Every moment that passes that I’m not able to check my phone feels longer than the last. I need to check the cameras at the estate. I need to make sure the girls got into the panic room safely and turn off the override switch in the control panel. We only keep it on because Snow likes to lock herself in there and drink herself into oblivion on her particularly bad days, and now I regret not just letting her wallow in her own self-pity.
I didn’t have to talk myself into being able to stay at the farm while the others went to hide out at the club because Angelo suggested I oversee the delivery. It’s a test I won’t pass and one they won’t be around to see my fail.
The problem is they have an army of fucking men here with me and if I so much as think about pulling my phone out of my pocket, they’re going to start asking questions. Every time I try to sneak out someone has a question for me, and I don’t have any answers because this is not my ballpark. My area of expertise is computers. It’s building shit and creating things that didn’t exist before. Not human trafficking.
“Hey boss,” a short, stubby man says. “How should we split the girls when they arrive?”
I stare at him for a moment, because how the fuck should I know how to separate women who have been torn from their lives and sold like livestock? But I have to have an answer. “This is my first shipment,” I tell him honestly. “Do they come with papers? Names? Ages?”
He nods, his brows pulled together with confusion. He’s wondering why my uncles would leave me in charge when I have no fucking clue what I’m doing, but I can’t tell him they’re testing me.
“Okay, good. I want them split by age.” There. That wasn’t so bad. I mean, if I can separate the fact these are human women I’m talking about, that is.
“You got it.” He walks away quickly, and I lean back on the banister of the porch. Tommy and Rayne should be here soon, but I have no clue how I’m going to communicate with them with so many guys around. I have no idea how tonight is going to play out at all, and honestly, all I can think about is Wynter.
The hurt and disgust in her eyes when she believed every word my uncles fed her makes me feel sick to the stomach even thinking about it. But it’s the imminent danger she’s in right now because of me that has nausea rolling over me, and for the first time in years, there’s nothing I can do to protect her. I can’t follow her around on her date and threaten the guy in the bathrooms not to so much as touch her. I can’t leak photos of the girls bullying her on the internet. And I sure as hell can’t wrap her in cotton wool like I always wanted to.
“The trucks will be here soon,” Dennis tells me. The man was one of my father’s men who jumped ship when the Saint James family overthrew him and has nothing but hate for the people I consider family. The few times I’ve been around for conversations about them, he’s made his distaste for them perfectly clear and it took everything I had not to pull my gun out and shoot him right between the fucking eyes. Wouldn’t be the first time and certainly wouldn’t be the last.
“Thanks.” I give a tight smile and push away from the house, striding toward the three barns that have been built since the last time I was here. I declined a tour of the facilities earlier, deciding I don’t have enough control of my anger right now to see the fucked-up stuff hiding behind those doors.
I briefly glance over my shoulder to make sure no one is watching me before quickly pulling my phone from my pocket and sending a text to Storm.
Elijah is coming for the girls. Get them in the panic room.
Once I’ve made sure that’s sent, I open a group message with Rayne and Tommy and shoot them a text as well.
Shipment will arrive soon. Elijah has gone to the estate to get the girls.
I almost don’t send the last part because Rayne might blow the whole mission at the idea Emerson in any danger, but I have to have faith he’ll trust Storm to take care of her.
By the time I shove my phone back into my pocket, three black SUVs are coming down the driveway telling me the truck isn’t far off. Thank fuck this is the last time I ever have to do this shit. I fucking hate pretending to be on this side, even if it does save innocent lives. The irony of that isn’t lost on me. I work for one of the most infamous crime families in the country and I’m talking about saving lives, but we have a conscience when it comes to women and children. Something that isn’t even in the vocabulary of the people of my bloodline. The Saint James family aren’t monsters like the Russos are. They’re good people involved in some shady shit.
The vibrating in my pocket almost makes me pull my phone back out, but it’s too risky. Messaging them in the first place was a risk I had to take, but I can’t do it again. As hard as it may be, I have to pray Storm got himself and the girls to safety the moment the first sign of an attack started.
