Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
NADINE
It’s been two days since Lucille told me about her crazy plan, and I’m still thinking about it and wondering how it’s going to work.
It is crazy, and I think it’s also going to work.
I’m just not sure how Theron and the other guys are going to like it.
I have a feeling they’re all going to protest, but in true Lucille fashion, she told me to let her worry about that part.
So, of course, I can’t let her worry alone.
I’ve been seriously stressing out about what is going to happen, how it’s going to happen, and if I’m just wasting my worries, my time, or maybe even my heart.
I hate feeling like this, but at the same time, I love it because, for the first time in my life, I’m allowed to feel whatever I want without constant fear.
Sure, I’m stressed out about Grayson and the future, but I’m not terrified.
Not anymore.
I’m trying so hard to focus on work my body freezes when Theron calls my name.
He yells out a second time, and my whole body jumps as I bang my knees against the underside of my desk before I push my chair away.
Slowly, I stand to my feet, smoothing down my skirt with my palms, and turn to face his office door.
It’s closed, and I wonder how in the hell he can get his voice to travel the way it just did—twice.
Reaching for the handle of his door, I gently turn it, then push the door open before stepping through and closing it behind me.
If there is anything I know about Theron, when the door is shut, you don’t bother him.
If he calls you into his office and the door is closed, you shut it behind you after he’s called you in.
A closed door is always that way for a reason and should always remain that way until instructed otherwise.
“Sit,” Theron states the moment the door latches shut behind me.
Walking over to the chair that is positioned across from his desk, I sink down and cross my ankles before I bend my knees, tucking them beneath the chair.
Placing my hands in my lap, I lace my fingers together in hopes of keeping from fidgeting.
I have no clue what he’s called me in here for, but since he hasn’t even lifted his eyes to meet mine, I know it can’t be good.
“Theron?” I ask.
I am feeling very intimidated by him at this moment.
I don’t know what to say or what he wants from me, so I stay silent and wait.
And wait.
And then he finally speaks.
But before he does, he slowly lifts his gaze to meet mine.
“Do you agree with Lucille’s plan?” he asks.
“Lucille’s plan?”
I try to play dumb, but I’m not sure it works.
Because he arches a brow at me as if he knows exactly what I know.
Letting out a sigh, I throw my hands in the air.
“It’s a crazy plan,” I cry out softly.
Theron tilts his head to the side, his eyes never leaving mine, and then his lips curve up into a wide smile.
“Well, Lucille came up with it, right?” he asks.
“She did.”
He chuckles.
“Then, of course, it’s crazy, but is it what you want?”
Instead of answering him, I have a question of my own.
“Will it work?”
We stare at one another in silence.
I’m not sure what he’s going to say.
If he doesn’t think it’ll work, then it probably won’t.
Theron may be ruthless, but he’s also very cunning and one of the smartest men I know.
If he thinks something will work, then it will.
But then, I also have to remember that at one point, Lucille outsmarted him, so maybe she’s on to something herself.
Theron laughs again, then laces his hands on his desk.
He presses down, straightening his elbows as he pushes himself up to standing.
I watch him move as he makes his way over to the window and turns his back to me.
“If Lucille came up with the plan, then it will probably work. But I have my reservations about giving you the green light.”
He doesn’t continue.
His back stays to me, but I don’t know what to say, how to say it.
I just stare at him with this uncomfortable silence between us, waiting for him to continue, to say something—anything.
“You have reservations?” I ask when he continues to stare out of the window in silence.
Slowly, he turns around, his hands behind his back, his eyes finding mine, and he holds my gaze for a long beat, then clears his throat before he speaks.
“I only hesitate for a single reason. You’re playing with fire, and this fire has the ability to not just ignite but to explode. I’m afraid of what the domino effect will be.”
“What aren’t you telling me, Theron?”
He takes a step toward me, then shifts slightly and walks around to the front of his desk.
He leans his ass against the edge, crosses his legs at the ankles in front of him and his arms across his chest.
He dips his chin, and his eyes hold my gaze.
Again, I feel intimidated by him, by everything he’s saying to me right now.
I don’t know what to do.
What to feel.
Sucking in my lips, I press them together and wait for him to say something because I know this something is going to be big—huge.
“The man he’s watching right now is not one who you want to go and be involved with. He’s dangerous, Nadine.”
Dangerous.
Aren’t they all dangerous?
