Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 79020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Half an hour goes by with her just sitting there, her eyes wandering all over the room as if she needs to commit every piece of decor to memory.
Annoyed that Wilkinson hasn't come out of the back room to see her, I stand and approach, taking the seat next to her.
She gives me a quick smile when I look at her, but she doesn't speak.
I can see the nervousness that takes over her body as her hands start to tremble and she fidgets with her bottle of water.
"Buy you a drink?" I ask, remembering that Zara mentioned her being old enough for alcohol consumption, but she was right, up close, the girl looks much younger. She looks like she should be waiting for a school bus rather than sitting at a bar in clothes too small for the weather outside.
"I have a water but thank you." What woman doesn't want a free drink?
Maybe I scare her just like I scare almost every other woman that I approach. This one isn't looking for a thrill. There isn't an ounce of adventure shining in her eyes as she swallows and looks in the opposite direction of me.
She should be scared of me. Hell, she should be scared of any man she meets in a place like this.
I continue to sit next to her, continue to look her over checking for bruises and scars, anything that might indicate she's experienced some shit, but her skin looks perfect, unmarred. I know looks can be deceiving. In sex trafficking, some women are kept in pristine condition. Some customers want to be the ones to mar their victims.
Just the thought of it makes my skin crawl and a growl of disgust erupts from my throat, drawing her attention.
"If you want to spend time with me," she manages before she swallows, her gaze locked on my chin rather than my eyes, "you have to schedule it."
Bingo. At a minimum, she's part of a prostitution ring.
I nod and it seems to give her a little more confidence as she flips her hair over her shoulder and manages to smile.
I'd bet all my savings that she's brand new at this, and other than what Wilkinson made her do the other night, it's likely she's never had a paying client before. She's brand new, and as much as I want to talk her out of what she's doing, there are reasons women end up making this kind of choice and none of them are good. This woman, however, isn't my focus, and as new as she is, she won't have any answers.
Wilkinson has stayed under the radar for years, and he has done so by keeping his mouth shut and not talking about what it is he does to earn his real money.
"What would a night with you cost me?" I ask, needing to at least find out the things she does know.
She shrugs. "I'm not really good at math."
I honestly can't tell if this is part of the role she's playing or if she's so out of touch with her life right now that she's letting someone else control every aspect of it.
"How do I schedule some of your time?"
Her smile grows wider, but her hands are still trembling when she reaches into the tiniest purse I've ever seen and produces a business card. The only thing on the card is a QR code, and a huff leaves my lips as I look down at it.
"You just have to scan that with your phone camera and--"
"I know how QR codes work."
"I don't make the rules," she says with a simple shrug. "It was nice meeting you. Maybe we'll see each other again."
I stare down at the card as she gets up and moves to go sit beside Jersey. I watch her pull the same innocent and shaking act with him, second-guessing just how innocent this girl may be. One thing I do know, or at least what I can tell right now, is that although she's made some poor choices in her life, she's here working of her own volition. I'd wager that she isn't being forced, but that she's just in a position where she doesn't see any other choice for herself. There are so many similarities between sex trafficking and prostitution that it makes my skin crawl, but that can't be my focus right now.
If Tommy Wilkinson is running a prostitution ring out of his bar, then we still have to clear that shit out. We need to keep our area free from as much criminal activity as possible. We don't need a criminal element whispering about what we're doing or recognizing our faces while we're working.
I look down at my watch, knowing what's coming doesn't stop me from startling when the front door is kicked open so hard it smacks with an echo against the wall.