Dark Vengeance, Kristi Belcamino [i read books txt] 📗

An overnight trip.

In someone as organized and anal retentive as I guessed X was, that meant he was gone. He’d packed those clothes and gone somewhere.

Downstairs, I searched the rest of the house, avoiding the kitchen. As I passed, I heard the dog give a low, half-hearted growl. There was a study with more books and an empty desk, a living room area, and a formal dining room. Everything was done in rich, luxurious fabrics and the art on the wall looked real. A large painting over the couch in the living room looked like another Hirst, an abstract painting this time.

My last stop was the garage. There was an SUV and an empty space. I found the keys to the SUV hanging on a hook near the entrance to the garage and decided that would be the easiest way to get back to my bike. I left the SUV at the base of the driveway even though I was tempted to drive it all the way back to the beach.

I tossed the keys into the woods and fished my bike out of the brush.

As I headed back to the surf camp on the deserted road, I wanted to scream.

Nothing about tonight had gone right. I hadn’t found Rose. I hadn’t taken down X. But I’d sure as hell left my mark. I was now a target. And so was everyone else I’d spoken to.

The only possible bright spot was that I’d managed to get in and out of the house without hurting the dog.

Makeda was starting the bonfire down near the beach when I arrived.

“What the hell happened to you?” she said in alarm, taking in my appearance. I looked down. My shirt was covered in blood. She touched my cheek, drawing back bloody fingers. Apparently, my face and hair were covered in blood, as well.

“It went to shit,” I said.

She closed her eyes briefly and gave a loud sigh.

“Are we in danger?”

I winced and nodded.

“I think so,” I looked down. “I fucked up.”

 She poked at the fire with a long stick and then blew on the emerging flames. I waited for her to answer.

“We heard that X left for the mainland yesterday. And that he’d arrived with two girls.”

My heart was racing. Half of me was turning to go back to the bike and head for the ferry.

“Rose?” I said.

“She fit the description of one of the girls. There was a blonde and a brunette.”

“Was the other one Keiki?”

“No,” she said. “Keiki ended up shooting up at some house in town. She and Dre never made it to X’s house that night.”

 “I need to go to Padang,” I said. I needed to stop him. To find Rose and kill him or hurt him badly enough that he would not come back to this island and hurt these people.

Makeda reached for my arm. “Before you do, there’s something else.”

I paused.

“One of the girls he brought to the mainland escaped,” she said. “The brunette.”

She pulled up a photo on her phone. “This is Joan.”

The girl in the picture was pretty with light brown hair and green eyes and a dimple.

“Find her. She might be able to tell you where X hangs out in Padang.”

“Thanks,” I said.

I was racing back toward the road when Makeda yelled after me. “I’ll take care of Dylan for you.”

11

X was standing in the parking lot of the Padang marina, fuming.

He couldn’t believe it. Rose had gotten away.

She had been his ticket to freedom.

Jesus Christ.

He’d already dropped off the other girl—the wet noodle—and been handsomely paid for her. It was insane how much sex traffickers would pay for a pretty blonde white girl in this part of the world. Especially for one who was an addict and would do anything for a fix.

The men he supplied the girls to weren’t the worst of the worst. For instance, they never forced the girls to do anything—they simply paid in drugs. It was a win-win. X had zero guilt about it. Joseph might have felt bad, but X? No way.

The girls could walk away any time they want. But the thing was, they never did want to walk away. They wanted to stay and get their drugs.

With her gone, he was preparing to hand over Rose and something had gone horribly wrong. Back at the marina, he’d spotted the boat he’d been told would be there. It was a massive and imposing yacht. It was painted entirely black, probably like the heart of the fucker who was blackmailing him to get the girl.

He’d sent Kue ahead, stationed near the boat. He would walk Rose over to the boat himself. It was when he was bent over his phone, crafting a text to his contact, that she’d gotten away. Despite tying Rose up, she’d managed to wriggle out of the ropes binding her wrists and ankles and open the back door.

By the time he leaped out of the car and began to give chase she was halfway up the marina’s driveway. Kue was behind them, but it was too late. She slipped down an alley and when they reached it, it was empty. She was gone.

“That way,” he shouted at Kue, pointing toward a hill heading up into the hills scattered with buildings. He’d take the other way, which was mostly an industrial area, to cut her off if she zigzagged. He raced through the streets, hoping to catch a glimpse of the girl. The sun had just set, but he could still see clearly down the shadowy streets and alleys. The area was mostly deserted, all the workers having gone home hours before.

As he ran, he clutched his phone. It kept dinging and he dreaded seeing who was texting him. If it was his contact, who had most likely seen everything, he was fucked.

But after fruitlessly searching the area for about ten minutes, he headed back to the marina. There, he paused, winded, and tried to catch his breath.