Releasing my lips, I let out a heavy sigh and ask him what is on my mind.
“You’re all dangerous.”
Theron chuckles, lifting one of his hands to his face, his palm moving back and forth along his chin and jawline before he continues.
“Yeah, but we aren’t all cartel, Nadine.”
GRAYSON
If I thought I knew what a party lifestyle was before, then I am now certain I had no fucking clue.
Because I’ve been watching this man for just one day, and I’ve seen more tits, ass, and sex than I think I ever have, and I’ve seen a lot.
My target stands with his back to me on the bow of his yacht.
I looked up the yacht.
It cost eight million dollars.
Fucking insanity.
He owns it, though, and the women who are walking all over it, naked, are without a doubt bought and paid for or trafficked.
I can’t tell from here.
They’re putting on a show, either because they’re being paid or because they’re just trying to survive—maybe both.
Still, I watch them, taking in all the information around me, and there is plenty.
Not only is there the target, but he has a personal crew of at least ten, all of whom are clearly his men, waiting for his orders, whatever those look like.
Then, he also has a yacht crew of about ten.
There are three men I can’t place.
I have a feeling they are all men he’s trying to impress.
I’m only assuming this because they have been the only ones, aside from him, to touch and fuck these girls.
Fifteen of them that I can count.
Some of the girls are putting on a show.
The others are being fucked by the men I cannot place.
Taking pictures, I send them to Boden and ask him to run them through facial recognition.
The target is already known.
His men will be soon enough as well, although I don’t give much of a fuck about them.
The only person I give a shit about is the target.
I want to ruin him.
To end him.
I want to watch him wither away.
Then, I’m going to move on to the next target, and I’m going to want the same thing.
And so on and so forth until they are all eradicated.
One by one.
My lips curve up into a smirk at the thought.
I want them gone.
One by one.
And I want them to suffer.
Incredibly.
All the pain they’ve caused, this whole fucking group of them.
They deserve to pay for it, just like Ravet and Tate.
They deserve to pay for it with their lives after their accounts are drained and the money is gone.
Once they know they’re destitute, I want to watch them suffer.
The target turns his head, watching as a topless woman walks toward him.
She places her hand on the center of his back, and he wraps his arm around her, guiding her body in front of him with her back to me.
She sinks down to her knees, but there is something different about her than the others.
I’ve seen a lot of sex in the time I’ve been watching them on this yacht, but he reaches out, cupping her jaw…
tenderly.
Not one woman has any of these men touch her with tenderness, except this one right here.
Which means she’s different and maybe even special.
She may be the one I need to be watching instead of the intended target.
She may hold all the information I need, plus some.
When she reaches for his linen trousers and guides them down his legs, I shift my attention to the rest of the boat, having no desire to watch her blow him.
There is a table and seating that catches my attention.
Two men are seated, with four naked women.
One of the men bends slightly and snorts a line of coke.
The other man palms a woman’s bare breast before he does the same, bending slightly to do a line.
The men lean backward, their smiles clear even from a distance.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I reach down, glancing at the screen.
It’s a message from Boden.
I can’t believe he’s gotten back to me so quickly.
Usually, the facial recognition program can take hours to find a hit.
BODEN: Girls were easy to place.
Popped up almost instantly.
Missing teens.
The only girls I’ve sent images of are the four naked ones sitting at the table with the guys doing coke.
The girl on her knees for the target is one I haven’t had a clear shot of, along with some of the others.
How old are they?
How long missing?
This is some déjà vu shit that makes my entire body feel sick.
Downright fucking sick.
Because I was those girls, and I know that whatever the hell is going on here, it’s not good.
Then I think about Nadine and all the shit she went through.
I will never understand why men do this to people, to children.
Especially when there are plenty of people in the world who enjoy a million different kinds of kinks and would be more than happy to do whatever these men want.
And it isn’t just about control.
A copious number of men and women are more than happy to be controlled in any way these fucks desire.
So they’re just fucking sick perverts.
That’s the only explanation, and in that case, they all need to fuckin die.
I wish I could do something to get all of them eradicated from earth.
Every single man or woman who hurts a child deserves a fate worse than death.
Boden is typing something, but I have to shove my phone in my pocket and shift my body out of view as the yacht shifts and begins to move in a different direction, and the move seems hurried.
As hurried as an almost thirty-foot yacht can move.
Something is up.