Trace of Fever
Page 99
Trace had no doubt that Belford would be interested.
Bent like an old man, Belford pushed away from the wall and moved closer to size her up with his leering gaze. “A bonus?”
“Ah, no. Never that.” Murray gripped Priss’s bare arm. “But I’m sure we can work out something.”
Priss reacted as any young lady would when sensing imminent peril. Eyes wide and body stiffening, she leaned away from Murray as far as she could. Her voice sounded appropriately high when she asked, “What are you talking about? What do you mean?”
Murray jerked her closer again, almost tumbling her off her shoes. “I’ve decided, Priscilla, that you should see the…extent of my business.”
“I don’t understand. What does that have to do with him?” She pointed at Belford.
Trace watched her—and even though it amazed him, he knew that she wasn’t truly afraid. Again, that damned admiration hit him.
Unbelievable.
As Murray led her toward the loading dock and the back of the semi, Belford followed, all but drooling on himself as he eyed Priss’s ass in the snug dress.
The idiot couldn’t know how he tempted fate.
“Get a move on,” Dugo said.
Unnerving him with a slow smile, Trace said, “You first.”
He could tell that Dugo didn’t want to, but he also knew that Trace wouldn’t give him any choice. Until the bosses said otherwise, Dugo wouldn’t risk a conflict.
He locked his jaw and fell into line.
Trace took up the rear. Was Jackson in place? Damn, he hoped so.
At the back of the locked semi trailer, Murray paused. “Priscilla, dear, I’ve given this some thought, and before we further our relationship, I’ve decided that it’d be wise for me to do a DNA test myself to ensure that you’re truly my daughter.”
Hearing that, Belford stopped short in disbelief. Dugo almost plowed into him.
“Daughter?” they asked in unison. Their gazes went from Priss to Murray and back again.
Priss nodded fearfully. “I understand. Of course, I’d be happy to do whatever you need me to.”
“Lovely Priscilla.” Murray cupped her cheek, smoothed back her hair. “I certainly don’t need your cooperation, but I thank you all the same. The thing is, until I have confirmation, I’ll need you…contained.”
She quailed. “Contained?”
“Kept safe,” he clarified, when she knew her safety was the last thing on his mind.
“Oh, but…” She looked around at all the male faces, including Trace. “But…I don’t understand.”
“I can’t have you gossiping about me. I can’t risk you talking to the wrong people.”
“I wouldn’t!”
“My patience is running thin. You’ll do as I say.” Murray fisted his hand in her hair and turned them both. He called out to the driver of the semi, saying, “Come open the trailer.”
Nothing happened.
Louder, Murray ordered, “Open the damn trailer.”
Knowing what he’d see, Trace went to the edge of the loading dock and peered out. He whistled, and ducked his head back in. “I don’t think the driver can do that.”
“Why not?” Murray pulled Priss forward by her hair. She flinched, but didn’t lose her cool.
“Given the unnatural bend in his neck, my guess is that he’s dead.”
Murray expanded with fury. Teeth clenched, he waved his gun at Dugo. “What the f**k did you do?”
“Not us!” Belford went red-faced with anger. “We got here just before you.”
Dugo did a fast turn, searching the interior around them. When he saw no other threats, he directed his rage at Murray. “It’s your man who’s dead. What did you do?”
Murray’s eye twitched. In a voice more fearsome for the quietness of it, he ordered Dugo, “Open it.”
Gaze alert, Dugo inched over to the trailer. Using his uninjured arm, he worked up the heavy latch and swung the first door open. With haste, he retreated again.
Inside the dark trailer, bodies stirred.
While Priss stood there shaking with barely contained rage, and Alice looking stoic, fifteen women hesitantly peered out. Wincing at the light, emaciated, dirty, bruised and disoriented, they climbed from the trailer. Two younger women, maybe even underage, clung to others who tried to shield them protectively.
Red-hot fury expanded in Trace’s heart. God, that any of them should have suffered this…
Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye he saw Dugo pull his gun. Trace had it under control; he was ready and would have shot down Dugo before he could get his finger in the trigger.
But for the first time, Priss panicked.
She yelled, “No!” and at the same time, jerked her elbow back hard into Murray’s big gut.
What the hell? Already on the move, Trace wondered if Priss thought she could block bullets.
She did manage to free herself from Murray, but also gained Dugo’s attention.
“Stupid bitch!” Murray railed as he ducked behind empty shelving and debris and, jumping the gun to protect his own ass at all costs, started firing.
Trace thought only of protecting Priss. He tackled her to the floor, rolled to put her up against the wall and hopefully out of range. Even with her resisting, he kept her shielded with his body as he fired off two shots, one at Murray to keep that bastard cowering, and then one at Dugo.
