Chapter 10 Oxley
OXLEY
I haven’t left Huntley alone since I brought him home. It’s been a couple weeks. He’s sitting up and moving around. Kind of. Not walking exactly. He still doesn’t put any weight on his leg. Mark says we’ll be starting PT soon.
Since his conversation with his boss earlier today, in which I could hear him not-yelling at Huntley, fire has been simmering right under the surface. Even as I tried to make it clear to Huntley that I wanted him here with me, his boss remained in the back of my mind.
He sleeps on and off throughout the day. Moving around when it constantly causes him pain makes him tired. I’m impressed that it doesn’t make him grouchy. It would make me incredibly irritable, but he seems to remain in a good mood despite the pain.
Once I’m sure he’s asleep—this time, hopefully without dreaming—I extract myself from the bed and leave the bedroom with my phone.
My apartment isn’t large. It doesn’t need to be when it’s just me.
There’s a central hall where the primary entrance is, a coat closet to the left, and following along the hall is the living room.
It’s the largest room in the apartment. I could easily break it into a couple rooms, but again, it’s just me, so I don’t bother. It’s furnished with minimal furniture, a handful of pictures, and a television.
The second bedroom is at the back of the living room. It has a bed, a small connecting bathroom that’s accessible from the living room as well, and a tiny closet.
Following the hall again, my room is on the left, and the hall empties into the kitchen.
One of the reasons I chose this apartment is that there’s a small balcony off the kitchen where I often eat my meals.
It overlooks Oak Hill, which is a quiet neighborhood filled with trees, flowers, and grassy, park-like areas. In the distance, I can see Anaheim.
With phone in hand, I head outside onto the balcony, shutting the sliding door behind me. A phone call is long overdue.
“Boss,” Nori answers. “You’re alive.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “It’s been incredibly irresponsible and inconsiderate of me not to have called until now.”
“That’s okay. Arath called and told me what happened. Then Kairo called and tried to be a dictator, and I told him right where to shove his dick. Arath called again and told me I’m to take charge until you come back.”
I snort. “I’m sorry about Kairo. When Ara told me he’d have Kairo cover for a while, I wasn’t thinking when I agreed.”
“We both know I can handle him.”
She can. Better than anyone else I know, including Kairo’s own brothers. Kairo does not like being put in his place by a woman. Especially not someone like Nori, who is rather petite and uber feminine.
Kairo tends to have a very toxic outlook on people, and Nori is exactly the kind of person he finds weak and needing protection.
Yes, it’s sexist, and that doesn’t serve him well.
In some weird way, it’s also kind of the old, ingrained idea that men should be protecting their sweeter, softer counterparts—women.
I’ve enjoyed watching him get his proverbial ass kicked by Nori—a woman half his size—without her laying a hand on him. Still, he always walks away with his tail between his legs.
“I’m still sorry.”
“Thank you. Want to tell me why you’re out?”
Ah. Arath didn’t tell her. “A man was shot, and I brought him home.”
Silence.
I smile. Of everyone in my life, Nori knows how few people have been in my apartment. She knows my aversion to germs and obsession with sterility. Arguably, Nori knows me better than anyone else in my life.
“You brought him home.” It’s not a question. She’s repeating my words as if needing to hear them out loud again.
“Yes. I’m keeping him.”
“Like a stray pet,” she deadpans.
“No. I have his permission.”
Nori hums. “I see.”
“You disapprove.”
“I’m… surprised, Oxley. That’s all. This is the last thing I thought you’d tell me, so processing it on the fly is proving challenging. It’s so unlike you.”
I sigh. “I know. Do you disapprove?”
“I can’t imagine you’d keep someone against their will, so I’m going to believe you that you have his consent to be kept, though your choice of wording is interesting.”
“Yes, well… I like him.”
She snorts. “Indeed.”
“I’m long overdue for the briefing on the job where I disappeared, and I have some questions, but right now, I have something else that I’d like your help with.”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“There’s a company called Hourly Solutions. It’s located in the Howard Tower, ninth floor. I think they occupy the entire ninth floor.”
I hear her fingers clacking on her keyboard and wait. “Yes. I see.”
“There’s a man in a managerial role there. His first name is Nick. I’m assuming it’s short for Nicholas or something.”
It’s a little longer as I listen to Nori’s keyboard. “Yep, got him.”
“Think you can find me his address?”
There’s a pause before her fingers move over the keyboard again. Likely wondering why I want this man’s address. Nori and I have worked together for a long time, though, so she doesn’t ask. I don’t volunteer the information.
“I’m sending you his home address.”
“Thank you. His name as well.”
“Yep.”
“Thanks. Everything okay there? What do you need?”
“Nothing, Oxley. We’re good. Tracking a new whisper. I’ll let you know when it’s go time.”
“Thank you.”
“The man you brought home—he was shot?”
“Yes. In front of 1367. He was walking home from work.”
“He’s okay?”
“He is. He’ll walk again. He’s still in pain, but the bullet didn’t hit anything vital. However, the size of the ammunition used is usually used on animals. Using it on humans is… I’d like to say inhumane, but let’s be real here. Shooting people because you dislike their lifestyle is inhumane.”
“I disagree. That’s exactly what history shows is human nature.”
“Cruelty for cruelty’s sake,” I mutter.
She hums her agreement.
“I’ll call you back about the job. Probably not today.”
“Understood. Take care, boss.”
“You too. Let me know if you need anything. Or if Kairo gives you a hard time again.”
Nori laughs. “No problem.”
Once I hang up with Nori, I call my nephew, Voss. Computer genius and tech guru for Van Doren Technologies.
