don’t you still believe that?”

Some of the ghosts cleared from his eyes as he stared back at me. “I should’ve fought for you,” he whispered, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

“What?” I breathed.

“Back then,” he said, swallowing hard. “I should’ve fought for you. Instead, I spent a long time blocking out every emotion I felt for you. And when I finally stopped being hurt and confused and headstrong, when I started to let feeling back in… six years had passed and I was alone, on the other side of the world, without the only person I’d ever wanted standing by my side.”

I felt my breath catch.

“I hated myself for getting lost in that anger, for all that time I’d wasted running away from the one thing that truly scared me.”

“What was that?” I asked, afraid to hear the answer.

“Whether or not you’d been honest that day,” Bash whispered. “I knew if I found you, if I saw you again, and you were indifferent to me — as cold and calculated as you’d been the day you broke my heart — I’d never survive it. So staying away became an act of self-preservation.”

I skimmed my fingers against his close-shaved jawline, hoping to sooth him.

“If there was even a possibility that you still loved me, I should’ve done everything it took to fight for you.” He closed his eyes tightly. “But I didn’t. Because it was easier to block you out, to shut out any possibility of finding you again and lear
ning if my fears were right. I was afraid — a coward.”

“Bash—” I interjected, but he spoke over me.

“But after six long fucking years, I finally realized something.” His eyes opened and began to burn into mine. “I could love you, or I could hate you, or I could miss you from ten thousand miles away, but none of it did me a damn bit of good, because none of it gave me what I wanted.” He cleared his throat roughly. “None of it gave me you.”

“Bash…” I whispered.

“Just let me get this out.” He reached up and covered one of my hands with his. “You blame yourself for what happened to us — I get that. I see it on your face every time you look at me. But you weren’t the only one at fault.”

I felt my heart skip.

“I always said, when I found the love of my life, I’d fight for her. That I’d do whatever I had to do to earn my soulmate. I walked around, spouting Hannibal’s words…” His eyes dropped to my heart, their focus so intense I feared they might singe a hole through the neckline of my dress to where the ink lay beneath. “But when it came time to really live those words — I stumbled. I didn’t fight for you. I didn’t question it. I let my own pride and heartbreak cloud my judgment. I let you walk away. And then I hid, halfway across the world, unwilling to — What? Get my ego bruised a second time?” He blew out a huff of air in self-deprecation.

“Bash—” I tried again.

“I love you.” He said simply, his eyes fierce. “I’ve loved you since the first moment I clapped eyes on you in Latin class. Since that day in the rain, when you climbed into my car and slipped my sweater over your head to get warm. Since the first time I watched you with Jamie, laughing and joking even though the weight of the world was on your shoulders. Since I saw you running in crazy, breathless circles around the circumference of my favorite tree, a look of absolute joy on your face.” He traced a finger down my cheek. “I’ve loved you since before I even knew what love was.”

“Bash—” My voice was thready.

“No, you don’t get to talk. No more telling me I’m crazy or running away from this.” His hands slipped around my shoulders and wound up into my hair. “I’ve been playing it your way, waiting patiently for you to come around. And, Freckles?”

He leaned close and our lips brushed.

“My patience has officially expired.”

His lips landed on mine — consuming me, devastating me, stripping away my every defense. I didn’t try to fight it — I didn’t want to fight it. Instead, I kissed him back, just as hungrily. I met his kiss head on, my hands clinging tightly to his shoulders to steady myself. He broke away to curse under his breath as one of his hands worked at the tiny, stubborn zipper on the back of my dress. I worried he was about to tear it off me — which would probably get me, Fae, and Simon fired from
Luster
— but the jammed tread finally gave and slid open. The dress pooled by my feet, and I heard Bash growl at the sight of what lay beneath.

Simon and Fae had insisted on the sheer black corset, instead of the plain strapless bra I’d wanted to wear. They’d argued that the bustier’s garter straps were necessary to hold up my stockings, tying me into the tightly-bound contraption before I could so much as mutter the words
Why aren’t there any underwear?
At the time, I hadn’t been too thrilled with the idea but now, as I watched a carnal, possessive look fill Sebastian’s eyes while he took in my ensemble, I was more than happy to have such overbearing friends.

“Holy hell,” he muttered, his eyes locked on my body.

His hands reached around to my back and worked at the bindings there as my fingers unbuttoned his shirt and yanked it upward, untucking it from his pants. My palms slid up his bare chest muscles and beneath the jacket on his shoulders. With a swift movement, I pushed the garment to the ground, followed soon after by his crisp white shirt. They landed in a heap next to my abandoned dress.