LII
Andros Valetti
W iping away the blood left on the tracking chip, I bring it closer to my eyes and inspect it. It’s less than a centimetre long, the shape of a thin clear capsule. The technology inside looks very technical, and I’m hesitant to destroy it before I can understand how it works.
I load up my computer and search through my different hacking softwares to find the one for tracking chips. It’s not uncommon in our field of work to come across microchipping, but my experience tells me that they can all have different effects.
For example, we raided a trafficking ring a few years ago and rescued multiple women and children from a dark fate that no one should face. They each had a microchip embedded in their thigh, one that not only kept the traffickers apprised of the victim’s live location but also would send chemical signals to their brain.
If I hadn't investigated the chip beforehand and shut them down whilst inside the body, the victims would have been killed upon extraction.
Luckily, before we told Hazel about the chip, I had already done some recon on it to determine its functions.
I wouldn’t have let Dawson remove it, otherwise.
I place the chip down next to me, on a paper towel, and begin to hack into the server it is registered to. My fingers fly on the keyboard as I type out the code.
“What are you doing?” Hazel asks from behind me. I turn around and smile at her, beckoning her over to come join me with a tilt of my head.
She’s changed into some tartan, grey pyjama bottoms and an oversized, emerald green sweatshirt. Despite opting for comfort after the traumatising ordeal of getting the tracking device out of her, she looks just as radiant as before.
If not more.
“I’m trying to trace your microchip,” I tell her as she pulls out the chair next to me at the table. She rests both elbows on the table, her head resting on her hands as an ebony braid dangles over her right shoulder.
“Why?” She asks, tilting her head curiously.
“Because I want to figure it out before I destroy it.”
She nods, her eyes focusing on the small implant.
“Can I hold it?” She asks me hesitantly, sitting up in her chair. I nod and pick up the device, depositing it into her open hand. She rolls it between her index finger and thumb.
“It’s so small. Can it really have been tracking me for my whole life?” She looks up at me with so much vulnerability in her eyes that I just want to sweep her into my arms and hold her.
“Most of it,” I answer honestly, hating the way she closes her eyes in defeat. A tear falls from her closed eyelids, breaking my self-restraint.
Not being able to take it anymore, I push back my chair and lean over, picking her up and depositing her in my lap. She doesn’t fight me but doesn’t move to hug me like she would before we sent her away.
“I’m going to destroy it,” I say with conviction, hoping my tone will reassure her. It doesn’t. I play with the end of her braid and encourage her to take slow breaths until she has calmed down enough to not be on the brink of a panic attack.
“Promise?” She whispers, her hazel eyes looking at me with so much need.
“If there is nothing else in the world I can promise, I want you to know I will promise to keep you safe in every means necessary until I die.”
Waiting on bated breath, I watch as she digests my words slowly. Seeming to accept what I’m saying, she relaxes back into me, letting me wrap my arms around her. She lets out a content sigh before snuggling her head into my neck.
“I’ve missed you,” she whispers. I let out a deep breath, feeling a heavy weight lift as she begins to show signs of forgiving me.
“I’ve missed you too, Angel,” I kiss her forehead and place my hand on the back of her head, encouraging her to snuggle into me, “So fucking much.”
Her breathing starts to even out after a few minutes, her body falling limp in the tell-tale signs of her being asleep. Theo strolls into the kitchen and grabs two bottles of water before raising an eyebrow at Hazel on my lap.
I smirk at him smugly but shake my head when he makes a move to approach her.
“Let her sleep,” I mouth to him and he nods, sliding into Hazel’s vacated seat. He places a bottle of water in front of me and opens his own, emptying the contents in a few seconds.
Dawson joins us about ten minutes later and drops into another empty seat. He snags my unopened water and downs it.
“Been working out?” I ask him and Theo, careful to keep my voice low so as to not wake up the sleeping girl in my arms. They nod but don’t say anything, their eyes set on her.
“Has she forgiven you?” Theo asks, the hint of a jealous growl in his tone.
“No,” Hazel mutters sleepily, shocking us all. She slowly moves in my arms before sitting up and blinking at us all.
“Was just tired,” she manages through a yawn. She turns to my stunned face and shrugs, “Forgot how comfy you were to sleep on.”
We sit in silence as she hops off my lap and stretches out her small body with an insatiable moan. My cock jumps at the sound but I ignore it, situating my chair under the table to hide my tented trousers.
“Night, y’all,” she says, putting on a terrible American accent before heading to her room.
“She was torturing us with that moan,” Dawson groans, sliding his hand over his face.
“Of course she was,” Theo chuckles, standing up, “I’m going to shower.”
“You’re going to have a wank,” I call to him as he walks away, laughing when he throws his middle finger up at me.
The front door slams shut and Atlas walks in, slumping down in a seat at the table.
“How was it?” I ask him, clearing my throat to rid of the last of my laughter from teasing Theo.
“I forgot how long meetings with the Irish take,” he sighs, his eyes searching around the room.
“Need alcohol?” Dawson asks him, guessing what he’s looking for. He stands up and heads to the kitchen, pulling out three glasses and a bottle of whiskey.
“Desperately,” Atlas sighs again as Dawson gives him a glass and pours some of the honey-coloured liquid into it. By the time Dawson has poured glasses for me and him, Atlas has downed his.
“Just give him the bottle,” I tilt my glass towards Atlas. He looks tired, his tie loosened around his neck and hair ruffled from stress.
“Did she say anything to you?” Atlas asks us after pouring a fresh glass for himself.
“She asked me to promise to destroy the microchip,” I nod my head towards the small device that has limited her liberty for far too long. My lip curls in disdain at it as I try to figure out how anyone could have so little morals.
“Did you?” Dawson asks.
I nod, “As soon as I figure out how to use it against them.”
We sit in silence, letting my words hang in the air as we finish our drinks. We don’t need to say anything to each other. We all have two mutual goals.
To destroy Alexei.
And to get Hazel to forgive us.