Chapter 4 Always watching

Some ghosts don't haunt. They cling.

The man in the photograph had a name.

Vincent Larrinaga. Damon's middleman. The recruiter. The one who scouted broken girls like Jessica and offered them cages lined with velvet and poison.

She hadn't spoken his name in years. Not even in her nightmares.

But now his photo sat in front of her, waiting. Daring her to remember.

Jessica sat still, hands folded in her lap, the file untouched. Javier had left her alone with it. No guards. No threats. Just silence and a choice.

She could close it.

She could run.

Or she could finally start telling the truth.

She traced Vincent's face with her gaze. That smirk. The hollow eyes. The gold tooth he used to flash like a signature.

She could still hear his voice.

"You've got a sweet look, kid. You'll make someone rich."

That "someone" had been Damon.

That "rich" had been built from her screams.

Her hands trembled, but she opened the next page.

Notes. Surveillance. Schedules. Javier hadn't been bluffing; he'd been watching Vincent for months. There were reports from his men. Snapshots of meetings. Locations.

She froze at one of the addresses.

That club.

The White Dagger.

Does it still exist?

She'd been forced to work there the first time Damon truly broke her spirit. She'd been nineteen, too desperate to go back home, too scared to say no. The memory clung to her like smoke.

She hadn't even realized she was crying until a single drop hit the paper.

And then

"I wondered if you'd still recognize him," Javier's voice said from the doorway.

She didn't look up.

"I do," she whispered. "Too well."

Javier stepped inside, footsteps silent on the floor. He didn't sit beside her. He didn't ask for more. He just waited.

Jessica let out a long, shaky breath. "He tricked me. I thought I was getting a waitressing job. I'd just gotten kicked out of my apartment. He offered me help. Said I was 'different.' Special. Said I could make triple what I made at the diner."

She shut her eyes. "He brought me to Damon."

Javier's voice was low. "And what did Damon do?"

"He made me choose." Her voice was bitter. "Starve... or be useful. I chose to eat."

Javier moved then, sitting across from her with the kind of stillness that unnerved her. He didn't interrupt. He let her speak.

And somehow, that made it worse.

"I didn't know how deep it went until it was too late. Girls started disappearing. You learn not to ask questions. He had this rule if you spoke out, you paid with someone else's blood."

Her throat tightened. "One girl... Her name was Ava. She tried to run. I helped her. Gave her money. She didn't even make it a mile."

Jessica's voice broke. "They sent me her necklace. With blood on it."

She looked up at Javier then, and for once, she didn't hide the rage simmering beneath her guilt.

"I want him to burn," she whispered. "But I don't want to be the one who strikes the match."

Javier's expression didn't change. But something in his eyes did an understanding, raw and ruthless.

"Then I'll strike it for you."

Jessica blinked. "Why?"

His response was quiet. "Because monsters like Damon don't stop. They don't disappear. They multiply. Unless someone reminds them who the real predator is."

Silence stretched between them. Heavy. Inevitable.

Then Javier handed her a phone. Not the secure one from earlier. A different one this one already dialed.

"One of my men," he said. "He's outside Vincent's club right now. If you can describe the inside... the exits, the cameras, who he trusts we can start tonight."

Jessica stared at the screen.

Could she really do this?

Could she become part of something darker... just to survive?

Or had she already?

She took the phone.

And started talking.

Later That Night

Javier watched from a distance as the team moved in.

Jessica sat beside him in the armored car, silent, watching the street like it might swallow her whole.

The White Dagger glowed in the dark like a polished lie.

A woman walked out, laughing on the arm of a man in a cheap suit. Another girl trailed behind, young, tense, pretending to be fine.

Jessica gripped the seat.

"We're just watching, right?" she whispered. "Just tonight?"

Javier didn't answer immediately.

Then: "Yes. For now."

He knew revenge had to be patient. Calculated. Surgical.

But when Jessica flinched as Vincent appeared in the doorway, laughing and smoking like he hadn't built his fortune on human bones, Javier made a silent promise.

One day soon, that man would beg for mercy.

And he would deny it.