TWENTY-SEVEN
The taste of Blair’s lips lingers on my tongue, and fuck me, I’m addicted. The way she walks and talks, the way she smiles, the way she smells, and the way she laughs – I’m addicted to all of it. I could die tomorrow if it meant getting to see her do all of those things in one day, and I’d die a happy man. A perfect person. My perfect person.
When we finished training, she went to take a bath while I had to sit in the basement for another while to fix my raging erection. I would never do anything she’s not comfortable with, but fuck me, Arlo Jr. reacts to her whenever we’re that close, and I can’t control it.
Even now, two weeks after the kiss, it’s the first thing I think of when I wake up, the last thing I think of before I go to bed. It’s like she doesn’t even know the effect she has on me. It’s almost maddening how much I love this woman.
I’m not sure when the switch between obsession and love was flipped, but I don’t care. I love her more than I love life itself. She is my life. And I’ll be damned if anyone ever took her away from me. My perfect paradise.
She’s helping Mom cook lunch. Mom’s giving her all the instructions, and she’s nodding and following along. It was Blair’s idea because apparently she wants to learn how to cook. I try to hide my disappointment and irritation that she didn’t ask me to teach her and went to Mom instead, and so far, I don’t think she’s caught onto my feelings.
Dad sits across from me on the leather couch, his glasses on top of his bridge and newspapers in his hand. The small table next to him has a lamp, his phone, and a glass of whiskey, which he sips on from time to time.
“Stop staring at the poor girl; she’ll notice,”
he says, without looking up from his newspapers.
I scoff. “I wasn’t staring.”
“Sure you weren’t,”
he chuckles, shakes his head, and flips a page.
“Let’s not start this.”
He finally pauses, then looks up at me with a raised brow. “Start what?”
I roll my eyes. “You have no right to tell me anything about my obsession with Blair when you’re no better.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Mom told me, you know,”
I smirk. “The way you used to follow her around like a lost puppy.”
His brows narrow. “Alright, that’s false. If you need a reminder, we were sworn enemies. I did not follow her around.”
“Uh-huh,”
I muse, folding my arms in front of my chest. “Didn’t you lose your shit when she met up with Lucas for dinner because you had no idea who it was and followed her all the way to the restaurant?”
“Yes,”
he draws out. “Because at the time, we were supposed to be working together, and I didn’t trust her, so I just went to see what she was doing.”
A small laugh comes from me. “Right. See, I get my stalking tendencies from you.”
“Show me some respect, boy,”
he huffs. “I did not stalk your mother.”
I decide to drop the subject, seeing that he’s getting rather irritated with me. To be fair, Mom might have exaggerated the story a bit to annoy him, but I’m in no mood to test Noelle Campbell’s patience, because she has none.
My eyes drift back to Blair and Mom, and I can’t help the fluttering in my chest. Mom’s standing next to Blair in front of the stove, properly showing her how to finish the meal. I’m not sure what exactly they’re cooking, but it smells delicious, and I can’t wait to try it. Then again, Blair could serve me dog shit on a plate, and I’d eat it, no questions asked.
Blair is nodding along, following all the instructions perfectly. Aria isn’t too far, either, and she’s just looking bored. There’s something off about her today, and I’ve noticed it over the past few weeks, but she’s more withdrawn. When I’m around, she’s as bubbly, combative, and snarky as always, but the moment I turn around, it all disappears.
She’s hiding something, and I need to figure out what. I don’t want to raise any alarms to our parents in case it’s nothing but a teenage mood switch, but if it turns out to be something worrisome, I’ll involve our parents.
Aria looks tired, the bags under her eyes noticeable even with the amount of makeup she has on. It could be because she’s been practicing volleyball and Blair and I even attended a game, and because she’s finally taken the business seriously.
Mom and Aria spend the afternoon at the base, practicing Aria’s shooting skills. As a sniper, she’s absolutely terrific, and I’m proud of her, but her close-range shooting needed some work, which Mom says has improved tremendously within the past two weeks.
I turn to Dad, who’s sipping on his whiskey, the newspaper now neatly folded and on the small table. His eyes are on Mom, unmoving. He comes off as a stern, cold man, but even a fool could see the amount of love he has for Mom, and I’m grateful she has someone like him by her side.
Even if he is an ass most of the time.
“Go help your mother set the table,”
he instructs.
“Go help your wife set the table,”
I snorted.
He gives me a pointed look. “Last time I tried doing it, she said I picked out the wrong plates and cutlery. Apparently, it didn’t match. That was all it took for me to be banned from setting the table again. And it happened last week.”
“See, I messed it up a few times, too, and she hasn’t banned me yet,”
I grin. “Looks like we know who’s her favorite, huh?”
I rise to my feet and head to the kitchen, laughing at the string of curses he yells after me. I don’t need to be a genius to understand that saying that simple sentence is enough to piss him off. It’s always been like that, and although I know my father loves me more than life itself, he hates knowing that Mom prefers me over him and that she’s not shy in saying it out loud, either.
