Chapter 126 - Someone?

Elijah parked his car outside the inconspicuous motel, the kind of place designed to be overlooked. It blended into the urban sprawl, with peeling paint and a flickering neon sign that read "Vacancy." Не glanced at the dossier on the passenger seat once more before stepping out, adjusting his jacket to conceal the weapon holstered at his side.

As he got closer to the entrance, the air was thick with the smell of cheap cigarettes and damp concrete. The door groaned open, revealing a dim lobby that looked like it hadn't been touched in ages. The receptionist was so focused on her tiny TV showing nothing but static that she didn't even look up. Elijah slipped by without saying a word, his keen eyes checking out his surroundings.

Down the hall, everything was bathed in a red light that felt almost spooky, like someone wanted it that way. Beaded curtains swayed in the slight draft, and distant laughter and muffled voices drifted in from deeper inside. As he moved forward, Elijah's steps slowed. The mood changed; the red light got stronger, and the faint smell of perfume mixed with something heavier, like desperation.

Through the beaded curtains, he glimpsed women-or rather, girls. They were dressed provocatively, their faces painted with heavy makeup. Their laughter was forced, their eyes hollow. Elijah's jaw tightened as he realized the truth: they weren't women, but young girls, some barely teenagers. His stomach churned, but he forced himself to keep moving, his professional demeanor masking the anger simmering inside.

One of the girls, no older than sixteen, caught his gaze. She froze momentarily, her expression a mixture of fear and hope. Elijah gave her a slight nod, a silent promise to make things right, before moving past.

Down the corridor, Elijah saw a guy slouching on an old couch. The dude was dressed casually, but he had this air of authority. He held a small plastic bag with white powder, waving it at the girls around him. Some of the girls were hesitant, while others, already high, reached for it eagerly.

Elijah's hand balled into a fist, but he kept his cool. He needed to stay focused. He walked past the scene and found a row of rooms with glass doors. Each room had dim, colored lights inside, with shadows moving around. The noises coming from there made his stomach churn, but he kept going.

At the end of the corridor was a wooden door, different from the others. It looked solid and well-polished compared to the rest of the shabby motel. His instincts told him that whatever was behind that door didn't belong to the usual goings-on.

He tried the handle, but it was locked. Pressing his ear against the door, he could hear muffled voices, distinct and purposeful, but couldn't make out the words. His suspicions deepened. Whatever was happening here wasn't just sleazy-it was organized, and likely tied directly to Benjamin Moore.

Elijah knew not to go any further without help. He went back the way he came, trying not to look suspicious. When he walked past the guy on the couch, they made eye contact for a second. Elijah just nodded casually and kept going.

Outside, he took a deep breath of the chilly night air, trying to shake off the sick feeling inside. He pulled out his phone and called Blaze.

"It's worse than we thought," Elijah said, keeping his voice calm but strong. "You need to hear this in person."

Blaze's voice on the line was steady, but there was something dangerous about it. "Where are you?"

Elijah gave him the address.

"I'll be there in an hour." Elijah said.

Blaze ended the call, leaning against his car before driving off. His mind raced with what he'd seen, the faces of those girls haunting him. If there was one thing he knew, it was that Blaze Baldwin wouldn't let this stand.

Baldwin's Mansion

The grandfather clock in the corner of the grand study chimed one, filling the quiet mansion with its deep tone. Blaze sat at his big mahogany desk, the desk lamp casting shadows over his face. He'd loosened his tie and undone the top two buttons of his shirt, a small sign that it was getting late. Papers were neatly stacked in front of him—contracts and reports he needed to go over.

After making sure Savannah was sound asleep upstairs, Blaze had come to his sanctuary, the study, where he could concentrate. But tonight, his thoughts kept wandering to the troubling things he was finding out about Benjamin Moore.

A soft knock on the heavy wooden door broke the silence. Blaze didn't look up, already sensing who it was. "Come in." he said, his voice calm yet commanding.

"Speak," Blaze said, leaning back in his chair and staring at Elijah intently.

Elijah took a steadying breath. "I went to the location you asked me to check out. The place is owned by Moore, as suspected. From the outside, it looks like an ordinary motel, but inside..." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "It's a front for something much darker. The kind of operation that makes you sick to your stomach."

Blaze's jaw tightened, his fingers steepled under his chin. "Details, Elijah."

"The interior is set up like a den of vice," Elijah continued. "Red lights, beaded curtains, the works. But that's not the worst of it. The girls there... they're young, Boss. Too young. Some of them barely look like they've hit their teens." His voice hardened, the disgust evident. "They're being drugged, coerced, forced into things they shouldn't even know about at that age."

Blaze's sharp eyes narrowed, his fingers tapping away on the desk. The steady beat filled the room, a clear sign he was getting really angry.

"There's more," Elijah said, his voice dropping. "At the end of the main hall, there's a solid, polished wooden door. It's locked, unlike the other doors. I couldn't get inside, but I heard enough to know it's important. My gut says that's where Moore runs his operation."

