Shane’s brain turned this new information round and round and teased through the pieces, trying to figure out how they—

“That shit stinks. But as much as I hate to say it, I think you’re right. Whatever’s going on with those women, it doesn’t sound like our battle,” Nick said, heaving a troubled sigh.

Pulling himself from his thoughts, Shane’s gaze whipped toward his former superior. “What?” Nick’s expression was grim. Blood pounded behind Shane’s ears in a thunderous rush, and he surveyed the group until he was sure his words would be calm, measured. “You think we should just leave them there?”

“I don’t think we should. I think we have to, and I resent the hell out of that fact. But we are outmanned, outgunned, and operating around way the hell too many blank spots—”

“Jesus, Nick. De oppresso liber,” Shane spat the Special Forces motto like an accusation, unable to restrain his inner asshole where this topic was concerned. But they’d devoted their lives to freedom for the oppressed, and he had no intention of giving that up because his uniform had been stripped from him.

A storm rolled in behind Rixey’s gaze. “Damnit, Shane. Don’t think for a minute I don’t burn to free anyone those scum might be holding. But there are only five of us. We don’t have the men or resources to take on the world, no matter how righteous those battles might be.”

Beckett sat forward. “Let’s say it is human trafficking. Who are they trading the women to and for what? Plenty of trafficking in Afghanistan. Maybe they’re using the girls to buy off the warlords or grease the wheels with Afghani customs officials. I don’t know. But it might be worth learning more about whatever this delivery is on Wednesday night. How to get the women to safety, if there even are any, is a problem for another day.”

Shane studied Nick’s expression while Beckett laid out his argument and saw the words hitting home. If Shane had come at Nick with logic instead of emotion, maybe the room wouldn’t be so tense right now.

Nick nodded. “Fair point. We’ll add the who, what, when, where, why of that delivery to the list.”

His teammates all nodded, and damn if the regretful expressions they sent his way weren’t a smack in the ass. The guys knew each other’s weaknesses. They had to. So, they knew about Molly, knew Shane had a mile-wide need to save women in trouble, knew it was Shane’s biggest exposed nerve. Which he’d just proven by attacking Nick when he hadn’t deserved an ounce of the grief. Shit.

Shane gave a tight nod. “Then we have to get back inside Confessions. That waitress could be our key,” he said, looking at Nick and thinking about Crystal. Would she know anything about those girls? Christ, was she a victim of trafficking herself? The thought nearly had the food he’d just eaten burning a hole in his gut. “She didn’t give us away, so maybe she’d be willing to help us.”

“You have to go back in?” Becca asked Nick, her fair skin paling to a shade just this side of death.

Nick opened his mouth to respond, but Shane beat him to the punch. “No, not Nick. Me.”

“Shouldn’t be either of you. Not Easy, either,” Beckett said. “You’ve been in there. You could’ve been made. Me or Marz can go,” he said.

Shane pushed up from the table. “No. You know damn well I know how to disguise myself. For whatever reason, she helped me. Twice. Might mean a whole lotta nothing. But she was skittish as hell. If for some reason she saw something in me she could trust, I need to be the one to talk to her again. ASAP.” And not just because Shane was worried about the woman. But if she knew something about this delivery, and Beckett’s argument was right, she could very well lead them to intel that would help them regain their good names and their stolen honor.

“Let him go,” Marz said, shooting a look at Beckett. “He could be right. It’s worth a try. I’ll wire you up, and you can take in more hardware while you’re at it. The devices we planted aren’t doing shit for us. Maybe she could even plant some in the back?”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Shane slid the metal folding chair under the makeshift table, glad he’d found a mission-critical reason to check on the woman who had put her neck on the line for him last night. He didn’t need his gut to tell him she was in trouble. She’d all but admitted it. Crystal’s wide eyes, long red hair, and beautifully delicate features came to his mind’s eye, and Shane couldn’t get to her soon enough. “Thanks again for a great meal, Becca.”

The weight of several gazes lit on his back as he crossed the gym to the door, but he paid the sensation no mind. He was doing what they needed done. So what if it also gave him a shot at learning what might be happening to the women who landed in that godforsaken basement?

He crossed the industrial hallway to a door on the other side of the landing, punched a key code into the box at the side, and entered the Rixeys’ apartment. With its brick walls, high ceilings, and exposed ductwork, the space retained the old warehouse’s character, but Jeremy had done a helluva job renovating to make it an inviting place to hang and shoot the shit. Too bad they weren’t here for that.

At the very back of the large apartment, Shane found the no-frills guest room where he’d crashed the past few days. A row of duffels lined one wall, and he rifled through one until he found what he needed. In the hall bathroom, he spiked out his hair with the gel he only ever used for darkening his hair color and, with the right clothes, subtly altering his appearance. It was a testament to his belief in Nick that he’d brought all his guns, equipment, and supplies with him. But six years of living and fighting and bleeding with someone meant you trusted his gut when it sounded the alarm. Simple as.

A few minutes later, he was in black from head to toe. Boots. Jeans. Tee. Holster. Beat-up leather jacket. He slipped the butterfly necklace he always carried into his pocket, tucking it deep so it couldn’t fall out. Back at the mirror, he threw on some shades to see the effect. Nothing like the clean-cut look he’d sported the previous night. He grabbed a fake ID, his Sig Sauer, an earpiece, and a blade, then made to fly.

