Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 69993 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69993 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
It doesn’t take that long to find out who the Iron Kings are. A quick trip inside the local and state police databases gives me a ton of information about what the police suspect they are involved in, which is everything from human trafficking, drug sales, and even extortion.
I take all the information I find from the police and compile it into a digital folder and keep digging.
Biker gangs don’t exactly advertise on websites or social media, but once I head to the dark web, I can learn about pretty much anything or anyone I want. If I’m willing to pay the right price.
Sickening, isn’t it?
I turn and snort another line just to get my head right. The dark web is atrocious as fuck.
There are pages upon pages of young girls and boys, immigrants and kidnap victims all for sale on various sites. Some are up for bid at auctions, and some have a flat rate, no different from the guitar I bought online a few years ago. These people are monsters.
I do some research on the Kings, and I don’t like what I see. Guns, drugs, and women.
A particular girl is young enough that it’s difficult to tell if she’s on the right or wrong side of legal. She’s for sale with the highest bid already at fifty grand.
I don’t have that kind of money, but I place a bid anyway because I need to get to the next step to find what I’m looking for.
Seconds later, a message pops up telling me I’ve been outbid, and the next bid is sixty thousand.
“Crypto okay?”
I type the message and get to work while the person on the other side responds. It’s just enough time to get into their system and grab the IP address.
“Son of a bitch!”
The IP is local, right here in California, and I have no doubt it’s the Iron Kings.
Unfortunately, I can’t do anything for the girl, but I grab what I can from the computer of the person I’m talking to so I can get the fuck out. Quickly.
“Crypto works. Escrow required.”
I wait sixty seconds before I respond, copying every file I can before then.
“Sixty-five,” I bid, and just as I suspect, the next message comes almost immediately. Outbid again. These fuckers are relentless.
“Next time,” I respond and log out of the system before changing my internet location from the Philippines to London.
I scan the information I now have in my possession. The Iron Kings are into some really heavy shit. The second account number that I didn’t give to Ace belongs to Iron Kings, and it’s all starting to become clear.
Frank stole money from both clubs and had me put that money into offshore accounts. It’s probably his exit plan because very few people live long enough to enjoy money they steal from criminals.
Shit. I look to my phone, desperate to share this information with Ro, but I know I can’t. Just knowing me right now is dangerous, and no one knows me better than Ro. She’s in deep enough, and she doesn’t even know it. I can’t risk her safety by telling her what I found, even though I’m anxious to tell somebody.
I resolve to keep it to myself and shut down the laptop with a sigh. This day has left my mind spinning with…hell with everything. Finding out that Mom’s boyfriend isn’t just a regular ol’ religious crook, but one who’s in bed with at least two biker gangs is enough on its own.
But then there’s arson, kidnapping attempts, and money laundering. Now I’m kind of bummed I didn’t give Frank more of a chance. He’s more interesting than I thought.
A knock sounds on my door a moment before Mom pokes her head inside. “You’re home.”
I freeze and then nod, knowing it’s too late to hide the mirror. “Yeah, I got home about an hour ago or so.”
She smiles at me, and I take a second to enjoy the sight of her smiling, especially at me. Mom loves me, and I know that, but she does a shit job of hiding her disappointment that I’m not something more, something better.
It’s a good fucking thing I let myself enjoy the moment because when she sees the mirror and the traces of coke on it, it vanishes quickly.
“Goddammit, Gia. I thought you were finished with the drugs!”
“Mom, listen—”
“No,” she shakes her head. “You listen. This shit has to stop. How do you expect to get a respectable job when you’re always high?”
I let out a bitter laugh. “Newsflash, Mom, it’s not the coke why I can’t get a job. It’s the lack of a college degree.” I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Mom has been known to throw a mean backhand.
“Oh. grow up, Gia.” She shakes her head. “Plenty of people without degrees have jobs.”