Blaze leaned forward, his hands flat on the desk. The intensity in his eyes could cut through steel. "What did you see him do?"

"I didn't see Moore myself," Elijah admitted. "But his guys were there, handing out drugs. They were targeting the girls who weren't already hooked. And those rooms with glass doors..." He hesitated, shaking his head. "Blaze, it's not just drugs. It's human trafficking. These girls are being forced into this. They're being sold to whoever pays the most."

The room fell silent, the weight of Elijah's words settling like a storm cloud. Blaze's expression darkened, his mind working at a rapid pace. He stood abruptly, pushing back his chair, and began pacing the room.

"This isn't just about Moore anymore," Blaze said, his voice low and dangerous. "If he's running an operation this big, he's got some connections backing him." He stopped and turned to face Elijah.

"But he made a mistake. He's operating on my turf. That makes it my problem."

Elijah nodded, matching his boss's determination. "So, what's the plan?"

Blaze went back to his desk, grabbed a blank sheet of paper, and started sketching out a strategy. "First, we collect all the evidence we can. Names, faces, transactions—everything. We need to expose his operation. But we have to be careful. If we tip him off too soon, he'll scatter like a rat."

Elijah nodded, making mental notes.

"Next," Blaze said, "we take down his network bit by bit. Suppliers, clients, enforcers—they're all going down."

"What about Moore himself?" Elijah asked.

Blaze's eyes burned with determination. "He'll wish he'd never stepped foot in my city."

The room fell quiet for a moment, the air heavy with their resolve. Then Blaze added, "But we do this cleanly. No loose ends, no collateral damage. Got it?"

"Got it," Elijah replied firmly.

Blaze leaned back in his chair, let out a deep breath. He looked at the closed study door, his mind briefly wandering to everywhere and finding the puzzle.

Moore's Mansion

Benjamin Moore's fancy house was a far cry from the guy sitting inside it.

The place was decked out with fancy stuff—gold-trimmed furniture, crystal chandeliers, and handwoven rugs that screamed money and power. Moore relaxed in a comfy armchair, holding a glass of pricey whiskey, a smug look on his face.

Sitting across from him was a man, a scruffy-looking dude who gave off vibes of sly malice. He was dressed in old, mismatched clothes and seemed totally out of place in Moore's luxurious setup. But his presence wasn't one of respect—it was full of quiet, simmering anger.

The two men shared a twisted camaraderie, their bond forged over a common hatred for one man: Blaze.

Moore leaned back, swirling his drink in the glass as he spoke. "You know, things have been pretty calm lately. No interruptions, no sudden moves from that self-righteous jerk. Makes you wonder if he's finally gotten the message." He chuckled, his arrogance clear in every word.

The mans lips curled into a bitter smile, his teeth yellowed and uneven. He let out a guttural laugh that sounded more like a growl, hiding the storm of emotions inside him. "Calm, huh? Maybe for now. But Blaze doesn't back down easily. He's like a damn wolf—always watching, always waiting."

Moore raised his glass toward the man, his expression mocking. "That's why I've got you, my friend. To outsmart him, to outmaneuver him. You've got the brains and the grudge. It's a perfect combo."

The shabby man's eyes turned dark, his fingers digging into the edge of the table. "Grudge doesn't even come close, Moore," he said, his voice low and nasty. "Blaze made me look like a fool, took everything I built, and left me in the shadows. Now, it's my turn to see him fall apart."

Moore took a slow sip of his whiskey, enjoying the burn as it went down. "He'll fall all right. With the resources I've given you and your inside knowledge of his operation, we'll make sure of it."

The man snorted, but there wasn't any humor in it. "He's too full of himself, too dependent on his rep. He thinks nobody can within him." He leaned in, looking intense. "But everyone's got a weak spot. Even Blaze."

Moore gave a smug smile and raised his glass in a fake toast. "To Blaze's downfall."

Tha mam paused, his eyes darting with something hard to read. Then he lifted his own glass—a chipped, mismatched thing that stuck out like a sore thumb next to Moore's fancy silverware.

"To his downfall," he repeated, the words tasting sour in his mouth.

The two took a drink, the quiet between them thick with unspoken tension.

Moore leaned back in his chair, soaking in what he thought was his win. But the other man's mind was racing. Sure, he hated Blaze as much as Moore did, but he knew Moore was underestimating their enemy. Blaze wasn't just a guy; he was like a force of nature—tough and resilient.

This man had his own game, his own goals. He wasn't just there to help Moore; he was using him. Using Moore's resources and pride to get closer to his ultimate revenge.

Neither of them knew that every move they made was being watched. Blaze, always the wolf, was watching and waiting. And while Moore and hin clinked their glasses, celebrating a victory that wasn't yet theirs, the storm was already gathering on the horizon.

Author's Note :

What's coming, next?

Thankyou for reading<3

Have a good day/night <3<3