Chapter Six
Jaxon
My mind races with possibilities. There are so many things I want to do with my little dove, with Mine, I can hardly figure out where to begin.
Only I know exactly where I need to begin.
Which is why I’m riding down the elevator to the first floor, dressed in slacks and a button-up.
No one questions a well-dressed man who walks with confidence.
I walk through the bright hallway, noting the doors on either side that lead to apartments hardly big enough for a dog, let alone adults. God, just thinking of Sam being in such close quarters to my girl makes me want to gut him.
I have no idea who designed this building and came up with the numbering system, but they were fucking stupid. Probably some young, just-out-of-college kid trying to be edgy or some shit.
Looking both ways and seeing no one, I pull the small lock-picking case from my pocket and flip it open. I take out what I need and quickly get to work. The lock is too easy to pick, and I grit my teeth as I step inside and shut the door behind me.
It smells like her. Hidden behind a sickening masculine scent, there she is. My sweet, sweet girl.
Fuck, I miss her…
I ignore the ache in my chest and focus on my task. I wish I had time to linger, time to look around and enjoy being so close to her. I haven’t been this connected to her in weeks. It makes me sick. But she never leaves for me to get in here…
I’ve never been patient, but I will find patience for my little dove. Because it’ll be worth it in the end, when I have her back. Because I will get her back.
I walk through the small living room, glancing at the desk against the wall to my left, where I met her again. This time as Shadow.
I’m not sure why that’s the name I went with, but it felt right. I am a shadow. Her shadow. And that will never change.
The bathroom is so small I can hardly shut the door once I’m inside. I have to turn and lean partly into the shower to get it closed.
Who the fuck lives like this?
The sink is behind the door, and I open the medicine cabinet, pull out the medicine case that Sam uses, and look over the bottles on the shelf.
Some men’s multi-vitamin—which is exactly what I need. Then two orange pill bottles. I grab them both. Lamictal and lorazepam, but the latter is as-needed. No idea what the first one is, so I pull out my phone to look it up.
Seizures or bipolar? I’m not trying to kill him. If I wanted him dead, he’d already be gone. This will only keep him asleep long enough…
I open a new search tab on my phone and search up lorazepam, which I am more familiar with, but not enough to deduce what the fuck he has.
Okay, so that’s what I thought. I guess I can’t be sure, but I’m going with bipolar and anxiety rather than a seizure disorder. Though, I guess it doesn’t matter either way, because that multi-vitamin is coming out and these sleeping pills are going in. I’m sure he’ll be fine.
I work quickly, removing the pills from the little squares and adding in the replacements.
I’ve watched him fill this enough times that I was able to figure out the vitamin from the video and get a sleeping pill that looks just like it.
He doesn’t inspect the pills before he takes them—because who expects someone to break in and swap them out?
—so I should be good. He’ll be knocked on his ass, and I’ll be in the other room, fucking my girl.
When the meds are switched, I put everything back the way I found it and leave the bathroom.
I should leave the apartment now. I have no idea how long they’re going to be gone together, but I need to do something first. I turn into the bedroom on the left and am immediately assaulted by the sweet scent of my girl.
It calms my nerves. I haven’t felt this good in weeks.
I fucking miss her.
I go to the tall dresser against the far wall, the one Sam emptied for her to use. I pull the top drawer open and grin when I find exactly what I’m looking for.
The silk and lace is soft against my fingers as I run them along the fabric, deciding on a black lace pair.
I shove them into my pocket, close the drawer, and make a quick stop in the kitchen to dig through the junk drawer and help myself to the spare key Sam shoved in here weeks ago.
He’d made two, giving one to Sailor and tossing the other in here.
I step into the hallway, and turn to close the door, giving the handle a turn to make sure it’s locked.
“Who the hell are you?”
I blink, then turn slowly to face some Karen who’s looking at me like I’m covered in blood and holding a murder weapon.
“Management,” I state.
“Since when does management dress like that?” she snaps.
I so badly want to snap right back at her, but I hold my tongue.
“I’m sorry, but who are you?” I ask, taking a step towards her. “I don’t recall your face.”
“Because I’ve never met you.”
“We have files on every tenant in the building, and you are not one of them.”
It’s true. Though the locks are easy to pick and the apartments are small, the landlord does keep files on his tenants for safety purposes. If only his database wasn’t so easy to hack into…
Her eyes go wide. “You what?”
“Your name, ma’am?” I ask, stepping forward.
Her jaw drops, then flops open and closed a few times.
“Should I call the police?” I question, tilting my head to the side just slightly.
She scoffs, stomping her foot. “Of course not! I’m just bringing soup for my son who is sick. He lives upstairs.” She points to the ceiling.
“And you have a key to this building? Because that is against policy. Unless your name is on the lease, which I know it is not.”
Completely talking out of my ass here, but it’s working.
She gasps. “He’s sick!”
“That isn’t my problem.” I walk toward the front door, but glance over my shoulder and say, “Make sure your son knows he will receive a call from management.”
Which, of course, he won’t, but they’ll think twice about giving keys away all willy-nilly.
The door closes heavily behind me, and I walk down the few steps to the walkway and turn the corner to go around back to my private entrance.
They really did try to make this building more than what it is.
It’s like they’re going for a Boston penthouse even though I’m on the third floor in the suburbs. Whatever. It works for what I need.
It’s a quiet neighborhood, nothing like a downtown city and not like back home either. It’s like something out of a movie. The houses across the street have flower boxes in their windows for fuck’s sake, and they’re all painted similar pastel colors that look like they were pulled off an HOA list.
The walkway is lined by a black iron fence and thick bushes, with a couple gates that lead to the spacious parking lot. Each apartment gets two spots, except for me—I get four. Just as I turn toward the back of the building, a car pulls into the lot.
