Page 11 of Property of Fang
One way to find out.
I slide the bolt free, glance over my shoulder to check Darko covers me, and then tug the door open.
Dark eyes, a smattering of freckles across her nose, and black hair cut in a wild bob at her shoulders, the woman stares me down. “Who the fuck are you?” A fresh bruise shades her right temple.
Her clothes are dirty, and she looks fucking wrecked, but even so, there’s something about the way she stands defiant in front of the others to protect them that has me impressed. Perhaps driven by anger, maybe driven by fear. Whatever motivates her, she glares at me with such intensity that I feel compelled to stay on my side of the threshold.
I glance around their area of confinement, but the lack of light makes it hard to make out the finer details of the shadowsin the back of the room. “How many of you are there?” Intel said four, but I’m pretty damn sure I see at least five people in here.
“Are you going to answer my question?” Freckles holds her left arm at her side, slightly behind her.
I squint a little and make out a redheaded woman at her shoulder, one hand to her mouth to chew on a nail.
“Is there anybody else around?” I ask. “Like the person who brought you here.”
Chances are fear will make them lie and say no, but it’s not their words I want. It’s the body language. The little things the voice won’t say but the eyes can’t hide.
“How do we know you aren’t friends of theirs?” The question comes from a brunette seated to my left.
I grab hold of Darko and spin him around, shoving him into the space next to me so they can see his patch. “Different club.”
He shakes me off, straightening his cut.
“Means shit,” Freckles says. “You assholes all work together.”
“Guess you don’t know as much as you think you do, then.” I open my mouth to request a body count again, yet catch movement in my periphery. “Oh, no you don’t.” I lean down to stop the brunette woman from attempting to slip past my legs.
Her eyes shift to mine, brown and sincere, before she flicks her gaze ever so briefly up toward the freckled inquisitor.
A shoulder hits mine, and the black-haired woman goddamn throws herself into me like she executes an offensive play, shunting me off balance and into Darko, to then bolt out the door.
“Fuck!” I block the brunette from pushing past my leg with a knee, and lunge for the skinny Latino woman who emerges from the back of the room. “Stop!”
“With all due respect,” another woman to my left says, “No.” She rises to her feet with a wince, effectively drawing my focus toward her as the redhead slips past my offside. Young and fit,the protester’s dark skin can’t hide the evidence of the abuse these women have endured.
“Christ’s sake,” Darko hollers. “Get it under control.” He captures the redhead, but the skittish girl slips his grip to scale the stairs on all fours like the hounds of hell are after her.
“We’re here to fucking help,” I yell, bracing myself against the doorframe to effect a blockade.
The one at my feet sinks her teeth into my calf, but more fool her. Denim isn’t easy to penetrate.
“Goddamn it! Cut it out!” I reach down to push her off with my left hand, right still attempting to block the door, and catch sight of something move behind the brunette.The fuck?“Is that a goddamn child?”
“Congratulations,” the Black woman sasses. “You have eyes.”
Yeah. Eyes that keep noting how she shutters hers with each word as though the vibration of the syllables hurts her brain.
“Quit making it worse for yourselves,” Darko hollers to the small group as he wrestles the redhead into submission. “We’re here to take you away from this shithole, but we can’t do that if you all scatter like stray cats.”
“And why would we believe you?” the brunette asks, arm behind her to protect/console the child.
I glance to the hurt woman on my right and realize what I had thought was a shadow behind her is a dried puddle of blood. “What happened there?”
The injured woman glances to the ground with another wince. “Pretty sure you can guess.”
Typical.Try to do a good deed and get stuck with the most smart-mouthed woman known to ever be in captivity. “Fang,” I introduce, placing my left hand to my chest.
“I know. I can read.” She nods to my badge, face softening a little at my resulting frustration. “Nandi.”
