Frank had been watching the warehouse for longer than he wanted to admit, longer than he should have been, longer than was excusable for the people that had come and gone form it. He'd tracked down a fair number of the young women, and some men, that had been trafficked out of it, but tracking down the traffickers wasn't as easier as the people they sold to. Dealing with those scumbags hadn't been so hard. Dealing with the wholesalers, that had proved the sticking point. But he had to do it.

There were some things you didn't do. Frank didn't have much of an opinion on sex work, but you couldn't sell another person like they were a thing. And some of these girls and boys--well they were just that. Girls and boys, barely older than his kids had been. He could not abide.

So when he could finally make a move, he did.

The last guy had the keys to the cells. Frank didn't need him to be alive for this. There was a part of him that felt bad for the kid. As far as he could tell, all he'd done was lock and unlock cell doors. But ignorance was no excuse. There had been plenty of time to unlock those cells.

Frank murmured a shushing sound at the kid as he leveled a gun at his head. He'd make it quick at least.