While Blair and Mom are preparing some salads, I grab the plates and cutlery.
“Aria, get your lazy ass here and help me.”
She scoffs, mumbles something incoherent under her breath, and with a reluctant sigh, hops off the high stool and marches toward me. She grabs some glasses and the tablecloth, setting it all on top of the wide table neatly.
She’s the first one to take a seat, and once Mom and Blair are seated, with food on the table, Dad and I take our respective seats. They’ve made some spaghetti and meatballs, and the sauce just smells absolutely divine.
“So, how are the team preparations coming along?”
I ask, and Dad fills his plate after Mom finishes filling hers.
“Good. Freya and Lucas are in, so is Niko. Jewel is apparently on board after seeing that she’d be working with Freya, which is great. I’ll have the last four members picked out and prepared by Sunday.”
I nod.
I’m about to ask another question when my phone buzzes. I pull it out, and I can’t say that the look of disapproval on Mom’s face doesn’t scare me. She can be very intimidating when she wants to be.
“No phones during lunch, Arlo,”
she warns.
“I know,”
I sigh and unlock the phone anyway. “It’s my work phone.”
She doesn’t comment on it, knowing that it must be important if I decided to disobey a clear rule she set. My fingers glide over the screen, and I suck in a deep breath. It’s from the number I gave Zoe – the phone I left for her.
I don’t waste any time in opening it and reading out the contents.
“It’s Zoe Adams,”
I lock the phone and look at Mom.
Blair stiffens beside me, and I know exactly why. She doesn’t have to say it, but I can see that Zoe makes her slightly jealous, territorial even. As good as it feels to know that Blair wants me all to herself, there’s nothing to be jealous of. No one even comes close to Blair, and sometime, sooner or later, I’ll need to help her get rid of her insecurities. In my eyes, the only person for me is Blair. My life, my heart, and my soul are hers to do as she wishes.
My hand reaches for hers under the table, and I give her a small squeeze of reassurance. She relaxes under my touch, and I have to fight a smile that threatens to break on my face.
“What did she say?” Dad asks.
“She sent me a time and location to meet.”
The dark night surrounds us. Blair’s hand is tightly tucked in mine, the grip never faltering as we make our way through the busy street. Her eyes are constantly on the lookout for Simmons or even Adams. I understand her paranoia, and I just tighten the hold on her hand, silently telling her that I’m here and that I’ll protect her.
The location did surprise me. It’s a venue of sorts. Dad did mention that Adams would be attending a charity event and that he’d give a speech. What I didn’t expect was Zoe to tell me to come there. It’s risky and, for her, dangerous on too many levels. One wrong person seeing us together could mean her life ending.
I tried calling and texting the number, but it was disconnected. Presumably, she destroyed the device as soon as her text messages went through, out of fear of her husband potentially finding them, which I don’t blame her for. I prepared another one, smaller, so she can hide it better, just in case we need to establish more contact.
We have two weeks before we officially attack, and it’s not nearly enough time to get everyone ready. However, as soon as Dad gets the team ready, we’ll share the plan. The top priority is finding where they’re keeping all the girls and saving them; killing the two bastards and anyone who’s willingly working with them can come later.
The venue is located in the Upper East Side, of course. Since we can’t get in through the main door, and all of this was so last minute, I ended up bribing one of the security guards to let us pass through the back door. On the left side, as soon as we step inside, are small staircases leading up to the balcony. It doesn’t face the main street, which is perfect. Zoe was smart when she picked it because it’s an easy way in and an easy way out, and if we’re lucky, we won’t get caught.
I’m prepared even if we don’t end up being lucky.
“You feeling alright?”
I ask, leading her up the staircase, holding her hand firmly. Blair manages to nod, though I see a little uncertainty and doubt linger in her eyes. She drags her bottom lip between her teeth, avoiding eye contact for a while.
“I’m just… feeling a bit odd about the entire situation.”
I push the door of the balcony open and leave them slightly ajar for Zoe to enter. I pull Blair to stand near the railings with me in the less lit area. The music is loudly blasting, but since we’re outside, it’s not too bad.
“About what, exactly?”
If I’ve learned anything about Blair, it’s that she has strong intuition. I’ll never be a fool to brush it off or tell her that it’s nothing. If she feels that something is wrong, if her gut feeling is strong, I’ll always listen.
“This entire Zoe thing,”
she breathes out, leaning against the railings and looking up at the sky. “She’s being abused by her husband at home, but she’s attending every event with him, and there’s not a single trace of bruises. She’s half his age, but no one is questioning it, even though he’s a highly ranked politician. You told me that she’s addicted to alcohol and drugs, but you couldn’t tell that by looking at her during these events. How is he keeping it all under wraps that well? Even when she’s seen out and about with security, she’s faking it very well. I’m just doubtful about a lot of things.”
I listen to her and sigh. “There are some questions that I don’t have the answer for.”
