Trace of Fever
Page 70
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Another piece of information. Trace hid his rage beneath curiosity. “You’ve seen the basement?”
Murray lifted one massive shoulder. “In years past, I used it a few times myself. But not since I’ve…refined my business.”
A tendril of something dark and sinister slithered down Trace’s spine. Had Priss’s mother been kept here? Had she been one of Murray’s first victims? When possible, he’d check to see how long the factory had been shut down.
“Here he comes.” Trace nodded toward the empty corridor.
“I don’t see anyone.”
“Just wait.”
Seconds later, a shadow elongated and morphed into the shape of a man.
Trace took the lead, stepping in front of Murray and asking, “Mr. Belford?”
“Yes.” Beady eyes darted around the room. “Where’s Dugo?”
Assuming it was Dugo now passed out on the floor, out of sight, Trace took a few more steps forward. “Don’t worry about that right now.” He caught Belford’s arm. “I’m sure you understand if we utilize some security precautions.”
Belford tried to take a hasty step back. “What do you mean?”
“Simple pat down, that’s all.” Trace kept his hold tight. “Gotta make sure you’re not carrying.”
“Oh.” His gaze moved past Trace to Murray. “I understand. Of course.”
Trace went through the motions, but Belford had no more than a wallet, cell phone and the required walkie-talkie on his person.
To further alarm the prick, Trace relieved him of all three, moving them well out of his reach.
Murray smiled. “Come, Belford. Join us.”
More skittish by the moment, Belford stepped forward—and saw Dugo bleeding on the floor. “Dear God, you’ve murdered him!”
“He’s alive,” Trace told him. And then, because he had to know, he asked, “Anyone else in the building?”
“No.” Belford shook his head in dismay. “No one.”
“Be damn sure you tell me the truth. Because if I find out otherwise—”
“I believe,” Murray said, “that my man wants to know if you currently have any women occupying the basement.”
Belford shook his head again. “No. It’s…well, it’s set up for the cargo I’ll get from you. That is, if—if we still have a deal?”
“We do,” Murray told him. “At the original price we agreed upon.”
“Oh, but I thought…” Gulping, he glanced at Dugo. “Yes, that’s fine.”
When Dugo stirred, Trace shut down Belford’s hopes, saying, “He’s not going to save you, so forget it.”
“Right.” Running a hand over his head, then over his gut, Belford cleared his throat. “Well, if everything is settled, then…”
Trace saw the gleam in Murray’s eyes. Belford might not understand it, but Trace knew exactly what that look meant: bloodshed, abuse, devastation.
For once, he didn’t mind. If anyone needed a little devastation it was Belford.
Casually, Trace moved into position behind him. A worm like Belford didn’t deserve a direct face-off.
When Murray nodded, Belford tried to bolt. Trace halted him with a shattering punch to his kidneys and Belford, after bowing forward, collapsed in on himself to join his man on the floor.
Without looking away from Belford, Trace asked Murray, “How bad do you want it?”
“I’ll tell you when to stop.”
With Belford’s face still twisted in pain, Trace lifted him up by his shirtfront, popping several buttons in the process, and went to work. He used his fists, his elbows, his knees and his feet. With every blow, he thought of what this man had conspired to do against women. What he would do if Trace didn’t stop him.
Murray’s time would come, but for now, he could dish out partial retribution to one of the players. Not a perfect solution, but it’d do for now.
As he worked over Belford, Murray talked to him, taunting him every so often, conveying little details of their arrangement.
Trace made a mental note of every word said while again pretending to be a robot on autopilot to fulfill Murray’s vicious request.
Five minutes later, with Trace not even breathing hard and a few of Belford’s teeth on the floor mixing with blood and at least one bone broken, Murray lifted a hand to call a halt.
Trace stepped back and Belford, barely conscious, slumped to his ass on the cold floor, hanging his bruised and bleeding head.
Murray moved to stand over him. “Understand, please, this was a lesson in honor. We made a deal and, for me, once a deal is set, there is no further negotiation.”
Belford managed a weak nod of assent.
“I figured you’d get the point. Now.” Murray chuckled and slapped Trace on the back. “Good work.”
Flexing his knuckles, bile burning his throat, Trace thought of Priss. He thought of her jibes and her scent and her headstrong manner, and was rewarded with a cleansing breath of fresh air.
He needed her now more than ever; though he was beginning to think he’d needed her, her specifically, for a very long time.
“We’re through here?”
“Nah.” Murray nodded toward Dugo. “Kill him.”
That wasn’t part of the plan, but Trace wouldn’t balk over taking out a participant in the human-trafficking racket. In the end, he hoped to kill them all.