He winged him, but didn’t get in a killing shot.
Bent like an old man, Belford pushed away from the wall and moved closer to size her up with his leering gaze. “A bonus?”
“Ah, no. Never that.” Murray gripped Priss’s bare arm. “But I’m sure we can work out something.”
Priss reacted as any young lady would when sensing imminent peril. Eyes wide and body stiffening, she leaned away from Murray as far as she could. Her voice sounded appropriately high when she asked, “What are you talking about? What do you mean?”
Murray jerked her closer again, almost tumbling her off her shoes. “I’ve decided, Priscilla, that you should see the…extent of my business.”
“I don’t understand. What does that have to do with him?” She pointed at Belford.
Trace watched her—and even though it amazed him, he knew that she wasn’t truly afraid. Again, that damned admiration hit him.
Unbelievable.
As Murray led her toward the loading dock and the back of the semi, Belford followed, all but drooling on himself as he eyed Priss’s ass in the snug dress.
The idiot couldn’t know how he tempted fate.
“Get a move on,” Dugo said.
Unnerving him with a slow smile, Trace said, “You first.”
He could tell that Dugo didn’t want to, but he also knew that Trace wouldn’t give him any choice. Until the bosses said otherwise, Dugo wouldn’t risk a conflict.
He locked his jaw and fell into line.
Trace took up the rear. Was Jackson in place? Damn, he hoped so.
At the back of the locked semi trailer, Murray paused. “Priscilla, dear, I’ve given this some thought, and before we further our relationship, I’ve decided that it’d be wise for me to do a DNA test myself to ensure that you’re truly my daughter.”
Hearing that, Belford stopped short in disbelief. Dugo almost plowed into him.
“Daughter?” they asked in unison. Their gazes went from Priss to Murray and back again.
Priss nodded fearfully. “I understand. Of course, I’d be happy to do whatever you need me to.”
“Lovely Priscilla.” Murray cupped her cheek, smoothed back her hair. “I certainly don’t need your cooperation, but I thank you all the same. The thing is, until I have confirmation, I’ll need you…contained.”
She quailed. “Contained?”
“Kept safe,” he clarified, when she knew her safety was the last thing on his mind.
“Oh, but…” She looked around at all the male faces, including Trace. “But…I don’t understand.”
“I can’t have you gossiping about me. I can’t risk you talking to the wrong people.”
“I wouldn’t!”
“My patience is running thin. You’ll do as I say.” Murray fisted his hand in her hair and turned them both. He called out to the driver of the semi, saying, “Come open the trailer.”
Nothing happened.
Louder, Murray ordered, “Open the damn trailer.”
Knowing what he’d see, Trace went to the edge of the loading dock and peered out. He whistled, and ducked his head back in. “I don’t think the driver can do that.”
“Why not?” Murray pulled Priss forward by her hair. She flinched, but didn’t lose her cool.
“Given the unnatural bend in his neck, my guess is that he’s dead.”
Murray expanded with fury. Teeth clenched, he waved his gun at Dugo. “What the f**k did you do?”
“Not us!” Belford went red-faced with anger. “We got here just before you.”
Dugo did a fast turn, searching the interior around them. When he saw no other threats, he directed his rage at Murray. “It’s your man who’s dead. What did you do?”
Murray’s eye twitched. In a voice more fearsome for the quietness of it, he ordered Dugo, “Open it.”
Gaze alert, Dugo inched over to the trailer. Using his uninjured arm, he worked up the heavy latch and swung the first door open. With haste, he retreated again.
Inside the dark trailer, bodies stirred.
While Priss stood there shaking with barely contained rage, and Alice looking stoic, fifteen women hesitantly peered out. Wincing at the light, emaciated, dirty, bruised and disoriented, they climbed from the trailer. Two younger women, maybe even underage, clung to others who tried to shield them protectively.
Red-hot fury expanded in Trace’s heart. God, that any of them should have suffered this…
Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye he saw Dugo pull his gun. Trace had it under control; he was ready and would have shot down Dugo before he could get his finger in the trigger.
But for the first time, Priss panicked.
She yelled, “No!” and at the same time, jerked her elbow back hard into Murray’s big gut.
What the hell? Already on the move, Trace wondered if Priss thought she could block bullets.
She did manage to free herself from Murray, but also gained Dugo’s attention.
“Stupid bitch!” Murray railed as he ducked behind empty shelving and debris and, jumping the gun to protect his own ass at all costs, started firing.
Trace thought only of protecting Priss. He tackled her to the floor, rolled to put her up against the wall and hopefully out of range. Even with her resisting, he kept her shielded with his body as he fired off two shots, one at Murray to keep that bastard cowering, and then one at Dugo.
He winged him, but didn’t get in a killing shot.
