The Deadline Page 10

  “I can’t be fucking seeing what I’m seeing,” Kyle said. “I knew this nigga was sick, but . . .”

  My mouth hung open so long, my lips turned white, while my heart hammered against my chest bone.

  “Did you know he was into kids? You said he had a sex addiction, but I assumed it was with adults,” I said. I was in so much disbelief, my words came out like puffs of air. “Kyle, you never said it was kids that he liked. Look at that little girl that man is practically dragging out of that van . . . she can’t be more than twelve fucking years old. Oh, my God, Kyle, we got to stop this from going down. We can’t just let this happen . . . Those are tiny fucking babies. There’s a whole line of them. They look scared as hell being herded like cows. Nah, we got to stop it,” I demanded, my voice forceful but shaky. “I don’t care if it blows the story . . . we can’t let this happen like this. We can’t . . . I wouldn’t be able to live with myself, Kyle. C’mon, we have to find a way to get out there and save them.”

  “Are you kidding me, twin? What the fuck we going to do? Run out there and say, ‘Yo, Anton Barker, let them little girls go’?” Kyle gritted, glaring at me. “There is nothing we can do now. This shit is fucked-up, and I wasn’t expecting it at all, but we have to think about our safety and be smart about this. What the fuck we going to do now? Out here with no protection, no people, and my one pistol against Barker and his bodyguards, who are all packing major heat. We are outgunned. So, what are we going to do? Nothing . . . that’s what. We are here, and we can’t turn back, or else everything you’ve been doing is over. So the only thing to do is get the pictures and prove that this nigga is a pervert. But prove it later when we have all the facts straight. We ain’t running out there, yelling, ‘Stop, stop!’ Our lives will be fucking over, Khloé. We might as well put my gun to both our heads and pull the trigger if we do that dumb shit. It’s either us or him, right now,” Kyle said harshly, leaning over toward me so I could see the seriousness on his face and understand what he was saying to me, loud and clear.

  “This is so wrong, Kyle. We can go out there and stop it . . . We can act like we are lost or something. We can’t let innocent kids just get used up and abused like that. It’s up to us to save them,” I said back, just as harshly, putting my hands on both sides of my now-pounding head. “I’ll get out alone and make a distraction. I’ll think of something. I’ll scream or call for help like someone is chasing me . . . I don’t know, but I feel like I have to do something. I can’t even imagine grown-ass men trafficking little-ass girls right here in our faces and we do nothing about it.”

  Kyle reached over and snatched me by my collar and pulled me over to him. He got in my face. He scared me with that sudden movement.

  “Khloé, you can’t be that fucking weak. I know you want to be noble and be a fucking hero, but you have to be smarter than this. You think this shit is just that easy? You think I feel like explaining to Mama how you got your brains blown out? Just as hard as it was to see, it’s even harder to stop. We didn’t plan to see these little girls in danger, I get it. But Barker is the fucking Devil. This the nigga who did unthinkable shit to people in the street and slept fine at night. What the hell? You act like you can’t fucking think logically right now. Think about all the shit he will continue to do if you die before you can blow the lid off his story. This nigga out here fucking babies and goes home at night like he ain’t do nothing. So you think he won’t blow your ass away, wipe the blood off of his shoes, and keep it moving? Think about Mama . . . she has suffered enough after Daddy got killed. Just think!” Kyle growled, fisting my collar so tightly that his knuckles struggled against my skin.

  My head swirled from a rush of adrenaline and hot, angry tears streamed down my face. I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting against invasive thoughts that trampled into my mind at that moment. I’d never told Kyle, but I was sexually abused at one of our foster homes. I was only eleven. I’d never told anyone, but seeing those girls jerked my mind right back to that hurtful place . . .

  * * *

  Kyle and I had been placed in yet another new foster home. In this home we had separate rooms, unlike all of the rest where we shared and could sleep together when we got scared. It was only our second week in the home, when it happened. I had just closed the door to my room and got ready for bed. I had been startled by something moving in the dark. I jumped so hard, a little bit of pee came out into my panties.