Anticipation flashed through his veins. If the gang had roughed Crystal up after they rescued Charlie last night, that damage would rest on his shoulders. At least partly. At this point, he couldn’t not go back and check on her. Just his sense of duty at work. What else would it be?

Nick was waiting for him in the living room, ass propped against the back of the couch and ankles and arms crossed. “I don’t like your going in alone.”

“Won’t be alone. I’ve got the communication equipment from last night’s op. And this is strictly fact-finding. No intent to engage.”

Nick gave a tight nod. “Good. That’s good.” They clasped hands, a familiar understanding passing between them. Shane turned for the door. “And Shane?”

He paused. Too much to hope for a clean getaway.

“Eyes on the prize, brother. Are we clear?”

Shane hated that Nick thought he needed a reminder to keep focused on the mission, but after Shane’s outburst, part of him wasn’t surprised to receive it. He reached the door and tugged it open. “Crystal.”

Shane bit out a curse under his breath. The pun wasn’t lost on him as the door clanked shut.

Chapter 4

On a short break, Crystal leaned into the dressing-room mirror and tilted her face into the light. The swelling had gone down, so between her makeup and the dim lights of the club, the customers didn’t seem to be noticing that she’d been struck. Bruno was too damn strategic to use his fists on her face, but he had no qualms about using an open palm, nor about taking out his frustrations on the rest of her body.

And last night, having lost Church’s prisoner and the guys who’d stolen him, he’d had frustration to spare.

Of course, he’d apologized, wrapped her in his coat, and escorted her home afterward. Normally, she drove herself crazy worrying about Jenna when she slept over at one of her college friend’s apartments, but last night she’d been grateful into her very marrow that her sister hadn’t been home to see what Bruno had done. Again.

When the abuse first started, Crystal had fallen for his apologies and made excuses for him. After all, he’d saved her from far worse. Now, she recognized the apologies as the reprieve they were, smiled and made nice, and bided her time.

Thanks to a merit scholarship that covered her tuition and a bunch of summer classes the past couple years, Jenna was on track to graduate from college in December. So they only had about eight months until Crystal could put her escape plan into action.

Where to escape to Crystal still hadn’t decided, but the anonymity of New York City’s teeming crowds looked really good. Maybe Crystal could find a job in the Garment District working for a big-name designer, and one day she’d have the resources and contacts to design her own collection . . .

“Hey, there,” Brandy said, pulling Crystal from her fantasies and slipping into the space next to her. A cleavage-revealing white robe around her shoulders, the raven-haired woman had a beautiful, lithe body and a serious meth addiction, and had worked at Confessions longer than Crystal although as a dancer, not a waitress. “You doing okay?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Crystal said, chancing a smile at her.

Brandy’s gaze landed on her left cheekbone, and her expression faltered for just a moment. “Yeah? That’s good,” she said, her voice less successful at hiding what she’d seen.

“Is it that obvious?” Crystal grabbed her compact as she turned back to the mirror.

“No, not really. The fluorescent lights in here show every damn thing.” Brandy fished through her cosmetics bag. “I know just what to do. Look here.”

Embarrassment heating her cheeks, Crystal turned in her chair and faced the woman, who couldn’t be more than a few years older than her. They were friendly but not exactly friends. To Crystal, friends were people you could trust implicitly. Around here, it just wasn’t safe to give anyone that kind of power.

“Your skin is so pretty and so fair,” she said, holding back the loose curls on the side of Crystal’s face. “I always wanted red hair.” She stroked a brush over Crystal’s cheek.

“Why? Your hair is gorgeous and mysterious.”

She shifted the brush to Crystal’s other cheek. “And yours is rare and unique.” Her hand sagged into her lap. “What happened?”

Crystal pursed her lips and shrugged. Brandy knew what’d happened. Everyone around here knew what had happened when she showed up with a mark on her skin. And they all looked the other way.

“You’re too good for this place, Crystal. You know that, right?”

She gave a half laugh. “We’re all too good for this place.”

Brandy shook her head. “I’m being serious.” When Crystal didn’t say anything, the woman continued. “You’re talented and smart. What were you studying to be in college?”

“How did you—”

“God, girl, your father was so proud of you, he wouldn’t shut up about it. ‘First in the family,’ he’d say.”

“Oh,” Crystal said. Once, she would’ve glowed to hear such a thing about her father, but after she’d learned what he was into, it had gotten a lot harder to keep idolizing the man who had failed her and Jenna so spectacularly. It shouldn’t surprise her that Brandy had known her father. Lots of people around here had. His position as one of the Apostles meant that he’d been well-known and well respected.

But then his imprisonment and death and the revelation about his indebtedness to Church put an end to college for her before the end of her sophomore year.

Now, school felt so long ago it was as if Brandy spoke of another person. What life would be like if getting along with her college roommate was her biggest problem. God, how naïve she’d been. About the world. About her father. About everything.

“I hadn’t decided,” she lied. But she just couldn’t sully her dreams of becoming a clothing designer by giving voice to them in this place, especially given how she’d bastardized those dreams by occasionally making costumes for the dancers. Now it just sounded stupid. Childish. Impossible.

Brandy stroked more blush on Crystal’s cheeks. “Well, I’m sure it was going to be something great.” She grabbed a tube from her bag. “Let’s do this, too,” she said, rubbing some red lipstick on a sterile applicator.