“Did it ever occur to you that the men you went to see today were behind it?” he asked.
Cleo tensed up. “No. That’s not possible. The two things have nothing to do with each other. They’re cops. They’re supposed to help.”
“Yeah, but a nice big paycheck keeps them in line. Trust me when I say this, you’ll never find help from cops.” He had a big issue with the police, but he wasn’t about to tell her his life’s story. No one knew his story—except maybe Boss. He liked it that way.
“No. That’s not right. That’s not fair.”
“Life isn’t fair.”
“You’re wrong. I don’t believe you. They just thought I was overreacting when I was reporting the crime. Probably because it was nothing. I refuse to believe those men are… I’m not going to even say it. You’re wrong.”
“Well then, let’s see if I’m wrong, shall we?” he asked. He chanced a glance toward her.
“How?” Cleo asked.
“Simple, we’re heading back to your apartment. They didn’t take a statement from you but they took your name and address. Didn’t that strike you as odd?”
“I’ve never filed a report or gone to the station before. I don’t know what the correct protocol is.”
“They’re going to be waiting for you.”
“To take my statement?” Cleo asked.
Priest laughed. “No. They’re either there to kill you or to have their fun with you. It will end with your death or you’re going to be sold,” Priest said.
She had already told him that she was a virgin. He had no doubt someone was watching her, waiting to strike. Men in the trafficking world were always on the lookout for potential virgins. They were worth their weight in gold.
****
Cleo didn’t like this. She couldn’t be exactly sure what she didn’t like. The man’s laugh or the possibility this guy could be right.
At the police station, she had gotten this weird feeling, like she had no choice but to get out of there. She was trying to do what was right, but they made her feel like a troublemaker. Cleo had been worried about losing her job if they told her boss. Now she wasn’t sure what to think.
“What’s your name?” Cleo asked.
Silence.
“You know my name. You’re the one here with all the cards, and you won’t tell me your name?” She hated cursing. Tried to avoid it at all costs. It might have something to do with one of her foster parents who’d used a whip across her hands. Each letter in the curse word deserving a whack. Her hands had stung a couple of times, but she soon got out of the habit. She didn’t stay with that family too long. Their punishments had been extreme, and even though the social worker hadn’t said anything, she had a feeling they’d been reported.
Why was she even thinking about that time in her life when she was possibly going to end up dead by this murderer?
“I said I wasn’t going to tell on you, okay? Do you think I’m going to stop you—the man who made the world a better place for women? You think I don’t know how hard it is for us?” she asked, pointing a finger at her chest.
“I’m not that guy. I’m not doing it for women to walk the streets safer.”
“But you do have a reason?” she asked.
She recognized the street as her own. There were a couple of groups of men wandering up and down, and this was another reason she liked to work at night. If she slept during the day, she found she had a good day’s rest, whereas at night, there was always the fear of what could happen next. It was hard sleeping with one eye open.
“Maybe I just like killing people.”
“That’s not it,” Cleo said as he pulled the car up to the first available spot on the road.
“What makes you say that?” he asked.
“Because you would have killed me. A killing machine you might be, but I imagine you also need to have a good reason for it.” She didn’t like the way he looked at her. “Can I go home now?”
She watched as the man turned off the vehicle, opened his jacket, and pulled out a gun. Her stomach began to twist and turn, a sickness rolling over her.