Dark Vengeance Kristi Belcamino (read me a book .txt) 📖

help you. What do you need?”

“I want you to go,” she said, shaking her head erratically.

“Do her parents know she’s here?” I asked Zahra.

“When she first came to Padang, she called them. They told her she was disowned. They never wanted to see her again.”

I closed my eyes for a second. Horrific.

“Joan,” I said. “What would you say if I was able to get you to a home where they can help you get better?”

“No,” she said angrily. “No. No cages.”

“There won’t be cages,” I said, shooting an alarmed look at Zahra. “Just a nice bedroom and nice people to help you.”

“No!” she screamed as if I was stabbing her.

Zahra gave me a sympathetic look. “We take care of her here.”

“But what if I could get her in rehab? Off the drugs?”

“We don’t do drugs in this room,” she said. “Whatever damage was done to her was before when she was hooked. Now it’s all up here.” She gestured to her head.

“Therapy might help?” I said.

Zahra shrugged.

“What about you guys?” I said, nodding my head toward the boy and girl who were sitting against the window smoking cigarettes. “Can I help you in any way?”

Zahra shook her head. “We’re here because we got kicked out for falling in love. We came here to live freely. We crash here at night, but we work during the day on the other side of the island. We’re saving our money for a place. We almost have enough to rent a place down the road.”

“How much more do you need?”

She frowned.

“Five hundred dollars,” the boy said from across the room.

I undid my belt buckle. Zahra watched me with wide eyes but did not move. I pulled my belt through the loops and then turned it over. On the inside was a zipper. I unzipped it and pulled out five one hundred dollar bills that had been folded lengthwise into thirds to fit into the belt.

“Here you go. But what about Joan?”

“We will take her with us.”

“Do you have a phone?” I said.

She shook her head. “Could you get online access?”

“Of course,” she said.

“If you need help you can get a message to me through the Queen of Spades website.”

Her nose scrunched up. “That’s your name?”

I smiled. “No, she’s my aunt. But you can always reach me through that website. Or her, for that matter. She would help you, too.”

Then I left.

The Palace Hotel would be my next stop.

13

My motorcycle was still out in front of the flop house.

Part of me had worried someone would just wheel it away or pick it up and put it in the back of a truck and take off.

I headed back toward the tourist part of town.

The Palace Hotel was easy to find.

A large red awning hung over the entrance, and a doorman in a suit and chauffeur’s hat stood at attention on the sidewalk. I’d expected a dump, but it actually looked really nice.

I hopped the curb and stopped my motorcycle on the sidewalk. The doorman was not amused.

I gave him my most winning smile.

Nothing.

Straight-faced.

Then he lifted one eyebrow.

“Hi,” I said and reached out my hand to his. “I’m Gia.”

He looked down his nose at my outstretched hand, but he must have spotted the bills I’d palmed there because he stretched out one white-gloved hand to mine. In an instant, he’d tucked his hand, with the money, into a jacket pocket.

“I’m looking for a man who goes by the name X. I was told he often stays here.”

The doorman’s face remained blank.

I tried a different tactic. “What I really need to know is if he had a dark-haired girl with him?”

Nothing.

“She’s his prisoner. Did you see him with a girl?”

The doorman stared past me out at the street, but I saw him give a barely perceptible shake of his head.

Rose wasn’t with X.

“Next question.”

He lifted an eyebrow.

Fuck. I have to pay for every answer?

I held out my hand again. He palmed more money.

“Is X here now? Does he have a room for the night?”

Nothing.

“If he is staying the night here can you blink twice?”

It was absurd, but I didn’t know what else to do.

No expression. No blinking.

“Okay. Just to make sure, if he’s not staying here, can you blink once.”

Slowly he lowered his ridiculously long eyelashes and then opened them again.

“Thanks,” I said and hopped back on my bike.

I was about to start the engine when the doorman spoke in a low voice with his back turned to me.

“He checked out. The maître d made reservations for dinner at Le Coquette. He may still be there.”

“Where is this place?” I asked.

The doorman jutted his chin to the right.

I started the bike’s engine and hopped off the curb, nearly losing my balance as the bike caught on something slick. I steadied myself and the bike and gunned the engine, heading down the street while reading all the neon signs.

Soon, I saw it and slowed to a stop, letting the bike idle across the street.

Nearly a dozen tables were set up on the sidewalk outside. I scanned the diners.

I had no idea what X looked like besides that photo that had been on his nightstand.

But even so, nobody at the restaurant looked even slightly like that man in the photo. I parked my bike and headed inside. I strode past the maître d and headed toward the kitchen in the back, examining the face of every male diner as I passed. Nope.

The maître d was racing behind me, trying to get me to stop, babbling something.

I reached the kitchen, did an about face and headed back through the restaurant to the front door, passing the sputtering maître d as I did.

Outside I straddled my bike and headed toward the marina. If he wasn’t staying at his usual hotel and wasn’t eating dinner anymore, there was a better than decent chance he was catching the ferry back to the island. I gunned the motor. It was late and I knew the ferry didn’t run all night. Hopefully, I wouldn’t be