Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
RYDER FISHMAN
It’s been two weeks since Skylar Reynolds gave me this job, and I’ve been making sure everything is set up perfectly. There’s a dinner party in the same apartment building as my mark, which allowed me to get on the catering staff. They employ from a staffing agency, so it was child’s play.
Striding confidently through the service entrance with my bags, I hit the elevator button and wait patiently. The gaggle of college girls surrounding me talk non stop, and none of them notice when I continue up to two floors above their exit off the elevator.
This is like taking candy from a damn toddler. Not that I would do that unless I was being paid to, but still. My morals are loose, and I go where the money is.
The key I lifted from the maintenance crew earlier this week easily gets me into Koen Jeffries’ apartment. I know he’s not home, and that he’s currently at practice for another couple of hours. I’m planning a not so fun surprise for him.
Poor bastard.
Though, from the looks of this apartment, the vibes are very sad. The furniture is rented, and the only thing in here that belongs to Koen is his mattress. He’s been here for several years, and still lives like he’s expecting to be traded.
Blowing out a breath, I begin to collect the cameras in the apartment so they won’t be ruined, though I leave one facing the front door so my employers can see what Koen thinks of their idea of redecorating.
I’m an alpha, and the closer I get to the bedroom, the more my nose rebels. Koen is a very unhappy omega.
It helps fuel my desire to complete this job. What’s a little stalking and destruction of property for fate, right?
The bathroom yields lots of fun for me, so I begin to turn on every faucet I can find. Whistling under my breath, I look up at the ceiling, excitement filling my veins as I see the smoke detector and the sprinkler system to fight the fire.
“My kind of fun,” I say with a smirk. Toeing off my shoes, I jump up onto the mattress, adrenaline masking every year of fifty-five I typically feel when I do shit like this. I don’t look like a criminal, which allows me to get into places I don’t belong.
Everyone smiles at me just before they forget the silver haired fox that slipped through the door they held for me.
My lighter is in my hand before I realize I reached for it and my dick is hard as I fan the flame underneath the sprinkler.
The alarm is suspiciously low in this apartment because I turned it all the way down through some great hacking moves.
I’m having a good fucking day, and my ass begins to twerk as I wait for the sprinkler to flow.
My grin is almost feral as I continue to flood the entire apartment with the power of just a single flame.
I’m so high on the endorphins, I know I’ll need to smoke a joint later in order to come down.
It just so happens I’m out of pot, and a certain Harris Kilmour is a dealer in Lakeview.
I’m going to buy my dime bag, follow the dickhead home, and make some more money with the information I bring to Skylar.
It’s not my fault that Kilmour was a bad boy, and now has to be spanked in a way that’ll send him off to the afterlife. I’m simply providing a service.
What happens afterward is none of my business.
That’s not to say that I’m not careful about who I take on as clients. I don’t want to end up with my throat slit because I got in over my head. No amount of money is worth that.
By the time I’m done, I’m a little wet, but it works for me. My hair has that slicked back look, and since my clothing is all black, it’s barely noticeable that I’m a little damp.
Locking the apartment back up, I check my phone to figure out how fucked Koen’s apartment will be. I’m pretty sure that all his clothing will be unsalvageable, and the space a mess. The building will have to dry it out or suffer both damage and mold.
Sucks for them.
My hands are back in my pockets as I walk back to the service elevator to head down to work. Yes, I need an alibi for my work, and this is a pretty decent one. I haven’t been longer than thirty minutes, and if anyone asks me about where I was, I’ll allude to the fact that I had to take a dump.
People tend not to look too closely when you start talking about shit.
Chuckling under my breath as I get into the elevator, I send Skylar a text that his package has been delivered.
Me
Oh. I want to see you in action. It’s been years since I’ve seen you play. Can you score me tickets?
I’m getting out of the elevator when a reply comes in, and I shake my head at his response.
Skylar
I can. Thanks for bringing in that important package. I’ll get you good seats.
My head bobs to music only I can hear as I walk, and then I pack away everything that makes me this badass investigator and pretend to be a dopey, hot silver fox who simply needs a gig that pays well.
I’m an alpha who wears many hats, and I enjoy them all.