The folder bore the name Scum Suckers in honor of Kim, who’d been an unwilling guest in their establishment. Fucking slave traffickers. You are going to be sorry you targeted me. And Dan would be sorry for keeping such a messy desk. The photos she’d taken included a list of e-mail addresses from suspected members of the Harvest Association. The temptation to screw with them had been too much. So, last week, fueled by a bit too much alcohol, she’d sent e-mails with her special custom-designed computer worm to each address.
As Sally sipped her turtle mocha coffee, the sociable noise of the coffee shop surrounded her. Having others around was comforting, considering she was kind of snooping around the den of a very big bear. She’d be much safer if the bear—aka the Harvest Association—never discovered her tracks, right?
Harvest Association. Sheesh. The Midwesterner in her was offended by the name. Harvest meant crops like corn and beans. Good things. Harvesting shouldn’t refer to humans, let alone enslaving women.
They needed to be put away, but Galen and Vance’s team hadn’t managed to identify the top dipwads. But I can.
And ta-da! E-mails now filled the Scum Sucker folder, showing her sneaky computer virus had gained access to some mail systems. I’m the man! Now every e-mail those men received or sent was blind copied to Sally.
With anticipation making her bounce in her chair, she opened the folder. But the first e-mail held nothing interesting. Or the second. Or the third. Well, spit on a snowball. Just as well that she’d been too busy to check the folder until today. The fourth revealed a man was cheating on his wife. Sally blinked at the suggestive language he’d sent to his girlfriend. Could two bodies truly get into that position?
However, the next e-mail had been sent to one of the Association people they titled an overseer. One step up. Perfect. Slowly Sally worked her way through the Scum Sucker folder, adding new people to gift with her worm. Since the sender was familiar to the receiver, her e-mails would be opened.
Almost at the end, another overseer’s e-mail mentioned several New York “shipments” being ordered. A chill slid down her spine and lodged in her stomach. The shipments were women scheduled to be kidnapped. All too soon, the Harvest Assholeyation would auction them off to rich, sadistic buyers.
Now what? Last week, she’d sent off the worm for oh, so many reasons. Like getting revenge for what the bastards had done to Linda and Kim, and yeah, because she still felt guilty for almost getting Linda killed. And definitely because finding out they’d targeted her for kidnapping had sorely pissed her off. And—okay, admit it—she’d always wanted to be a hero.
She totally hadn’t expected to discover they were planning another auction. How should she deal with this information?
She took a sip of her coffee in an attempt to warm her frozen insides. Knowing how Kim and Linda had suffered, she needed to warn the targets, somehow.
And then maybe the Feds could plant another decoy. Galen and Vance were clever that way. Last year, they’d had Gabi pose as a bratty trainee in hopes of getting kidnapped. Lord, Gabi had been so good she’d fooled everyone.
When Linda joined the Shadowlands, Sally had learned about the horrors of human trafficking. Linda was older than Sally’s usual girlfriends, but too young to be a mother figure…although she was the most motherly person Sally had ever met. Last January in the Shadowlands, Linda had heard the voice of a slaver—one she’d never actually seen.
Sally sipped her coffee, forcing the liquid past her tight throat as she remembered her own stupidity. She’d blithely suggested Linda should join the trainees to help search for the slaver.
Great suggestion. The psychopathic slaver had caught Linda. Sally’s teeth ground together. One minute Linda had been in the Shadowlands, gone the next. Just like with her mother, Sally couldn’t fix it. If Linda had been murdered, her death would’ve been Sally’s fault. Although Linda acted as if Sally had nothing for which to apologize, Sally wouldn’t ever forgive herself.
Galen and Vance hadn’t been there that night. They’d had to deal with some problem in the northeast. But Linda had mentioned that the two men felt responsible as well. What a horrible, horrible feeling. How could they stand making those kinds of decisions?
She stared at her drink, recalling the harsh lines in Galen’s face. He seemed so driven sometimes. At least Vance watched out for him. Funny that they were so close. She smiled slightly. She’d asked the other subs if the guys were gay. They weren’t—they just liked to share a woman.