Blair turns to look at me. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying she’s lying about the abuse. I wholeheartedly believe that the abuse she’s being put through is horrid and that she’s been too brainwashed to understand the severity of it. That’s not what I’m doubting.”
“Then what are you doubting?”
Her lips purse. “I’m not sure,”
she groans. “Something isn’t adding up, and I can’t put my finger on it. It’s not about Zoe; it’s about Nelson. How is he so calm about it? One mishap from Zoe, and the entire world will hear about the abuse. Sure, they may not believe her, because apparently, they never believe victims, but it would be enough to plant a seed of doubt. Too many reporters would be breathing down his neck, and in that scenario, he wouldn’t be able to get rid of her.”
I can hear the venom in her voice. She’s a victim herself, and no one believed her. Her mention of Paul Simmons during court and trials was swept under the rug and deleted from all public records, so it was as if it never even existed.
“I’m not sure, but if your gut feeling is telling you that something’s terribly wrong, I’ll look into it.”
Blair manages a small smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes and a nod. Then, it’s silent for a couple of minutes before I hear heels clicking against the marble floor on the inside. Zoe steps through the small crack of the open balcony door and then closes it shut behind her. She immediately goes to a corner where no one from the inside would be able to see her.
She’s wearing a long-sleeved, floor-length dress. It perfectly covers any abuse marks or bruises, and the bruises I previously saw on her face are either hidden under the makeup or have healed over the two weeks. But it’s enough to make me wonder, especially given Blair’s words.
Zoe’s eyes dart from me to Blair, and then she takes a small step forward.
Blair’s gone rigid. I think that right now she’s beginning to realize how bad Zoe’s situation really is and that all that jealousy and territorial tendencies were for nothing. Zoe’s state is pretty telling to anyone whose eyes are open enough. Clearly, the morons on the inside are too blind to it, or willingly choose to turn a blind eye. And I’m not sure which one is worse.
“Zoe,”
I greeted her with a softer voice, stepping forward. Blair keeps behind me, just observing.
“Who’s that?”
Zoe asks, motioning her head toward Blair.
“She’s someone you can trust,”
I responded. “How did you manage to sneak out without being noticed?”
“The restroom is right next to the balcony; the security doesn’t follow me inside. But that gives me less than ten minutes.”
There’s nothing that would indicate her being high on drugs or drunk. She’s perfectly sane to hold the heavy conversation we’re about to have, and given the lack of time on our hands, I don’t have the time to go easy on her.
“Understood,”
I nod. “Given that you called me, you’ve made a decision.”
Zoe takes a deep breath, her hands trembling next to her body. “Yes.”
“Well?”
There’s a slight pause. Her eyes are filled with doubt and uncertainty, but there’s a hint of determination that makes me sigh out in relief. She swallows thickly and glances behind her through the glass door, making sure no one’s near.
“I’ll help you,”
she whispers. “But I don’t know if I’ll be of much use.”
“What do you know, Zoe?”
She stammers a little while speaking. “All the girls they have… some are sold, but some have their organs harvested and sold on the black market.”
Air leaves my lungs momentarily. I knew of the first one, but the second one never even crossed my mind. The motherfuckers are more despicable than I originally thought.
“Who are their victims? How many of them?”
“They usually target runaways, orphans, or anyone who generally won’t be looked for. The girls aren’t randomly selected. However, they don’t go younger than seventeen, just in case someone looks for them. As for the number,”
she pauses, hesitation on her face. “Right now, it’s between twenty and thirty.”
I take a deep breath. “I expected more.”
“No, because they won’t risk anyone running away and going to the authorities.”
“Who’s involved in this?”
She swallows thickly, and tears form in her eyes. She’s quick to look upward, suppressing them from falling down her cheeks. She takes a few moments to collect herself before looking back at me.
“Paul Simmons, Gabriel Woods, Edgar Flint, and my husband.”
I nod. “They own the business and split the profits?”
“Yes.”
“Where do they sell the girls?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know. I don’t have access to that sort of information. All I know is from the conversations I’ve overheard. Nelson doesn’t tell me anything.”
“Where are the girls?”
“Currently, they’re in a warehouse. I don’t have the address, but they’re moving them soon because most have been sold and their organs have been harvested. Their next victims have already been selected, and they change locations each time.”
Blood runs cold in my veins, and the amount of anger that builds inside of me is massive. I’m barely holding onto the last bits of sanity, trying to suppress the rage that threatens to spill and toss me over the edge.
Blair squeezes my hand, and the effect is immediate. The anger doesn’t vanish, but the thread of sanity thickens, and I’m able to shove it aside and think rationally, no matter how insane that sounds. That’s what Blair’s presence does to me.
I pull out the small phone and hand it to Zoe. She takes the device, glances between it and me, then puts it in her bra, hiding it from being seen by her husband.
“Try to get the next location and send me the message once you do.”
Zoe nods, then turns around, walking back to the venue.
“And, Zoe?”
She turns to look at me over her shoulder.
“What you’re doing is incredibly brave. Thank you.”