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  “What the fuck?” he breathed as she stepped forward.

  There was breathing inside this room. It was the opposite of silence. She could hear and feel people everywhere, but until her eyes adjusted she couldn’t see for shit. There was just the sniffling and coughing and moaning of the forgotten.

  The first time the light hit a person she wanted to weep along with them. It was a child in just a T-shirt, emaciated to the point where the bones of his knees were twice as wide as his legs, and he was lying on the floor. She thought he must be dead but when his eyes moved it took everything she had not to scream.

  And there were more. Boys, girls, young men and women, all spaced out along the wall. There was nothing more she wanted than to not see anything; not see the ropes that were around their necks or the way their eyes were vacant, staring back at her as she passed by, not scared. Not relieved. Nothing. Just empty.

  Every second space had a bucket and it was obvious that was their only concession to human biology. The smell was all the evidence she had, she didn’t want to look to see if she was right. There were also refillable water bottles here and there; some half empty, some completely empty.

  Her brain didn’t dwell on the fact that no one had pants on and what that likely meant. Not a one of them tried to cover up, either. That was the despair she could smell; they were so beyond hope none of it mattered.

  “Fuck, oh fuck me.”

  It took a minute for her to realize Ian was still with her, and it was his flashlight making all of this even visible.

  “Sheriff, what the fuck do we do?”

  She didn’t know. She had no fucking idea.

  “We have to call for medical help,” she said, hearing the shock in her voice. “I need to call for more officers from Markham. I ...” she avoided taking a deep breath even though she needed the air. “I need to call someone higher up. This is ... we can’t deal with this on our own.”

  “Okay. I’ll get on the radio. I’ll leave this door open. There’s a work light in the cruiser. And maybe we can get sheets off the beds upstairs so we can get these people covered up.”

  She was nodding. “Yeah, that’s a good idea. I’ll get on the sheet thing.” Even though the thought of ripping the sheets off a biker’s bed made her queasy, there was no doubt it was needed. She couldn’t drag these people out into the light only half dressed.

  As they moved to the door the moans actually got louder, more desperate. She turned to the room, not even sure if this was an English-speaking audience. She had her doubts. “I’m coming back. We’re not leaving you. I promise.”

  Brain still numb, she followed Ian up the steps and into the fresh air. She took a few deep gulps, willing her heart to mellow the fuck out.

  Then, as suddenly as it had fogged up, her head cleared. Back inside she pulled her phone out, walking while placing a call to a number she hadn’t expected to ever use, even back when she was programming it into her phone.

  Agent Terrance Hogan of the DEA.

  Just a question of allegiances. If the Rats had ties to anyone involved in human trafficking he’d know—

  She nearly stopped in her tracks. Human trafficking. Holy shit.

  Yeah, that was how slowly her brain was functioning. Mazaris, it had to be.

  Hogan wouldn’t give a fuck about human trafficking. She was about to hang up when he finally answered.

  “Hogan.”

  “Uh, hi.”

  There was a pause.

  “Sorry. This is Sheriff Sharon Downey, Markham Sheriff’s Office.”

  “Sheriff Downey.” Recognition flooded his voice.

  “I’m in Hazeldale, standing in the Mad Gypsys former clubhouse right now. We just found people in the basement I’m willing to bet are here illegally and against their will. I was calling to ask if the Dirty Rats had any human trafficking connections but I think I just pieced it together. I’m sorry.” She was rambling with no idea why.

  “It’s no worry, Sheriff. The Rats are known to traffic narcotics, that’s no secret. If the Thebaine pipeline needed a new piece I’d put money on them being behind it. Taking over the clubhouse is interesting. But bringing in another group to store cargo, that’s a bit out of the ordinary.”

  “I have to go,” she said, trying to sound apologetic. “I need to call Immigration and get more officers here. I have no idea what to do with these people.”

  “Sharon?”

  That calmed her; hearing her own name usually did. “Yeah?”