  My foster father Mr. Cloy had moved out of the shadows and walked over to my bed. His dark skin made it look like it was just a set of eyes and teeth in my room. I had let out a long whimper at the sight of him. I knew he couldn’t be there for anything good.

  “What are you doing in my room?” I had asked sassily. “Get out,” I snapped, walking backward a few steps.

  Mr. Cloy walked toward me. I squinted my eyes in the darkness.

  “Come over here and don’t make no noise,” he whispered, sounding like a snake hissing.

  I folded my face into a frown and folded my arms indignantly. “No . . . you’re not supposed to be in here . . .” I never got to finish my sentence.

  Before I could move, run, put my hands up in defense, or do anything, that grown-ass fiftysomething-year-old man barreled into me like a bulldozer. I fell backward. My ass had hit the floor so hard, my butt ached.

  “Be quiet, or I will kill you and your brother,” he had growled almost inaudibly, forcing his huge hand over my nose and mouth so I couldn’t scream. He held on to me roughly by my arm, and that is when I saw that he had a small knife in his other hand. My chest moved up and down like I’d just run a relay race. I couldn’t catch my breath as I saw my whole life flash before my little eyes.

  “Mmm,” I had groaned, trying in vain to loosen his painful grip on my arm. Tears had immediately sprung to my eyes. Mr. Cloy threw me on the bed roughly. I inched away, but he grabbed my legs and pulled me toward him violently. I tried to kick him, but my little legs and feet did nothing.

  “If you scream, you die,” he huffed in my face. His mouth reeked of whatever he had been drinking. His entire body stank like liquor, sweat, and fried chicken.

  “Ah!” I started to scream, but it was short-lived. I felt a sharp pain across my face that sent the scream tumbling right back down my throat. My eyes had shut involuntarily, and little streaks of silver lights swirled around on the inside of my eyelids. Mr. Cloy slapped me again, this time on the other side of my face. He’d hit me so hard; I saw stars. I felt buried alive because my brain was saying, Run, fight, scream. My body, though, wouldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe.

  The smell of Mr. Cloy’s sweaty hand filled my nostrils as he clamped it down roughly over my nose and mouth again. I tried again to kick my legs, but his weight was too much. I had been pinned down. Pain swirled through my head so badly, I could barely open my eyes. He used one of his muscular legs to force mine apart. He was fumbling under me. Then I felt his hands moving over my private parts. I couldn’t fight. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. There had been more erratic movement from Mr. Cloy; then I felt something slimy up against my thigh.

  Mr. Cloy had started grunting hard and had started shaking like his nerves were bad. I could tell the slimy thing was in his hand now. Mr. Cloy had let out a series of sighs and animallike grunts. Then suddenly pain had filled my torso, abdomen, butt, and leg. It felt like someone had stuck a fire-lit stick into my body.

  * * *

  The grunts coming from Mr. Cloy are what I remember the most. He had sounded like a bull on the charge. I knew then that what had happened would change my life forever. I also knew that I would never allow it to happen again, not to me or to anyone.

  I shook off my hurtful memory and opened my tear-filled eyes to look at my brother. “You don’t understand, Kyle. Pieces of shit like him are always protected in society and in families and everywhere. I can’t stand it,” I cried.

  In my pain I still couldn’t bring myself to tell Kyle what had happened to me, and why I felt
so strong about what we’d just found out about Anton Barker . . . the possible fucking future mayor of Norfolk.

  “I know all of that, okay! But this ain’t the time . . . he will get his, but this is not the time. We can’t do shit right now,” Kyle said, and shook his head. He slumped back in his seat and pinched the bridge of his nose like he always did whenever he was stressed-out. I knew Kyle hated when I cried or was upset. He also hated when I showed weakness.

  “I know Barker deserves to be busted up, I’m down for that, but to risk your life is not smart. You’re going to jump out there, get killed, and those little girls still ain’t going to get saved. You feel me,” Kyle continued to press.

