outside the cage, except they were tied at the ankles as well as the wrists. I wondered why they weren’t in here with me—and why they weren’t stirring.
I looked closer at them through the dim light. It was Alana and Liam. The last time I’d seen Alana, her dark hair was bouncing to the beat of the music. Now it was as limp as a doll’s. And Liam’s beautiful lips, the ones I’d come so close to kissing, were now gagged and covered in bloody cloth.
My chest tightened with a crushing force. I hated myself for getting them involved. If only I’d done a better job of pushing everyone away, they wouldn’t be here.
“I’m not going to tell you again!” a deep voice echoed across the warehouse. “It’s time, so make the call!”
“Come on, jefe, this ain’t right,” another man replied in a much younger and more hesitant voice, with an accent that made me think of the East LA gang crews. So not bueno .
I couldn’t see them, and they couldn’t see me behind the row of crates piled haphazardly toward the ceiling.
“What ain’t right is you acting like a little bitch. Now get your phone out and make the call.”
“Bro, calm down and think about it. All we’re supposed to do is babysit these drugged kids for a while and then take the money and run? Rick, it’s a setup.”
Rick. I knew a Rick. Rick “The Stick”—one of my Filthy Five. But I’d never heard him speak, so how could I be sure if this voice belonged to him?
“You’re wasting time,” Rick said.
“You’ve done deals with this guy before?” the younger guy asked, sounding more skittish.
“Yeah, two nights ago, OK? It didn’t go as planned, and I had to get rid of a girl. Let’s just say he owes me tonight.”
Two nights ago? Get rid of a girl? Could he have been talking about the girl on Ninth Street from the text I got?
“Didn’t go as planned? Shit, man, you ain’t exactly making me feel better.”
“Look, I’ve done plenty of deals, and this one won’t be any different,” Rick said. “So just make the damn call and let’s get this over with!”
“Why don’t you make the call?”
“Because, you idiot, I don’t have the number. The broker gave it to you.”
The broker? What product—?
Oh, crap. We were the product. I was the freaking product.
“Here. Take the number that dude gave you. I’ll go wait where the cops can’t bust through that door in five seconds!” The younger guy was rattled.
“Look, you split, and you lose your split. You understand? That’s twenty grand. And the broker is not some dude . He’s big-time, working with Mr. G. You get in with G, and you don’t get to mess around. So just shut up already!”
There was a pause and some shuffling.
“Can’t I at least sample the product? Five minutes alone with the blonde?” My stomach turned, and my muscles tensed in revolt. Young or not, stupid or smart, this guy was dangerous. “If we get busted, at least it won’t all be for nada—”
“How many times do I have to tell you? The broker said she’s a virgin, and they pay triple for virgins. You’re not touching her or her skinny little friend, no matter what. I need this score, all right?”
There was no longer any doubt in my mind—this was, in fact, Rick “The Stick.” Number two on my list of the Filthy Five. The details I’d written in his file quickly came to mind. Formerly: Rick Rossi, champion featherweight boxer from South LA. Currently: notorious drug dealer and unmerciful murderer of anyone who got in his way. He earned his cute little nickname by screwing over one of his big-time drug partners, “sticking” him with the evidence that sent the guy to prison, and walking away with a sweetheart deal from none other than Dear Mother Jane Rose.
Before Dad’s death, his team had responded to a tip on one of Rick’s big deals going down. They recovered 500 kilos of cocaine, but not The Stick himself. He’d gotten away again. Since the bust he’d been lying
I looked closer at them through the dim light. It was Alana and Liam. The last time I’d seen Alana, her dark hair was bouncing to the beat of the music. Now it was as limp as a doll’s. And Liam’s beautiful lips, the ones I’d come so close to kissing, were now gagged and covered in bloody cloth.
My chest tightened with a crushing force. I hated myself for getting them involved. If only I’d done a better job of pushing everyone away, they wouldn’t be here.
“I’m not going to tell you again!” a deep voice echoed across the warehouse. “It’s time, so make the call!”
“Come on, jefe, this ain’t right,” another man replied in a much younger and more hesitant voice, with an accent that made me think of the East LA gang crews. So not bueno .
I couldn’t see them, and they couldn’t see me behind the row of crates piled haphazardly toward the ceiling.
“What ain’t right is you acting like a little bitch. Now get your phone out and make the call.”
“Bro, calm down and think about it. All we’re supposed to do is babysit these drugged kids for a while and then take the money and run? Rick, it’s a setup.”
Rick. I knew a Rick. Rick “The Stick”—one of my Filthy Five. But I’d never heard him speak, so how could I be sure if this voice belonged to him?
“You’re wasting time,” Rick said.
“You’ve done deals with this guy before?” the younger guy asked, sounding more skittish.
“Yeah, two nights ago, OK? It didn’t go as planned, and I had to get rid of a girl. Let’s just say he owes me tonight.”
Two nights ago? Get rid of a girl? Could he have been talking about the girl on Ninth Street from the text I got?
“Didn’t go as planned? Shit, man, you ain’t exactly making me feel better.”
“Look, I’ve done plenty of deals, and this one won’t be any different,” Rick said. “So just make the damn call and let’s get this over with!”
“Why don’t you make the call?”
“Because, you idiot, I don’t have the number. The broker gave it to you.”
The broker? What product—?
Oh, crap. We were the product. I was the freaking product.
“Here. Take the number that dude gave you. I’ll go wait where the cops can’t bust through that door in five seconds!” The younger guy was rattled.
“Look, you split, and you lose your split. You understand? That’s twenty grand. And the broker is not some dude . He’s big-time, working with Mr. G. You get in with G, and you don’t get to mess around. So just shut up already!”
There was a pause and some shuffling.
“Can’t I at least sample the product? Five minutes alone with the blonde?” My stomach turned, and my muscles tensed in revolt. Young or not, stupid or smart, this guy was dangerous. “If we get busted, at least it won’t all be for nada—”
“How many times do I have to tell you? The broker said she’s a virgin, and they pay triple for virgins. You’re not touching her or her skinny little friend, no matter what. I need this score, all right?”
There was no longer any doubt in my mind—this was, in fact, Rick “The Stick.” Number two on my list of the Filthy Five. The details I’d written in his file quickly came to mind. Formerly: Rick Rossi, champion featherweight boxer from South LA. Currently: notorious drug dealer and unmerciful murderer of anyone who got in his way. He earned his cute little nickname by screwing over one of his big-time drug partners, “sticking” him with the evidence that sent the guy to prison, and walking away with a sweetheart deal from none other than Dear Mother Jane Rose.
Before Dad’s death, his team had responded to a tip on one of Rick’s big deals going down. They recovered 500 kilos of cocaine, but not The Stick himself. He’d gotten away again. Since the bust he’d been lying
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