“Hello?” he answers. Likely distracted. He’s always distracted.
“Voss. It’s Oxley.”
“Hey, Uncle Oxley. How’s Anaheim?”
“Normal. I need a favor if you have a minute.”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“I have a name and address. I need to know what kind of surveillance is in the area, where it’s located and whether you can shut it down for a period of time.”
“The whole package. Yep. Address?”
Pulling my phone away from my ear, I open my text chain with Nori and pass the information she sent me along to Voss. Once I’m sure the message has gone through, I delete my conversation with Nori. I’ll erase the exchange with Voss once our call is finished.
“Not as high tech as it should be, given the money in the neighborhood,” Voss says.
“I’ll give you a route that keeps you off the neighborhood watch.
I can shut down the grid on that street for an hour.
Preferably in the middle of the night when there’s a less likely chance of someone noticing, but I can make it happen whenever. ”
I chew the inside of my lip. Tracking down Huntley’s boss and getting the entire thing set up was always going to be the easy part. The more difficult part is leaving Huntley. Alone. In the middle of the night.
“One in the morning,” I confirm.
“Done,” Voss agrees. “Your package will be in your text. Need anything else, Uncle Oxley?”
“No. Thank you. I appreciate you letting me interrupt.”
“Not a problem. You rarely ask me for anything that truly takes me away from whatever I’m working on for any length of time. Not everyone is considerate like that.”
“Indeed.”
Huntley is sitting up in bed when I return.
We spend the afternoon and evening wrapped around each other, watching movies, and taking it easy.
He mentions a couple more times that he needs to start working on walking again.
I compromise by letting him hobble to the bathroom using me as a crutch instead of carrying him.
I know he can’t stay bedridden forever. It’s not healthy for him, and it’ll drive him crazy. I don’t want that. He doesn’t need to be miserable.
But I don’t want him to feel pressured into PT when he’s not ready just because life is happening.
The world has unrealistic expectations about recovery for anything.
Huntley’s boss is an asshole, but at least some of that comes from the fact that he has no idea what it takes to recover from a serious wound.
I’m not opposed to making him understand by experience. That’s not off the list of possibilities tonight.
But most of his reaction is because of society.
Everything is a game of get it done quickly.
Be faster than the competition. Physical health, mental health—none of that matters.
You’re expected to be somewhere and perform at your peak regardless of whatever might ail you.
You’re supposed to be able to turn everything else off. Period.
That’s not realistic. It’s not human. Nick, the asshole boss-man, needs a reminder.
I make sure Huntley has a full stomach, takes a shower, watches me change out the bedding, and is tucked in with an orgasm to put him to sleep—with a bit of pain meds on the side—before leaving my apartment.
Having to leave him makes me irritated, so I’m extra cranky when I make it to Nick’s apartment complex. Voss’ automated virus system sends me confirmation that all Wi-Fi and satellite are down. There’s even a little countdown on my screen to boot. Love me an efficient system.
I make quick work of letting myself into the secure building and picking the lock of Nick’s apartment.
Before waking this scumbag up, I rummage through his belongings silently, just to confirm that this is who I’m looking for.
His name tag is sitting on his dresser, and that’s all the confirmation I need.
I’m already decked out in leather and rubber, containing all my DNA and leaving no trace of me behind. There’s a gun strapped to my hip, but my first choice is always the hunting knife. I enjoy the serrated edges.
With it in one hand, I grip Nick-the-Dick around his neck with the other. His eyes fly open with instant alarm and fear. I pull him harshly from the bed and toss him roughly onto the floor, where I hold the knife at his neck.
“There’s money in the top drawer,” he stammers.
“We’re going to have a conversation about being a decent human being,” I tell him.
“You’ve apparently led a comfortable life where you haven’t been shot, for which you should thank your lucky fucking stars.
However, that’s also made you callous, and I think the best way to remedy that is to inflict an injury just as serious and see how you enjoy the recovery process. ”
Nick-the-Dick trips over his words. A trickle of blood drips down his neck from where the sharp tip of my blade digs into his skin.
While I have no intention of shooting him, I pull out my gun and point it at his head. He immediately begins sobbing. “What do you think? Would you like my knife through your biceps, or should I shoot you through the middle of your hand instead?”
“Please. I’m sorry. I’ll be better. I swear to you, I’ll be better.”
“In my experience, the threat of violence without feeling that wrath doesn’t leave a lasting impression,” I note.
“As time goes on, you’ll reconstruct the memory as somehow you outwitted me, threatened me, or some other thing that gives you a false sense of accomplishment, and you’ll be back to being the same asshole you’ve always been.
I think you need a scar so you have a constant reminder. Don’t you?”
“No, please. No.”
I slip the gun back into its holster and lean into his face, making sure he’s looking into my eyes.
“You best listen to me, Nick Yarden. Are you listening?” He nods wildly, which opens the wound on his neck a little more.
“Bullies have no space in my city, so you better get your shit together and treat your employees with compassion, empathy, and respect. Or I’ll be back.
There’s not a damn thing you can do or any fucking place you can go to get away from me.
And if I come back, I’ll kill you. Understand me, Nick Yarden? ”
“Yes,” he whimpers.
“Tell me what you understand.”
“I need to be a better person, or you’re going to kill me.”
“This better be a lesson you learn well and trust that I will find you no matter where you run.”
He nods again. He’s lucky I’ve pulled the knife back, or he’d have truly felt how incredibly sharp my blade is. There’s no resistance against his skin. It’s that sharp. As it is, I’m already leaving him with a reminder. One in which he’ll see every single time he looks into the mirror.