Hunt and Prey (Kelsey's Burden Series Book 8) Kaylie Hunter (books on motivation txt) 📖

in the back seat with the wrong john. You just slam the purse upside his head a few times—” she held the purse up and demonstrated “—then get the hell out a there before his eyes come back inta focus.”

It took me half a minute to shake off the image of half-naked bodies swinging purses, but finally I was able to return my focus to the issue at hand. “Was there anything inside Ferrari’s purse?”

“Nah. Just the usual. Gum. Booze. A few business cards. Not even any change. But that skank roommate might’ve already taken any money.”

“Was Ferrari a friend?”

The women laughed. The tall one scanned the street, but no customers had appeared while we chatted. “Street girls either get along—or they don’t. Ain’t nobody friends, though.”

“Not even the two of you?”

“Let’s just say we have common business habits, kay?” the shorter one said. “Like how neither of us work for pimps. And how we both like working this block cuz it’s slower. Less cops. And da johns round here are into normal shit. Not the jam a bottle up your ass or cut off your titties shit.”

I looked around the neighborhood again. It was a low-traffic, poverty-stricken neighborhood. They likely made ten bucks per blowjob at best, but they were safer here than the busier locations. And teaming up, whether they liked each other or not, kept them safer yet.

“By any chance, did you keep the business cards from Ferrari’s purse?” I asked the shorter one.

“She keeps everything,” the taller one scoffed. “She’s a packrat.”

The shorter one dug around in the neon pink bag and pulled out three business cards. I took them, flipping through them. The first was for a strip club. I’d have one of the guys check it out. The second one was for the dental clinic. My shoulders dropped. I barely glanced at the third—a hair salon offering a discount for new customers.

“When did Ferrari disappear?” I asked.

Both women were watching me, eyes narrowed.

“Bout three weeks back,” the tall one said, dragging the shoulder of her ripped t-shirt back onto her shoulder. “She’s gone for good, ain’t she?”

I sighed, not wanting to tell them, but knowing they needed to be warned. “Looks that way. Just stick together, and you both should be fine. Don’t go anywhere alone. Especially when you’re not working.” I glanced over my shoulder at Trigger and Ryan.

Trigger was using a hand towel to dry off as Ryan tore the corners out of a trash bag. Next thing I knew, Trigger took the bag, turned his back to Ryan which meant he was facing us, and dropped his underwear to the sidewalk.

I closed my eyes as I turned away, but it was too late. The image was burned into my brain.

“Guess he ain’t one of those turtle types after all,” the short one said, laughing.

“Where was he hiding dat thing?” the taller one said, chuckling. “We got ourselves a winner, folks!”

“Now what’s he doin?”

Curious, I peeked. Trigger had stepped into the garbage bag which had holes in the bottom corners for his legs. He knotted the excess plastic around his waist and cinched it tight. He now stood in the middle of the sidewalk, grinning like an idiot, wearing a trash bag diaper.

He swung his head to the side to smile back at Ryan. Ryan’s return grin held a tad too much sinister in it as he picked up the bottle of vodka and poured it on Trigger’s road rash.

Trigger tried twisting away as he howled, but Ryan held him firmly in place with a hand wrapped around Trigger’s bicep. Several people stepped outside to see what was happening.

“Damn,” the shorter one cursed. “That looks painful.”

“Looks like they’re about ready to leave,” I said, turning back to the women. I pulled some cash from my pocket. “Take the day off. My treat.”

The tall one grabbed the cash and hurried off in the other direction. Likely worried I’d change my mind.

The shorter one scurried to catch up.

Chapter Thirty-Two

KELSEY

Tuesday, 11:55 a.m.

I tried paying a cabbie three-hundred dollars to drive Trigger back to the mansion, but the driver refused. Instead, we tossed Trigger’s clothes in a nearby dumpster and now Trigger, in his garbage bag diaper, sat grinning from the back seat. Ryan was driving. I was in the passenger seat, flipping through the wallet Trigger had lifted, pulling out high-limit credit cards and fancy business cards for a Mr. Owen Flint. It appeared Mr. Flint was a real estate investment guru. But it was the membership card I’d found in the wallet which had me ordering Ryan to turn west, back toward the center of Miami.

“Where we heading?” Ryan asked as he followed the U-turn lane at the next intersection.

“The Outer Layer. Our guy at the dentist office is a member.”

“So?”

“So… Baker keeps files on all the members, with full background checks.”

“Will anyone be there? It isn’t even noon yet.”

“Baker has a residential suite next to his office. He usually stays there. But if he’s not, I can get us inside.”

“Umm…” Trigger said from the back seat. “I was sort of hoping to find some clothes.”

“Charlie has clothes and a shower in her office.”

“I got no issue wearing woman’s clothes, but I don’t think they’ll fit.”

“You can borrow something of Baker’s then.” I pointed for Ryan to make a turn at the next street.

We weren’t that far from the club, and ten minutes later we walked up to the private entrance and I swiped my VIP card to enter. Trigger and I took the elevator while Ryan volunteered to take the stairs to ensure they were clear. This was a secure building, but Ryan wasn’t used to sitting around, so I didn’t argue. As I entered Baker’s private office on the fifth