Chapter 14
Parker
Hundreds of knuckle-sized puncture holes surround me.
By the end of day two, I finally got Connor’s approval.
I am now a level-two throat puncher. I am standing in the middle of my spare room, which I transformed into a training site, because, let’s be honest, I won’t leave my house to work out.
Fuck, I barely get off my computer chair to use what I have here on a good day.
Each wall has a single picture of Holden taped high above my head.
Connor insisted on ‘real world training’.
He had me measure each one to ensure I placed them at his exact height for accuracy.
Then, we got to work. I kept my eye on the prize with each punch, wishing it was Holden’s Adam’s apple instead of my drywall.
Noises left me that I had no idea I could produce. I was in the zone.
Connor would shout things like, “Horrible form. What the fuck are you doing? Please stop, you’re going to hurt yourself.” I didn’t let his negativity kill my spirit, I used it to fuel it. I was hungry.
I did get lippy. It’s only natural. I may have shouted back, “Get a yoni steam, bro.” And he may have shouted back, “Why do I even bother?” Things got tense then, but we got the job done. It’s all water under the bridge now.
Two walls a day. Torn skin and white tape look back at me as I peer down at my right hand.
Rust-colored stains attempt to seep through.
Purple and yellow bruising accents it all so wonderfully.
You may even call it art, a mosaic of sorts.
This hand could be worth millions at auction.
But I would never sell her. My hand is far too precious to me, don’t worry, girl, I reassure while caressing her softly.
I stayed disciplined. I stayed focused. And that’s how I became a level-two throat puncher at last. Connor emailed me a certificate for my achievement. It even has my name on it. I framed it and placed it next to one of Holden’s taped pictures in the room.
Tilting my gaze up, I admire it with pride. Unlike the equipment that collects dust in here. From punching bags to weights and a treadmill that overlooks the city skyline. All of it means nothing compared to this beauty. My true prize.
Oh, that reminds me. You likely want a Holden update. Please forgive my rude manners. He hasn’t left his apartment yet. It’s making my skin itch with anticipation. I hate waiting. This could be worse than a stakeout. Having the fucker live next door and being at a complete standstill.
“Could we not gas his place through the vents?” I shout to anyone listening.
A long pause follows before a long hum. “Hmm. As fun as that sounds, no. It appears that the ventilation system in his unit connects with others. It’s not a good look if they find half the building unconscious in their units from an invisible gas.
You are a terrible actor. They would know immediately that you were involved the moment you attempt to show any sort of fake concern. ”
This is true. I pick up a southern accent randomly. I’ve never even been to the south. Then the back of my hand gets into formation, resting against my forehead, just above my brow, while I ramble some nonsense about being flabbergasted and parched while requesting an iced tea.
“Okay. I hear you. What about…”
In unison, all three of my beloved team members who are always so supportive interrupt and shout, “No!”
Spicy.
“Hear me out. He has a friend who he was disciplining in his car the last time I saw him in the parking garage. It was fucking bizarre, but he could be our key. I remember seeing a silhouette in his car the night he rudely assaulted me with his expensive weapon on wheels. Maybe he left something behind the last time they hung out. Maybe it was forced fun, because who would willingly hang out with the fucker?” Find the lie?
You can’t, can you? Snapping the fingers of my good hand, a brilliant thought enters my brainwaves that I urgently need to get out of me.
“And maybe, just maybe, he left a note for help behind? Let me check out his car.”
“It’s not a half-bad idea.” Taco chuckles with excitement. “I can easily gain access to his car, help you get in while keeping an eye on your shared hallway camera.”
We tried tapping his phone and computer, because I love a good eavesdropping session, but both devices quickly moved offline. The guy must be paranoid or something. Loser.
Giddy on my tiptoes, I clap in excitement and bolt out of the room and down the hall.
My high-tops are still where I left them, kicked off and tossed randomly in the open space.
I rush to one and slide it on, then the other.
I don’t bother changing. Slipping on a black balaclava in this neighborhood, at midday, could be rather alarming.
So, my cutoff jean shorts and white boyfriend V-neck tee will have to do.
With a scrunchie around my wrist, earpiece in, and cellphone in my back pocket, I am equipped and ready to go.
