Free Silenced by Allison Brennan Page A

there. It takes time when I have to cover my tracks. But I’m close.”
    “When this is done, we should go on vacation. Maybe a cruise. That’d be fun, wouldn’t it?”
    Ned laughed. “Remember when we went to Miami for spring break? I want some more of those wild girls. I had more girls sucking me off that week than the whole previous year.” He cleared his throat, then said, “You know what to do?”
    “Yes.” Brian hated when his brother treated him like a child.
    “Wait until nighttime activity settles down, then—”
    “Don’t tell me how to do it. I didn’t fuck up my assignment.”
    “It’s not a competition, Bri.”
    “Good thing for you, ’cause I’d win.” He hung up.
    It was already midnight. Late enough.
    Brian dressed in dark jeans and a black, long-sleeved shirt. He pocketed his favorite knife and left.
    The cheap motel was in an all-black neighborhood two miles from his place. He’d stick out if anyone saw him. So he stayed in his car across the street from the motel and watched.
    The area was unusually quiet. A gas station on one corner was still open. On the opposite corner were two fast-food joints sharing a wall and small parking lot. A group of gangbangers sat on the tables outside, even though the places were closed. Across from the motel was a section of crummy walk-ups. Half the businesses on the ground floor were boarded up; the other half had bars on their windows and doors. A dive bar next to the motel was open until two, but the parking lot was empty.
    Brian had thought that the cooler night would have brought people out of their cramped, stuffy apartments. He breathed in deeply, then grimaced at the thick, dirty air.
    Nearly every light in the motel was off. He watched as a street hooker knocked on an upstairs door, almost directly above the room he wanted. A pasty white guy let her in, the door closed, and Brian wrinkled his nose at what filthy diseases they shared. At least Wendy and the others were clean. Condoms and all that. And they didn’t prowl the streets looking to make a quick buck. They were paid a couple hundred dollars for an all-night screw.
    Not really fair. All they had to do was lie down and spread their legs and they got two, three, even five hundred dollars? He’d heard some of the horny bastards liked kinky shit, but still, a thousand bucks for two nights’ work? How’d they get so lucky to land such a cushy job?
    He laughed, then put his hand to his mouth to keep from being heard. They’d have no job when they were dead. One of those retribution things, he thought. Like the hand of God or some such thing. Be a whore, be dead. Be a whore no more—that sounded better. It rhymed.
    After Brian had seen no one else come or go for several minutes, he got out of his car and strode across the street with purpose. By the time he reached room 119, he had his tools in hand. He’d been worried about making too much noise, but the rumbling AC units masked any sound he made picking the flimsy lock. Slowly, he pushed open the door. Security chain was on. He took out a small, handheld bolt cutter and snipped the thin metal in two.
    Brian crept into the motel room and grimaced at the stink. Dirt and sweat and sex. The air-conditioning unit in the window ran full power, but only moved the stale air around the room. He doubted it had ever been recharged.
    He closed the door quickly, quietly, his eyes already adjusted to the night.
    One black girl—Nicole—slept in the queen-sized bed, on sheets he doubted had been washed after the last people slept—or screwed—in this room. The motel was a haven for whores. Maybe the black bitch thought she’d blend in, disappear into the streets. But she was mistaken. Ned knew everyone. Ned found people. No one could hide from his brother.
    Though Brian was still mad at Ned for screwing up the fire, he was proud, too. Ned would track all of them down before the end of the week. Then Brian would follow up and bam, bam, bam, take