  “I know for a fact there’s someone from the Department of Immigration in Bakersfield right now. I’m going to call him for you. Is it okay if I give him your number?”

  “Um, sure. Yeah.”

  “Do you have any idea where these people are from? Might help him to know what kind of translator to bring.”

  She took a deep breath. “Umm, I’m thinking this has to do with the Mazaris. Do you know them?” Of course he did, but she had to ask.

  “Oh yes, I do. Shit. Okay, I’ll let him know who we’re dealing with. Watch that building carefully while you get those people out of there. These guys are crazy enough to try something even with the law standing there.”

  “I will. Thanks, Agent Hogan.”

  “Call me Terry, please. I’ll let you know when I get hold of my buddy.”

  “Thank you,” she repeated and ended the call, then set about stripping the beds. She carried all the musty fabric to the basement, where Ian had returned with Bev, which was likely smart. He was on the door, Bev had a knife and was cutting the ropes from these kids’ throats.

  As they were freed Sharon wrapped sheets around their waists and helped them up the stairs then into the clubhouse, getting them comfortable on the chairs and sofas. She tried to talk to them, introduce herself, but all she got were vacant blinks from wide, dark eyes.

  Swallowing against rage, she tried her best to ignore the fact that they all had blood caked on their thighs.

  Tyson had run to a nearby gas station and was handing out bottles of clean, cold water. He also told her he’d called the Department of Family Services, which was smart. She was glad he’d thought of it.

  Car doors were closing outside. She greeted Markham County EMTs at the door, softly explaining the situation. There were two male and three female paramedics, and two ambulances waiting outside.

  She dispatched the officers already on the way from Markham to Hazeldale’s St. David’s Hospital. They started shipping the kids in small groups to the hospital for medical assessment and rape kits. One of the paramedics spoke a little Farsi, which a couple of the kids understood and translated to the others.

  The locksmith was done changing the locks just around three in the afternoon. She got Greene’s word that they’d watch the clubhouse the next few days very closely. They suggested that Tex maybe take a little holiday in case anyone had it out for him as retribution. He was happy to agree.

  She waited for a call from Hogan’s friend at Immigration. Once that call had been received she felt a little bit better. Agents would be sent the next day for interviews, hopefully they could make leeway into finding whose children these all were. DFS had found a few people to take in some of the kids for a few days. The rest would be housed in suites at a local hotel so they could stay together, with a few volunteer councilors looking out for them.

  As she returned to the Sheriff’s department and began her paperwork there were more details nagging her about this situation. Without the shock of how horrible people could be too each other, the disgusting smell and evidence of the human condition fading from her nose and throat, the details were there to be noted again.

  Ten children, boys and girls from about eight to fifteen by her guess. Thin, malnourished, but not overly abused other than the apparent sexual assaults. No broken limbs, excessive bruising, broken teeth or black eyes. But more than that, they were all ... funny-looking.

  She hated thinking that, she really did, but without exception there was something to ma
rk them as different and it wasn’t striking beauty. There were overbites, under bites, wide-set eyes, bug eyes, large ears, one child with evidence of a repaired cleft palette. When they raided the trailer where one boy had been held just months ago there had been photos of children available for purchase, and those children were all round-faced, wide-eyed, and beautiful.

  These children weren’t for sale. These were loaners. Cheaper, returnable. Maybe their holders themselves kept them for their own use. Who the fuck knew how these pricks thought? But to her it meant they weren’t sought out, studied, stalked, and taken. If they weren’t being randomly snatched in groups when the occasion came up, they were being handed over.

  Sharon’s stomach knotted further at the possibility of parents handing their children over to monsters like these. There was not one scenario she could imagine where she would let anyone hurt Brayden. Offer him up for abuse. She couldn’t fathom the desperation that would bring up the possibility.

  And that was her luck. She felt it, and was grateful for it, all at the same time.