Frolicking to the front door, upon opening it, I peek out into the hallway.
My eyes gaze from left to right. Everything is as I left it.
The coast is clear to proceed. Slowly and controlled, I close the front door shut behind me and lock it.
If I cannot eavesdrop on him, then he shall not eavesdrop on me.
All is fair in love and war. Scratching my head, I’m not sure if I’ve used that saying correctly.
Forgive me if not, but it felt right saying it in this circumstance.
Tac already has the elevator waiting for me.
The shiny silver doors are open and waiting while I make my way over in stealth mode.
I firmly press my back against the wall, and spread my arms wide as I become one with my surroundings.
My feet guide me. Each step is light as a feather.
With my destination nearing, I reach a leg out and wrap it around the opening and slide myself into the bland elevator.
Not even the sound of stale music greets me. All so very anticlimactic.
Once in, the doors close and we are on our way. The trip is quick, penthouse elevators stop for no one unless we tell them to by pressing a button. Come on, did you think I could just shout at it and the moving cage would listen on command? Sadly, I think not.
The elevator slows, easing us to the ground before coming to a complete stop. Smoothly, the doors slide open and the stale silence of a parking garage greets me, and it’s oddly comforting. Don’t ask. I’m sure the response would require therapy I don’t necessarily care to attend.
Each footstep taken echoes around me in the underground concrete layer. And yes, I am making this far more interesting than it is. Maybe. Just let it happen.
“Do we think she’s okay? I’ve noticed her tendency of talking to herself is becoming far more frequent.”
“Hush, it’s part of my process.” I scoff back at the comment before asking, “Can you please pop the locks?”
Holden’s car lights flash once in response. We are in and I see the familiar silhouette from previous run-ins. Pumping my arm back, I hiss, “Yes!” in excitement. “He’s here,” I inform the team.
Only one camera is pointed toward Holden’s collection of luxury and it’s a shit camera, honestly. You can barely see anything, even zooming in, so to have actual eyes on this is irreplaceable information for the hunt.
“If Holden hasn’t left in days, how long has this fucker just been sitting here?” Connor questions in concern. “Is he brainwashed or some shit? This is fucking bizarre.”
His judgment is valid. I’m judging too, if we are being honest.
Rushing over to the passenger side door of the Maybach, I wave my hands vigorously around the handless door and miraculously it opens. Perhaps I am a wizard, or Tac pressed a button. We will never know.
“I pressed a button.”
Bastard.
Wrapping my fingers around the cool metal door frame, I hope I leave fingerprints just to annoy him. My moment of glee is short-lived as I am welcomed by the most vile stench my nose has ever encountered. “Mother of Mary. What in the fuck died in here?”
Tears of great discomfort well in my eyes. This is potent as fuck.
“Bro, how do you stay in here like this?” I ask the familiar passenger in a unique powder blue bucket hat.
His body is slouched forward slightly, skin is pale, very pale, and slightly sagging. Against my better judgement, I lean in farther and shake the man who has yet to respond. He is being very fucking rude or is he simply unconscious from the smell?
Suddenly, his jaw slacks under the disguise of his bucket hat and I fear he hasn’t used a toothbrush in years. This entire situation is unacceptable.
“Is Holden keeping you here against your will?” I question between burps of impending doom.
Still nothing. My eyes sting. Squinting doesn’t even help at this point.
Lowering my head, I get a better look at this poor man’s face.
My eyes struggle to get past the ridiculously long nose hairs revealing themselves to me.
If they were any longer, I could braid them.
Cocking my head, something strange occurs.
An eyeball falls from its socket onto his lap. He doesn’t even flinch.
Tilting his hat, I’m startled. Removing my hands from his shoulder, they quickly move back to my side. Stepping back, I shake my head in absolute disbelief. Hushed words escape my lips. “It’s him.”
“Parker, talk to me. What’s going on? Are you okay?” O is frantic.
“Fuck me. It’s him. He’s dead.”
“What are you talking about?”
“This guy is dead. Like really fucking dead. His eyeball just fell out of his fucking head. He’s the one from the CCTV picture. Holden fucking kept him.”
I swear a lot when in these shocking situations. I apologize. Although, you would be startled too if this happened to you.