As Sally remembered the previous weekend, a slow slide of desire vanquished the last of the cold. They sure did a good job of sharing—and dominating—together. She’d never, never felt so totally at a loss, knowing she couldn’t…manipulate was a bit extreme…couldn’t influence the Dom’s decisions. But they hadn’t given an inch.
And the way they’d watched her and touched her. Gentle and edging on cruel.
As her core throbbed at the memories, she squirmed in her seat. Wasn’t it odd how she was just dying for them to play with her again and yet…uncomfortable…at the thought.
But even beyond that, how awkward that the Feebies were in the Shadowlands at all. If they ever found out she’d hacked into the bad guys’ e-mail systems, they wouldn’t be happy.
Unhappy Doms weren’t good for a submissive’s health, especially since Galen looked as if he had a bit of sadist in him. She sighed. Really, it would be smart to keep her distance from them.
The decision was a relief, and then a letdown. Hart, you’re schizoid.
Well, she didn’t have a choice in who joined the Shadowlands, after all, so she’d better be careful.
She shrugged and drank her coffee. On her laptop, the display flickered to the screen saver and the flash of light sabers as Obi-Wan fought Darth. She grinned. Guess she’d never be a Luke Skywalker-type hero; she was more like R2-D2.
But she was an amazing droid. She’d been hacking into computers since she was a teenager, and no one had caught her yet. Darned if she let any more women be kidnapped if she could prevent it. Besides, this was good practice for her forensic computer specialist career…kind of. Aside from being really, really illegal.
Of course, that just meant she was playing a digital Robin Hood. Stealing info from the rich slave traffickers and giving it to the poor cops. Didn’t that sound nice?
Remotivated, Sally clicked the keyboard and continued reading through the e-mails. Mostly junk until she ran into warning e-mails sent from an overseer to someone the next level up. A manager. The e-mails said a cop, Lieutenant Tillman who was working with the FBI, had ordered surveillance on a Harvest Association private investigator.
And…Sally caught her breath. The manager had replied. Awesomesauce! She had her first hit on someone in the upper ranks.
She slowly read the rest of the e-mail and frowned. Quite the sarcastic douche bag, wasn’t he? The e-mail concluded with Sarcastic Douche Bag telling the overseer to watch the news that night. Why would the douche bag expect something to be on the news? Sally lifted her hands from the keyboard, dread setting up residence in the pit of her belly. She couldn’t do anything about whatever had happened though; the e-mails were from last week.
Biting her lip, she did a search for the name Lieutenant Tillman. Articles filled the screen. Her hands trembled. After a sip of suddenly tasteless coffee, she carefully set the drink back on the table. The news reports led to images and videos: the cop’s house, gutted by fire, black and smoking, covered stretchers carried out to the ambulances, and neighbors weeping as they watched.
Tillman, his wife, and her mother had been chained and left to burn. Oh God.
“Are you okay, miss?” A man’s voice broke through Sally’s fugue.
She looked up.
Rich brown hair, green eyes. Jake from the Shadowlands. Staying as discreet as the club rules required, he didn’t let on he recognized her. He simply acted like any guy checking on an upset woman.
From the buzzing in her ears and nausea, she probably looked about ready to puke. “I’m okay. Just some bad news.” She pulled in a slow, calming breath and then gave him a nonchalant nod. You can leave now.
He didn’t move. Doms. They displayed that overprotectiveness 24-7. He studied her for a second longer. “Maybe I should take you home. Do you live around here?”
“Uh, no. I’m on my way somewhere and stopped to get coffee.” Kind of. She’d decided to never send Harvest Association e-mails from her home, so on her way back from Orlando, she’d pulled off I-4 near Plant City to do her checking. Sure, she could bounce her IP address around, but using the free Wi-Fi in a store added a bit of extra safety. “No need to worry.”
His eyes narrowed. He was a newly titled Shadowlands “Master” and slightly younger than the rest, but he sure had the same instincts. To her relief, he didn’t push. “I’m across the room with friends. You call me if you feel worse, and I’ll take you home.”
“I will. Honestly, I really am fine.” She would be. Maybe. “But thank you.”
As Jake walked away, she sighed. Galen and Vance had been like that—all concerned about her. Not all Doms were. With Frank, she’d thought his dominant behavior meant he’d be as protective and caring as the Shadowlands Masters. Boy had she been wrong.