  “I’m going to listen to you this time. But just know that I am not giving up. I am even more motivated to break this story now,” I said flatly. It had taken me a few minutes to compose myself. Kyle was right: If I died trying to save those kids, then no one would ever know. I had to force myself to take the emotion out of my actions. It was a skill that took some perfecting, but I was going to have to do it if I wanted to stay alive and get this story down.

  “I’m not going to let you get yourself killed, twin. I love you, and ain’t nothing worth not having you around and by my side for life. If you be patient, we will take these bastards down and win you all the TV awards they got out there,” Kyle said, turning to face me again.

  I turned my attention back to the warehouse building and there was no real movement outside it.

  “You think I can squeeze through that gate and see if I can get to a window or slip inside,” I asked Kyle without looking at him.

  Before he could answer, Barker and his people came outside. A few of them stood around him and he spoke, moving his hands as if he was giving instructions.

  “I guess he just answered the question for you,” Kyle said as we both watched the possible future mayor of our city surrounded by his minions. I could only imagine what he was telling them to do with those poor little girls locked up inside.

  I shook my head in agreement and watched. The nervousness I had felt when I first saw Barker at his house and at this building had faded into a burning, vengeful hatred. Mayor or no mayor, connected or not, Anton Barker had to go down for everything that he was doing. Suddenly I couldn’t keep still in my seat as I thought about the pure satisfaction I was going to get from taking him down. My chest heaved up and down as my mind raced like crazy.

  You’re going down. You’re going down, I chanted in my head; my fists were clenched tightly. I was so riled up about it that I could feel every nerve in my body coming alive.

  I watched through squinted eyes as Barker threw his head back and laughed out loud. Even his laugh from a distance sent chills down my spine.

  What man who is a father would do the things he is doing to kids? I thought. A sick bastard like him doesn’t deserve a child.

  Barker finally shook hands with some of the other men there. I watched him climb into the SUV, and his three security guards did so after him. This was definitely a different side of him than I’d seen from watching him campaign and from his appearances on TV. His previous words reverberated in my head:

  “Well, let’s just say I am a man of the people . . . all people. I come from humble beginnings and worked my way through law school. It wasn’t easy, so I understand the plight of every man, woman, and child in Norfolk. From the rich to the poor, I’ve been around them all. I will continue to serve the people.”

  I clenched my fists, infuriated at the thought of him deceiving the entire city, when he was a double-dealing criminal and child exploiter.

  I followed the SUV with my eyes as the gate opened so that the vehicle could roll through. My heart throttled up in my chest as Kyle prepared to follow Barker’s car; the anticipation of what was coming causing my legs to shake fiercely.

  “He’s going to get everything he deserves,” I whispered almost breathlessly, my legs trembling now.

  “All in due time, twin. All in due time,” Kyle replied as we trailed the man who was going to make me a star.

  8

  DANGEROUS LIAISONS

  After a week of more digging and running the streets, Kyle and I finally found out how Anton Barker, possibly our future mayor, got around being noticed with his sick sexual deviancies. Kyle realized that Arsenio Galina, drug dealer and a former client of Barker’s, had closed off his club to let Barker have his little private parties inside. That was how Barker fulfilled his sick sex addiction and deviant proclivities without it getting out to his wife and the voting public. It was open to women, and Barker’s closest clients, and their men, and that was it.

  Kyle wasn’t exactly part of their crew, but he’d run enough errands for some of the dudes that he was able to get in. He snuck me in through the back. He’d told me I would have to dress like the women Barker liked and I’d have to play along. He’d found out that the parties could get wild, with the men really coming on to the women strongly. I was ready. Whatever it took to get this last piece of evidence to blow the lid off Barker and his bullshit, I’d do it. It wasn’t like I hadn’t put myself in many dangerous situations for stories thus far.

  I snuck into the bathroom first, after Kyle opened the back door. I slipped into a stall, took off the trench coat I’d been wearing, and slipped into the heels I had in my bag. I left the stall, pushed my stuff down into the trash can, and hooked myself up in the mirror. I must say, I hadn’t looked that sexy in a long while. I’d been so busy working that I had forgotten how pretty my butter-colored skin could be up against my hazel eyes. My hair had been in a ponytail for so long, I had not realized how beautiful and long it was now. I shook my head at myself. Work, work, work. That’s all I’ve been doing lately. Chasing that spot on TV.

