Chapter 31
Steering my car down the winding driveway, I resist the urge to call Kyle, my second-in-command. That meeting went better than I could have imagined. Like I’ve already got one foot in the door to Mr. Smythe’s operation, and all that’s left is to plant the bomb.
Pausing at the turn to the main road, I decide to pull a left—the opposite direction of the hotel I’m staying at.
Bucky’s sister, Shantel, is waiting for me, but I feel as though I should have her deliver some goodies to my crew.
I know, without a doubt, Mr. Tech-Genius will work through the night once he learns about Bleakcrest’s intricate security system.
I turn into the gas station, thankful I took the time to wash Rose’s blood from my arms. Her essence still colours my chest, but with the buttons done up, it’s concealed. The lacerations across her skin saturated my black clothes in an instant, but due to the weather, it dried just as fast.
Moving quickly, I fuel up the rental car I didn’t want, but Shantel insisted on. She’s the head of my security team for a reason, so I listen. Though I make sure she can hear my grumble of annoyance on the added cost.
Despite my love of dinosaurs, the founder of the prehistoric park and I have little in common. I’d rather spare the expense.
I’m a cheap asshole, and I know it.
Well, maybe I’m not. Not where it counts, anyway.
The outrageous amount I’m about to drop on Rose is enough to make me sick.
If I don’t deliver on my promise to eliminate Maximus’s competition, that is.
On my way out of Bleakcrest, Mr. Smythe and I brokered a new deal.
He’d house my toy while I hunt down and take care of the rival.
I may come and go as I please, and the joy I feel as all the pieces fall into place is incomparable.
Kyle isn’t going to be happy about the new plan, but he will have to get over it, especially if I sweeten the pot.
The mere thought of handing that money over to my enemy almost brings me to my knees. But knowing it’ll be back in my pocket eventually is enough to assuage the nausea.
The fact my dick got hard before touching her helped as well. That’s never happened before, and honestly, I’d probably drop an obscene amount of cash to have the experience again. Only, I want the luxury of unlimited, uninterrupted time when we next share space.
Fist tightening on the pump handle, I feel my fingers curve around her delicate throat.
My cock tingles in my finely made dress pants as I slam it up into her.
Reality fades away when she willingly kneels before me, parting her lips for my cock.
I take her pretty fucking mouth violently, over and over, until those tears she refused that sadistic lapdog flow freely for me.
No one but me.
The handle pops out, signalling the gas tank is full, and snapping me back to the present. I’m hard as the coconuts that line the ground, standing here like a zoned-out dumbass.
Looking between the shitty gas station, and the grocery store down the road, I roll my eyes, huffing dramatically. Fucking Shantel and her absolute need for fresh mangoes. At least the short drive will give me a moment to get my dick under control.
I live on the island, and run all my business from the warehouse in the industrial area.
However, I can’t risk being seen there with my new face.
I’ve come too far—involved too many people in this plan to fuck it all up.
It’s why I’m living uncomfortably in hotels, renting cars, and travelling pointlessly.
There’s so many burner phones lying around I can barely keep them straight.
It’s all for the facade—the illusion I’m maintaining as a business man dabbling in the dark.
The store’s entrance doors slide open when I approach, the cooled air brushing against my heated skin.
The way to Kyle’s heart is through ice cream, though I doubt it would get to him before it melted.
I need something that says, “I’m sorry, but you have to dress up like a corpse so I can take your picture and prove to Maximus you’re dead.
” Gummy worms convey that, right? If not, I’m sure he’d get the morbid joke of him eating worms instead of them eating him.
Moving quickly through the shop, I grab energy drinks and fruit leather for Bucky.
All the fixings for an amazing sundae for Kyle—sans the ice cream.
Perhaps since I spend an embarrassingly long time picking mangoes out for Shantel, she can grab some moose tracks ice cream—Kyle’s favourite—before she heads back to the warehouse.
On my way to check-out, I’m intercepted by a rather flustered man in a bright-as-hell floral button up shirt and beige cargo shorts.
“E-excuse me,” he pants. Sweat coats his wrinkled brow, short salt-and-pepper hair saturated with it.
“Have you seen either of my daughters?” Holding his phone up, he shows me a picture of two smiling young women.
One is tall and thin with long blonde hair.
The other is shorter, scarlet-red hair falling down over her shoulders.
