Chapter 9 #2
We switch spots. The sparrow hooks his arm under her pits, while I hustle around grabbing her ankles.
As we shuffle quickly towards the car and reach the trunk, I wave my foot under the frame, waiting for the sensor to pop the door open.
The latch clicks and the trunk door rises.
We heave-ho her unconscious body inside and my trusted sparrow adds restraints to her ankles while I run back to snatch her bag.
Taking one final scan of the area, nothing else seems to be left behind as evidence that we were even here.
Sliding a syringe in their pocket, the sparrow closes the trunk and walks to the sidewalk, and I casually get into my car, throwing Bensen’s bag in my passenger seat before closing the door. Pulling out my phone, I ask, “What’s her number?”
“6137,” Ophelia responds.
I punch the four digits in my phone. The agency has now been advised that we have captured her.
I know what you’re thinking.
No. She doesn’t get rights read to her or whatever.
That’s not the game we are playing. This is bigger than that. They, the rule makers or whoever, revoked all her rights when the bounty was issued. And really, she revoked them on herself when she decided to be a criminal. The agency would have proof of that before green lightening the bounty.
Shifting my car in drive and putting my headlights back on, I pull away and steadily drive down the alley before turning to merge with the flow of traffic.
Now, I hate to get serious on you. But do you think you’re ready to see what comes next?
Because what’s coming is not for the faint of heart.
It’s ruthless. Savage. No mercy stakes. It’s why they come back time and time again.
The rush is addictive. The reward, intoxicating.
People pay hundreds of thousands to experience this.
And now it’s your turn to see if your stomach can handle it.
It’s time for the auction.
But first.
Pizza.
“We know the auction is tonight. Are you sure you’re okay, Parker?” Our sweet Taco, forever clueless but still a genius. An anomaly, truly. And he is all ours.
It’s hours past nightfall when we pull up outside of the warehouse. Luxury cars line the street, but not a person is in sight. Bensen remains sedated in my trunk. It’s fine. I have a mini fan and an active oxygen tank supplying her with air, just in case. The heat can be suffocating.
We got the text with a pin to the location immediately following the signal sent advising the agency of her capture, the four-digit text.
And no, I didn’t tell you because it’s a secret.
Just like everything else about this evening.
I will be vague about the location and time of day, because it’s a need to know, and you do not need to know.
Although, the lack of sun could be a dead giveaway of the general time.
We still are unsure of what made Bensen paranoid earlier. Tac checked all the CCTV before wiping them and saw nothing. It’s also not something we will look into further now that we have her. It was more out of our own curiosity and to ensure no other threat existed.
My improvisation wildly impressed Connor for once. The spider monkey is new to us, well, more like new to me. He wasn’t sure I would be ready for it. When the mind panics, you never know what will happen, and today the spider monkey took over, and it worked out perfectly.
“You could use the windmill next time. Confusing the opponent with unnecessary movements before detaining them, that shit’s always hilarious.” A dry laugh follows, which he attempts to disguise as a cough. Connor is enjoying himself, and it brings a smile to my face.
He’s a proud teacher. It’s fucking adorable. Therefore, I decided to say it out loud. “I think… someone is finally coming out of his shell. And it’s so freaking cute.”
“Fuck off.”
And I am a proud mom.
Ophelia jumps in. “Muscle is coming to grab her. It’s time.”
Usually, I have no issue dragging the captive from my trunk to the door, but as I have been recently assaulted by a motorized vehicle, it has rendered me incapable of such things at this time. It’s so annoying.
A heavy knock startles me nearly out of my skin.
Glancing to my passenger side, a burly man in a folded wool cap, black jacket, thick neck, and tattoo-covered knuckles is looking back at me.
I always wondered why men wear hats like that, because what about the ears?
They never cover them. What’s the point?
Also, it’s the middle of summer. The entire thing is confusing.
Clicking the window button, it slides down an inch, and I ask, “What’s the point? If your ears are still cold, why not unroll it?” Mr. Burly looks confused by the intrusive thought now leaving my mouth. I point to my head. “Your cap.”
“Fashion.”