  I hadn’t had time to date or go out with friends, or even spend any quality time with my mother and Kyle. All of the time I’d been spending with Kyle lately had been chasing this story. I stared at myself for a few seconds, wondering whether or not selling my soul for a story was worth it anymore. I’d sacrificed a lot.

  The music reverberated off the walls of Club Pulse and thumped through my body. I’d never been a club girl. I always hated real loud music, and now was no different. Still, I would deal with it for a good reason.

  Sitting alone at the bar, I looked out into the club as the carefully placed partygoers moved their hips to the music—a few of them looked like they needed to be in a music video.

  Kyle had told me that I needed to give off the vibe that I belonged there. To fit in with the other beautiful women Barker had chosen, I had let my hair loose and it fell in sandy coils down my back. I dressed in a shocking hot-pink, formfitting dress that accentuated all of the booty I had inherited from my mother, a pair of heels that made me look model tall, and a full face of makeup that was so different for me. The bartender turned toward me and without another word set a drink in front of me. I found that odd, but I guessed that everything inside this private party was controlled. Playing my role, I smiled coyly at the bartender and picked up the drink.

  I nursed the shit out of that drink, pretending that I was drinking it. I had no idea what type of shit they might’ve put in the drink, so I wasn’t taking a chance. I turned from the bar and took in the sights of the club. Namely, my mark—Anton Barker—who was, of course, surrounded by throngs of women and a phalanx of men and security.

  What I was learning is that our wannabe mayor was a sophisticated, two-faced bastard of a criminal. Anton Barker had defended and now worked for the drug cartels behind the scene. I knew if he became mayor, our little city was going to blow up with crime. Adding to that, to know he was into exploiting children sexually and more than likely trafficking them, made it even worse in my eyes. I watched Barker from afar for a while, but I knew I couldn’t get all of the information I needed from that far away. Kyle had lingered around, but then one of the bosses had sent him on an errand. Had he refused, he would’ve brought suspicion on himself. He’d given me th
e eye that said, Be fucking careful and be smart. I had nodded, letting him know I understood.

  After a little while at the bar, I decided it was time for me to try and get a little closer. I wanted to hear Barker’s voice, watch his movements, and look into his eyes. I jumped down from the bar stool I had been holding down and suddenly felt a tight grasp on my elbow. My body stiffened and I clutched my purse, where I had one of my father’s old knives sandwiched between two maxi pads—which is how Kyle told me to hide it, just in case Barker sent his men around to search the girls they allowed inside to party. I rounded on the person touching me and wore a scowl on my face that said, I’m not with the shits.

  “I was just going to ask if I could get you another drink, since you didn’t drink that one,” the man said, quickly letting me go when he saw the angry scowl on my face.

  A flash of heat came over me. He had obviously been watching me. And why was he being so polite? Weren’t all the women there to be used at Barker’s request?

  “You shouldn’t touch someone like that,” I spat, shooting daggers at him with my eyes. “A simple ‘Can I get you a drink?’ might’ve gotten you somewhere,” I hissed.

  Although my nostrils flared, and my left hand had curled into a fist on its own, I couldn’t help but notice how fine the stranger was. His skin was smooth like newly melted caramel, his round eyes were adorned by the thickest, longest lashes I’d ever seen on a man, and the dark, tight curls hugging his head were perfectly cut and lined up. He was also dressed nicely.

  “I usually don’t approach women in situations like this,” the gorgeous stranger said. “But you’re beautiful, and my boss wants to meet you. I’m just the messenger—don’t shoot the messenger,” he said.

  A flash of shame and embarrassment lit my cheeks aflame. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other and broke eye contact with the man. It wasn’t often I was told I was beautiful, and my brain immediately flew into defensive mode. The last time I’d heard I was beautiful, it had been from my ex, right before my phone blew up with a bitch he had been fucking the whole time we’d been together. I didn’t take that compliment too well.