Murray lifted one massive shoulder. “In years past, I used it a few times myself. But not since I’ve…refined my business.”
A tendril of something dark and sinister slithered down Trace’s spine. Had Priss’s mother been kept here? Had she been one of Murray’s first victims? When possible, he’d check to see how long the factory had been shut down.
“Here he comes.” Trace nodded toward the empty corridor.
“I don’t see anyone.”
“Just wait.”
Seconds later, a shadow elongated and morphed into the shape of a man.
Trace took the lead, stepping in front of Murray and asking, “Mr. Belford?”
“Yes.” Beady eyes darted around the room. “Where’s Dugo?”
Assuming it was Dugo now passed out on the floor, out of sight, Trace took a few more steps forward. “Don’t worry about that right now.” He caught Belford’s arm. “I’m sure you understand if we utilize some security precautions.”
Belford tried to take a hasty step back. “What do you mean?”
“Simple pat down, that’s all.” Trace kept his hold tight. “Gotta make sure you’re not carrying.”
“Oh.” His gaze moved past Trace to Murray. “I understand. Of course.”
Trace went through the motions, but Belford had no more than a wallet, cell phone and the required walkie-talkie on his person.
To further alarm the prick, Trace relieved him of all three, moving them well out of his reach.
Murray smiled. “Come, Belford. Join us.”
More skittish by the moment, Belford stepped forward—and saw Dugo bleeding on the floor. “Dear God, you’ve murdered him!”
“He’s alive,” Trace told him. And then, because he had to know, he asked, “Anyone else in the building?”
“No.” Belford shook his head in dismay. “No one.”
“Be damn sure you tell me the truth. Because if I find out otherwise—”
“I believe,” Murray said, “that my man wants to know if you currently have any women occupying the basement.”
Belford shook his head again. “No. It’s…well, it’s set up for the cargo I’ll get from you. That is, if—if we still have a deal?”
“We do,” Murray told him. “At the original price we agreed upon.”
“Oh, but I thought…” Gulping, he glanced at Dugo. “Yes, that’s fine.”
When Dugo stirred, Trace shut down Belford’s hopes, saying, “He’s not going to save you, so forget it.”
“Right.” Running a hand over his head, then over his gut, Belford cleared his throat. “Well, if everything is settled, then…”
Trace saw the gleam in Murray’s eyes. Belford might not understand it, but Trace knew exactly what that look meant: bloodshed, abuse, devastation.
For once, he didn’t mind. If anyone needed a little devastation it was Belford.
Casually, Trace moved into position behind him. A worm like Belford didn’t deserve a direct face-off.
When Murray nodded, Belford tried to bolt. Trace halted him with a shattering punch to his kidneys and Belford, after bowing forward, collapsed in on himself to join his man on the floor.
Without looking away from Belford, Trace asked Murray, “How bad do you want it?”
“I’ll tell you when to stop.”
With Belford’s face still twisted in pain, Trace lifted him up by his shirtfront, popping several buttons in the process, and went to work. He used his fists, his elbows, his knees and his feet. With every blow, he thought of what this man had conspired to do against women. What he would do if Trace didn’t stop him.
Murray’s time would come, but for now, he could dish out partial retribution to one of the players. Not a perfect solution, but it’d do for now.
As he worked over Belford, Murray talked to him, taunting him every so often, conveying little details of their arrangement.
Trace made a mental note of every word said while again pretending to be a robot on autopilot to fulfill Murray’s vicious request.
Five minutes later, with Trace not even breathing hard and a few of Belford’s teeth on the floor mixing with blood and at least one bone broken, Murray lifted a hand to call a halt.
Trace stepped back and Belford, barely conscious, slumped to his ass on the cold floor, hanging his bruised and bleeding head.
Murray moved to stand over him. “Understand, please, this was a lesson in honor. We made a deal and, for me, once a deal is set, there is no further negotiation.”
Belford managed a weak nod of assent.
“I figured you’d get the point. Now.” Murray chuckled and slapped Trace on the back. “Good work.”
Flexing his knuckles, bile burning his throat, Trace thought of Priss. He thought of her jibes and her scent and her headstrong manner, and was rewarded with a cleansing breath of fresh air.
He needed her now more than ever; though he was beginning to think he’d needed her, her specifically, for a very long time.
“We’re through here?”
“Nah.” Murray nodded toward Dugo. “Kill him.”
That wasn’t part of the plan, but Trace wouldn’t balk over taking out a participant in the human-trafficking racket. In the end, he hoped to kill them all.