Taking a minute to observe the image before I reply, something tickles the back of my brain. It’s like there’s a flicker of something I should know, but can’t grasp. “I’m sorry, I don’t recognize either of them.”
“Please, just look again,” he pleads, green eyes heavy with a look of defeat.
He swipes to another picture. This one’s of just the blonde.
“Her name’s Chelsea. She’s twenty-four, and probably with her sister, Rose.
She’s twenty-two.” He brushes the drops of sweat from his brow before swiping the screen again, bringing up a new picture of the red head.
There’s a comical scowl marring her face as she glares at someone out of frame.
“They’re missing?” I ask.
“Yes, I haven’t seen them since last night. We were on the cruise ship that just docked. It’s like they’ve just disappeared.”
They went missing from the ship?
This reeks of Maximus.
“Can I see the picture again?”
“Of course, yes. Here.” The father’s hands fumble, almost dropping his phone in a rush to pass it to me.
Sure enough, upon closer inspection, the red-headed one bears a striking resemblance to the woman who’s given my cock a mind of its own. But her hair definitely wasn’t red. Though, she did say her name was Rose…didn’t she?
This could all be a very, very big coincidence. Or, what’s more likely, is that she gave me a fake name.
But, on the off-chance this is his daughter, I’ll ask for his information. Perhaps he could be beneficial in my own task of plucking Maximus off the top of his empire.
I turn the phone back to the man, about to offer my apologies on his situation, when a woman approaches him from behind, wrapping her arms around his neck.
Her long nails are painted hot pink, matching the lipstick staining her teeth, and her frizzy blonde hair is in a messy braid draped across her shoulder.
“Patrick, leave the man alone. I told you the girls aren’t missing.
They’re probably sleeping off a hangover with those cruise workers they were dancing with.
If you hadn’t been half asleep at the table, you’d have seen it too. ”
Patrick tilts his head slightly, locking eyes with the woman who I assume is his wife. Her dark gaze mirrors something I’ve only seen in myself. My monster within recognizing the one that hides beneath her skin.
The man nods to the woman before turning back to me. “So sorry to have bothered you, sir,” he says in a hushed tone, clearly embarrassed by this woman stomping all over his fatherly concern.
Passing him back his phone, I reply, “It’s no trouble at all, I can understand your worry.”
As the couple turns to leave, I hear the wife grumble, “If you hadn’t passed out, you would’ve seen the trashy fucking dragon tattoo on her back. Only immoral women taint their skin like that.”
So, his daughter is my flower, then.
Such a shame he’ll never see her again.
That Rose is mine.
The woman’s breezy, aqua island dress sways as I watch them move toward the exit, two young men joining them before they depart.
At least all of their children haven’t been taken from them, it will help cushion the blow of their girls never returning.
I’d be surprised if Maximus hasn’t had that smokin’ hot blonde moved off the island already.
She’s a fucking knockout and would be easily recognizable.
Knowing him, he had a buyer lined up beforehand.
It was just a stroke of luck that Rose hadn’t been shipped out yet.
The fates held her there, just for me.
I try to hide my smile as I move to the self-checkout area. But the thought of breaking Rose apart, piece by delicious fucking piece, just makes me giddy as hell.
However, the self-checkouts are closed, and the thought of interacting with the too-cheery worker quickly dissolves my smirk.
I place my items on the conveyor, tapping my foot with annoyance as the till operator doesn’t know the code for mangoes. “Do you need a bag?”
“Sure,” I reply.
“They’re $2.99. Is that all right?”
The cheap ass inside of me wants to say no. I have a cupboard overflowing with reusable bags at home that I always forget to bring with me. “Fine,” I grumble, wanting to get the hell out here as fast as I can.
Shantel will already tear a strip off of me for being late, and leaving my phone in the car, therefore ignoring her. I throw two chocolate bars onto the conveyor as well. Hoping to keep my head of security’s anger at bay with some added chocolate and peanut butter.
The worker passes me a bag, and I load up all my things. As I approach the exit, muffled yelling can be heard, followed by an ear-piercing shriek.
What’s fucking happening now?
I emerge into the stifling, muggy air, making my way to the rental car. The black convertible Jaguar F-type 75 sits across the lot. Sure, it’s a special edition, but I have to look the part of a billionaire businessman, and Jags are a classic.