Now it’s my turn to be taken aback. Looking down at my lap, I take a moment to let it absorb before I find myself nodding mindlessly. Shrugging my shoulders, I glance back up at my new friend, Mr. Burly. “That’s completely fair and totally valid. Thank you.”
He nods once, then motions his head toward my trunk.
“Ah yes. The reason we are all here. The belle of the ball!” I wiggle gleefully in my leather seat before pressing the magic button to pop the trunk.
Mr. Burly heads toward Bensen while I roll up the window and follow suit, heading outside.
The crisp night air dances along my exposed skin.
The smell of the water tickles my nose as my body relaxes.
Seagulls squawk overhead, and I hope they don’t shit on me.
We are in a warehouse district next to the bay.
A spot the agency hasn’t used for one of my captures in well over a year.
Oops, did I just casually share the location with you?
Stretching my arms overhead, the bright moon brings the most beautiful twinkle to the watch adorning my wrist. The reason, the object that brought us all together this evening. Closing my car door, I walk around the back to meet Mr. Burly, who has a very awake Bensen hung over his shoulder. Yikes!
Mr. Burly nods once more for me to lead the way. I curtsy with my legs crossed, arms wide, and head down. “As you please.” And Taco laughs hysterically in my ear.
Mr. Burly closes the trunk, which cues me to rise and begin my frolic to the front door of the warehouse.
My feet skip, and my head throbs, but it doesn’t stop me from whistling a random tune.
I love auction night too much to allow anything to ruin it for me.
A set of bright headlights turn onto the street, catching my attention.
This could get awkward if they don't ignore my friends behind me.
As the car passes, I whisper to myself, “Keep going. Keep going.” The car doesn’t slow. Relief follows, thankful that they value their life. Because this is like a fight club on steroids.
Turning onto the walkway leading up to the steel front door, my chipper mood turns somber and my serious mannerisms prevail.
Clearing my throat, I ball my fist and bang it against the door three times.
The sound echoes around us. Within seconds a small window opens, only a pair of eyes staring back at me.
“6137.”
The window closes just as aggressively, followed by the sound of a latch unlocking.
With unoiled hinges squeaking, the door opens, inviting us in.
Stepping forward onto the cement floor, the room is dim with light music playing.
Circles of people are congregating wearing their finest attire, while I disturb the peace in my several-days-old white cutoff shirt, high-rise pants, Converse, and a messy bun.
Repulsed looks and side-eyes welcome me.
Which really pisses me off. I am why we are even here. Oh, how soon they have forgotten.
Assholes.
Some catch a glimpse of the watch around my wrist and nudge their friends. I desperately want to flip them off, but resist. It must wait until after the auction.
A loud voice dominates the space next. “Clear a path!” I’m unsure where it’s coming from, but everyone listens.
A path opens before me, allowing us to walk toward the center of the space, where a single bright light hangs from the ceiling, illuminating a single folding chair.
Keeping my eyes forward and chest raised, I am not one to be intimidated in a room where the mass majority are older rich men.
I can hold my own next to the best of them.
Reaching the center, the light is warm on my skin. I stand to the side, making way for Mr. Burly and Bensen, who are close behind.
“Let me down! This is fucking illegal. You should all be ashamed of yourselves!”
We all ignore Bensen’s shrieks of morality. Fear does funny things to people. You see who they really are when they have completely run out of options. Her attempt to reason with us is truly pathetic.
Mr. Burly tosses Bensen down effortlessly on top of the chair, where her hands and feet remain restrained. Her body thrashes about in an effort to escape or perhaps do an interpretive dance. It’s hard to say. Regardless, it’s useless.
He walks to me next, hand extended. My hand reaches out to meet his and he pulls back with alarmed eyes. “The watch.”
“Oh!” Obviously, Parker.
The thing is massive, I hold my hand down over his and it slides right off. Satisfied, his giant man hand fingers close over it and he walks away. It was nice having it while it lasted, even if I still don’t understand the fuss over it.
But what I don’t understand doesn’t matter. Because what I do understand is this.
I get the reward for her capture, a quarter of a million dollars. And the fucker who paid for it gets his watch back. And the fine folks here this evening, including the fucker, get to take part in the auction.