  It was nearly eleven by the time she made use of the showers off the locker room. A quick rinse was needed after what she’d seen that day. In her car she berated herself for texting Fritter in the middle of all that. There was no way she could bring herself to do what they usually did.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Still looks like an alien,” Fritter mumbled to Knuckles, who knocked him hard with one bony elbow.

  “They all look like old men when they’re born,” Knuckles agreed, taking David Junior from Jayce like a pro and making Fritter look at him in a whole new way. “But you can see Buck in his face already. Look at his nose. His chin.”

  Fritter was likely scowling, but everyone was starting to sound nuts. “No fucking way. His head is a little dried up apple. It doesn’t look like either of them.”

  “He totally looks like Buck,” Tiny rumbled in that deep baritone voice, peering over Knuckles’ shoulder, wiggling his fingers at the little spawn, smiling.

  Smiling. Tiny was making baby-faces.

  “I don’t understand where I am anymore,” Fritter mumbled, draining the last of his beer. “Anyone want another one?”

  “Nah, not right now,” Tiny replied, still making those fucking faces.

  Still stunned, Fritter headed to the Buckingham’s patio, passing Gertie and Jolene on the way. He gave them both his best gentlemanly nod, stopping in the land of women. At least here he knew what to expect.

  “So, what do you two lovelies have on your mind tonight?” he asked, accepting the one-armed side-hug from Gertie then the full on kiss on the cheek from Jolene.

  “Gertie was just scaring me into being grateful for the fact I can’t have kids,” Jolene answered with a little smirk. “Tell me again about the mucus plug?”

  “Fuck that,” Fritter said on a belch, heading back on his first trajectory and ignoring their amused giggles behind him. He slid the patio door open just as his phone buzzed in his pocket. He checked the screen, feeling the smile start before he was sure who it was.

  Sheriff Downey, in need of his services again.

  He replied with his standard OK and tucked the phone away while making for the fridge. As he did so the front door of the house opened at the same time there was a tentative knock, and he backed off from the fridge to see who was at the door.

  The first thing he noticed were two little people running at him full speed, each one attacking a leg as the wave of insanity reached him. With a grin he ducked down to grab Libby McClune around the waist, picking her up and delivering a loud, sloppy kiss on her cheek with too much of a smacking sound that made her squeal, “Uncle Fritter! Gross!”

  “That’s right,” he agreed as he set her back on her feet. “Boys are really gross. Stay far, far away.”

  “Hi Uncle Fritter!”

  “Jayce Junior!” He greeted his Prez’s son with a formal handshake. For just a second the kid looked disappointed, then Fritter wrapped an arm around his middle and hefted him up sideways, swinging him back and forth a bit. “What’s your mom feeding you? You’re getting so heavy.”

  At the mention of her, Trinny appeared, too. She had a large gift bag with blue tissue paper sticking out the top and a reusable grocery store bag. He set Junior down and moved forward to help her, pausing so she could give him the same kiss on the cheek most old ladies did. “Trinny,” he said warmly, giving her a wink.

  “Fritter.”

  “You look good.”

  “Thanks. You, too.”

  The grocery bag was heavy. Peering down he saw a casserole dish, then looked up hopefully. “Is that hash brown casserole?”

  She laughed, and it was like old times all of a sudden. “What else would I bring to a biker celebration?”

  This was one of his vices. No one made it like Trinny. Hash browns, bacon, cheese, butter, and some kind of sauce that apparently had onion soup mix in it. Whatever it was, he loved it and ignored the calorie count.

  “You’re the best, Trin,” he bellowed, giving her a big hug.

  After another somewhat stilted laugh from Trinny, he returned back to the kitchen, setting the bag on the counter. He nodded to Trinny, about to offer her a beer, but something made him shut up. The kids had blown through, leaving the door to the patio open, and they had attacked their father out on the deck boards in view of the windows.

  Trinny was watching them and he came to stand beside her. There were few things that made Jayce McClune appear soft, but his kids were the two things at the top of the list. Possibly, the third was standing next to Fritter right then.