Sam’s car.
I ignore it, looking forward and hoping like hell she doesn’t see me. Panicking and rushing will bring attention to me. I don’t know what she would do if she recognized me, here, at the place she lives. Once I’m safely in the elevator, I let out a breath.
I swipe my card, the doors close, and up I go.
Once at the top, I hurry to the window and look down at the lot.
Sailor is standing to the side with her arms crossed, watching Sam pull a bunch of bags from the trunk.
She looks so unhappy, and it makes me so fucking angry.
She would be happy if she were with me. I’d do anything to make her happy—anything that it took, I’d do it. If only she’d give me the opportunity.
What is she doing with him? What is she doing here? She needs to come back home—to me.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I don’t pull my eyes from her as I answer it.
“We have a problem.”
I recognize the voice—Vincent, my mother’s secondhand-man-turned-leader since the cowardly bitch is in hiding.
I’ve known him all of my life, and for years I didn’t trust Vincent, thinking he was up her ass and doing as she asked, but I was wrong.
Seems he’s been biding his time to take over, which tracks, since they’re all a bunch of snakes.
Mother’s been pissing people off left and right for a long time, thinking she can do whatever she wants, when she wants, and without repercussions.
Just because she’s at the top of the food chain doesn’t mean she doesn’t have to listen to anyone else.
You’re only at the top when you have people at the bottom to hold you up.
Seems she learned that the hard way, and it brings me a little bit of joy.
Her time was coming to an end before she took off, and she did a great job hiding it from me, making it seem like she was more powerful than ever.
She knows she fucked up, knows she pissed off a lot of dangerous people, and that’s why she ran. It wasn’t just because of me—everything unfolded at the same time, it seems.
I couldn’t care less what is going on with the organization. Without her involvement, I can move on with my life and stop worrying about her hanging this shit over my head. However, my mother does still need to pay. And she will. As soon as I find her.
“What kind of problem?” I ask.
I first heard from Vincent a week after I killed Mindy. I wasn’t surprised when he called, but I was surprised about what he’d said.
It’s yours if you want it.
I didn’t hesitate. I don’t want it. Not a single fucking part of it. I’m sure he was aware of that, but asked anyway, which is so fucking respectable. But I also wonder if it was a test. It’s possible he planned on taking it the entire time and just wanted to know how much of a threat I’d be.
I’ll admit, there are things about running the organization that are tempting—like the power.
Being able to get something done with a snap of my fingers.
But it’s too much work, and I don’t have time for it.
All I have time for is my little dove. And if she knew I was a part of that, she wouldn’t like it.
It’s one more thing to keep her away from me, and so, I won’t do it.
It’s not official, but I am affiliated with them in a way, and I always will be thanks to my mother’s involvement.
Vincent isn’t harassing me about taking my place the way my mother did, but I know he wants me by his side.
Name means everything in that world, and mine, unfortunately, has a certain reputation thanks to my mother’s parents and their parents before them.
“Someone put in a missing person’s report for a Mindy Watson. They didn’t leave their information, but it was an older woman.”
“Fuck,” I growl, still staring down at the parking lot. Sam closes the trunk, one arm full of plastic bags stuffed full with a bunch of shit. “What do we do?”
Vincent had told me that this could all be pinned on me to keep the heat away from them—considering it all stems from their previous queen—but he’s keen on getting me to join and he knows he won’t get anywhere by being a dick.
He’s chosen to work with me, keep me in the loop while also getting my help—a little because I refuse to actually work with them, but I do need all this shit to blow over, and I could use their help while my mother is on the loose.
It’s a one hand washes the other type deal… for now.
I don’t know why I’m wanted so badly, but people should fuck off with it already.
Too many people would be willing to join, to be their bitch, yet they’re after me—the one person who wants nothing to do with it.
The only thing keeping me from hanging up on Vincent or blocking his number is how helpful he’s been.
Not only with handing information over on my mother, but with some other things that have come in handy with Sailor.
And of course there’s the fact he knows I committed murder, but he doesn’t have any proof, so that is debatable. He could stir up a lot of shit though.
At least I haven’t had to talk with Orville to get me what I need. Vincent has offered up his own guys for me to use, giving me access to what he has, with wanting nothing in return. At least not yet.
I know what he’s doing, and it may work. As much as I don’t want to be part of it, he’s making it more tempting than my mother ever did, but… I can’t. I won’t.
“Nothing as of right now. Thankfully, my guy was working at the station when she went in—talk about luck. He got rid of it, but it won’t take long for her to realize it didn’t work. She’ll try something different. Bigger, probably.”
“She won’t stop.”
“Not until we stop her.”
I grit my teeth as I consider my options.
I’m not ready to leave, not even for a short while, but taking care of my mother is necessary.
She will cause problems for me for the rest of my life, and I don’t know who’s helping her, but she’s been hiding pretty damn well.
I can only assume she’s working with someone, but who would help that bitch?
She has to fucking go, and it needs to happen sooner rather than later.
“Your guy has no idea where she went?” I ask.
“Cameras recorded her going around the block, but that’s all we got.”
“She can’t be far if she’s going into the local station.”
“Or she thought she had to for the report, since that’s where she’s being reported missing from.”
“Fuck. Good point.” I turn away from the window, a headache forming behind my eyes. I’ve never been so stressed in all my fucking life. “I suppose let me know what you hear, if anything. Keep me in the loop. I’ll leave if I have to.”
“No luck?” he asks.
With a huff, I answer, “Not yet, but I’m working on it.”
He chuckles. “Of course you are.”
I wish I hated him. It would be a lot easier to be done with this life.