Page 23 of When Sinners Hate

“I guess this is the safest place to be then.”

“That depends on what mood I’m in when you’re in it with me.”

I pull along the gravel track and down to the warehouses, watching the two guards at the entrance as I park. They keep their stare fixed on me, knowing all too well what wandering eyes get them regarding the merchandise. Not that Alexia is that, but they wouldn’t know what she is to me yet.

Intense heat hits me as I get out of the car and walk us over to the building, and the minute we’re inside the room the usual noise and smell of sweat and smoke starts infecting my system. I look around and glance at Alexia, gaging her reactionin these morally inept confines of iniquity. She’s as poised as she usually is, with a face that seems as blank as she can make it.

Carmen’s voice shouts over the darkness and music, and I follow the sound until we’re into the middle of a training room and watching four women walking the same steps I’ve seen a thousand times before. One of them trips over her heels, near falling to the floor in the process. Carmen’s on her like the bitch she is, dragging her up by her hair until she’s standing and trying to walk again.

“Ah, there you are,” she says, coming over to me. “And this must be your new wife.” She leans in and kisses me on the cheek. “Hello, Mrs Cortez,” she continues, offering her hand. Alexia takes it and nods, no other response than that. “I’m Carmen Bennett.” She’s not. That’s a name she chose when she became this new version of herself that hides in shadows and destroys women’s lives for the healthy profit she makes. “Dante has managed reasonably successfully without Shaw being here. Would you like to see the new intake first or the ones he’s been dealing with?”

“The new ones. When will these four be ready?”

“Next week. They’re tabled for the Bourbon Lounge, but I was thinking they might be better for sale to the market. None of them are particularly special. Especially not that one,” she says, flicking her head to the one that fell. “It might be better falling into a canyon somewhere, to be frank.” Hmm. “Keep moving, girls,” she shouts. “Remember who’s in the wings waiting for you.”

“Who is in the wings?” Alexia asks.

“Ratchet,” Carmen replies.

“Ratchet?”

“Yes. Ratchet. RATCHET? SHOW YOURSELF!” Ratchet, the man we use to keep this formula rolling the way it should in the form of fear, or entertainment, appears in the corner withhis black leather mask strapped in place. He lifts his chin at me and nods, then retreats to the black shadow he came from. “He’s quite sweet under that uniform,” she continues. “Well, sometimes anyway.”

Dante walks around the corner just as we’re turning it, shirtless and drenched in sweat. “Keep going, Carmen. I’ll meet you there.” She leaves, and I turn back to Dante.

“Brother,” he says, wiping the back of his neck with a rag.

“Knox will be here in fifteen minutes.”

“Why?”

“I want to see him before you leave.”

“Alright.”

“How many done?”

“Eighteen. They’re heading out for Mexico tomorrow. I’ll get the next load from the border when I’ve got them bedded in at the new houses.” He looks at Alexia for the first time and frowns. “Ten to Carrera’s, and the other eight to Elena Cruz’s place. I’ll go wait for Knox.”

“I don’t think your brother likes me,” Alexia drawls, as he leaves.

“Like has nothing to do with it. He doesn’t trust you. None of us do. You haven't earned it.”

I start moving again, winding corners I barely know and not caring how welcome she feels. This is a relatively new building for us. We change them constantly. Not necessarily because of the law – we have that dealt with – but because of people and the media. The last thing we need at our door is the wider–world interfering with our profit margins.

Racks of large, tall cells come into view as I round the next corner. They’re mostly empty at the moment. We shipped thirty out three days ago, another twenty the week before that, but I glance in the far room as we keep moving. Dante’s workshines back at me as I look over the women hobbling around in there.

“Why are they all limping?” Alexia asks.

“They’ve been marked.” She looks confused. “Branded. On the base of their foot.”

“Well, that’s barbaric.”

“We are barbaric. And it's necessary. We make a cut of everything they make. Either by selling or loaning them out. Sometimes to houses, other times to private buyers.”

“All over the States?”

“Mainly, but Europe is being worked on. We had a problem a while back.”