  “Jesus,” she whispered, and he wasn’t sure if she meant to speak out loud. “They love him so much.”

  Fritter ran his hand back and forth on her upper back. “He loves them, too. He misses you guys a lot.”

  “Well, them anyway.”

  Fritter frowned, then looked outside again. Jayce was on his knees, one kid under each arm, trying to fill him in on what he’d missed since the last time they’d all been together. The Prez of the Red Rebels MC had red-rimmed eyes as he nodded and laughed, totally absorbed in the world of his son and daughter.

  “When you comin’ home, Trinny?”

  Her back straightened under his hand, so he removed it. “I can’t, Fritter.”

  “We’ll keep you safer. We don’t take that shit so casually anymore.”

  “So it’s gotten even more dangerous?”

  Fritter shook his head. “Not what I mean, Trinny.”

  “I gotta go. I wanna meet this baby.”

  Shit. He watched her head out onto the deck, heard Jolene and Gertie squeal their hellos, and then there was a whole lot of woman-hugging that he was not allowed to find arousing at all. So he got that beer he wanted.

  As he opened it the front door swung inward again and he greeted Tank and Rose, late to the party. No one expected them to be on time. Ever. They were always late because they were always fucking. Not that he could blame Tank. Most of the time Rose was around Fritter was at least half-erect and not just because the whole club had seen her naked. She was intrinsically hot, even fully dressed, and he avoided touching her for that reason alone.

  “It’s about time you two got here,” Fritter chastised, taking his first sip of the fresh drink. “Kid’s almost in high school.”

  “Fuck you,” Tank greeted him cheerfully, and Fritter couldn’t help but notice that Rose’s shirt appeared to be inside-out.

  “You two fuck on the way over here? Where’d you stop? You on your bike?”

  “None of your business!” Rose exclaimed, properly outraged and classy with that British accent. And there it was; he was hard again.

  “You might want to fix that top. You’re inside out.”

  She looked at the hem of the sleeveless shirt, then up at Tank with a sheepish grin before heading off to the bathroom to straighten herself up.

  Tank’s face, to most, would appear to be locked down but Fritter saw the s
mirk anyway. “You have a quickie on the bike and she gets totally naked?”

  “Stop talking about my old lady naked or I’ll break your face.”

  “You got it.”

  “Where’s Buck and Gertie?”

  “Outside.”

  He followed his VP out into the sunshine, letting the newcomers fawn over the newborn as he sank down onto a bench beside their tech officer, Spaz. Spaz was nursing a beer and looking pretty buzzed, too.

  “You get the baby craze, man?”

  Spaz immediately shook his head. “No way, man. Freaks me out.”

  “Freaks you out? How?”

  “That’s a life. It’s gonna be a person one day. Driving. Working. Buying a house. Taking up a hobby. I mean, what if you raise a serial killer?”

  Fritter took the guy’s beer away, sniffed it, then handed it back. “Why you being so fuckin’ weird?”

  “Just think of the waste, man.” Spaz flung one arm out to indicate the yard. “All this. All this love, man. Any one of us willing to do anything to protect that little baby, right? You would, right?”

  “Yeah man, of course. That’s Gertie and Buck’s kid.”

  “So we do all this, and what if ... he wants to be a janitor?”

  Fritter snorted. “What?”

  “What if that makes him happy? What if he loves ... janitoring? What if he’s the best fucking janitor in the world?”

  “What are you talkin’ about? If he’s happy that’s good.”

  “So why does he need all of us if he knows what he wants?”

  This obviously went deeper than too many beers. “You been smokin’ pot or hash?”

  “Hash,” Spaz answering immediately, earnestly.

  “Don’t worry about the kid being a janitor. The world will always need janitors.”

  “I know. We should all just be janitors.”

  “Holy shit,” Fritter muttered and got to his feet. “I’m all for experimentin’ in a responsible manner. But in your case, just say no, young blood.”