Chapter 57
“Would you fucking hold still?”
“I can’t. The brush is cold, and you’re pulling my hair.”
“I’m almost done.”
“Why couldn’t we have done this out in the woods, Rip? That was the original plan.”
“Plans change,” I reply, watching as Shantel perfects the makeup along Kyle’s neck. Fine tuning each layer of liquid latex until the wound is gaping and horrific.
“Ready?”
“I suppose.”
Thankfully, there’s a special effects convention going on at the larger hotel down the block, so we won’t stand out amongst the crowd staying here at the cheaper option. “Meet me in the alley, I have to grab the blood from the car.”
“Do I even want to know where you got fresh blood from?”
“Probably not.”
“Fucking hell,” Shantel mutters under her breath.
“Do you really want to risk using fake blood?” I snap.
“There’s already enough at stake with this plan, and so few ways to kill a man that provide enough proof to Maximus.
I can’t shoot Ky, because then I’d have to show Mr. Smythe a massive exit wound.
I can't strangle him because what if he wants to see the eyes? We can’t fake those popped blood vessels.
So unless I strangle Kyle unconscious, that won’t work.
Please, if you have another suggestion, let me know.
Because I’m already worried Maximus will want to see a gunshot wound despite all this work. ”
Both Kyle and Shantel have no reply, letting thick silence settle over us.
“That’s what I thought, meet me downstairs.” Without waiting for their ‘yes, sir’, I leave the room, diverting to my own.
I’ve only been separated from Rose for four days, and the throbbing desire to have her touch chase away the turmoil thrumming beneath my skin is driving me insane.
This time apart is having the opposite effect.
My head isn’t clear, it’s fogged up with all the memories of her moaning and writhing for me.
Fuck, I’m gone for her and she doesn’t even know it.
I’ve never been addicted to anything in my life, but if this is what the junkies banging on the crack house doors feel like without a fix, I get it.
I’m tense, wired, unable to release the pressure building inside me.
The escorts Kyle and I picked up the other night couldn’t get me off.
No matter how hard they tried, I remained limp. Even picturing Rose’s face didn’t help.
“But you’re fucking working now, aren’t you?
” I grumble, looking down at the raging hard-on beneath my pants.
I’m sore, rubbed raw by my own hand, searching for an orgasm that wouldn’t come.
Even as I gently stroke over my cock, it’s tender.
My dick even more stubborn than the woman who’s secured herself a place in my every waking thought and emotion.
One of my many burner phones beeps from within my pocket. When I pull it out, annoyance prickles my temples.
Shantel:
We’re waiting…
I know she’s a long term friend, but the lax way she talks to me inches its way under my skin.
I’m the goddamn boss, I should be treated as such.
Thanks to Kyle, I know she’s irritated with the lack of dick in her life.
It’s not my fault my cock doesn’t work for anyone except Rose.
It’s aggravating to me too. This trip was supposed to be a way to get her out of my system, so I could return to the island focused.
Eyes on the prize, in a way. But right now the only thing I want to claim is her, and at the risk of tossing the entire fucking plan out the window.
Shantel:
Tick tock. People are starting to stare.
Fuck this woman! As head of security, you’d think she’d know to stay out of fucking sight until I’m ready.
The darkened alley behind the hotel can’t be overflowing with people.
It’s why I picked it. It’s in the complete opposite direction that all the patrons headed for the convention would be travelling in.
Shantel:
Should I come see what’s taking you so long, sir? *winky face*
And just like that, my boner deflates, shrivelling back to its flaccid state. Guess now’s a good a time as any to go pour pig blood on my best friend.
I’ve arrived early to my meeting with Patrick.
Content to sit and watch the family through the window while analyzing every detail of these photos of Kyle.
If I didn’t know better, I’d assume he was an unfortunate tourist who met his demise in a secluded part of a tarnished city.
Hopefully Maximus is satisfied by these, because there really is no alternative.
Patrick paces impatiently from one side of the window to the other. Only stopping intermittently to glance around outside. Presumably, looking for me.
Let him boil and bubble in the hot water he’s found himself in.
I want him emotional, unsettled, and irritated.
Those are the people that make mistakes, let loose information that would otherwise be kept close to the chest. I want all his lies to overflow, spilling at my feet so I may choose how I’ll manipulate him to staying the fuck away from Rose and I.
He turns from the window, and I emerge from the vehicle, hiding my face within the shadow of the sweater’s hood.
It’s still warm here, even as dusk closes in, but nowhere near as balmy as home.
A chill shivers along my spine as I slide my weapon into its usual place at the back of my waistband, the cold metal instantly starting to warm from the heat of my body.
Patrick’s too eager, opening the door for me before I’ve even stepped foot onto his property. That’s how a worried father would act though, right? Or is he playing up the part of a heartbroken parent to pull the wool over my eyes?
I don’t have any semblance of how a loving parent should act.
Mother favoured my sister, leaving my brother and I to mostly fend for ourselves.
Father was incarcerated for a hit and run under the influence of drugs and alcohol that killed three teens.
If he’s ever been released, he hasn’t reached out.
I know not whether he’s alive or dead, and when it comes to him, or anyone else I share blood with, I don’t care.
But my lack of knowledge around the dynamics of a loving family bothers me.
I don’t know what to look for, how to determine genuine love from fake.
All I recognize is pain when I turn inward and observe my childhood from an outsider’s perspective.
“Mr. Keller,” Patrick says in greeting, extending his hand for a shake.
I nod, not removing my hands from my pocket.
I may have seemed nice before. Curious to the commotion he was causing in the grocery store parking lot, but now I’m on the hunt for answers.
Not content to leave here without finding out why he sold his two daughters, or what he intends to do about it if I can ‘find them’.
“Please, come in. Have a seat.” He gestures toward the large living room, well-worn couches focused around a large tv.
They certainly aren’t rich—or weren’t. The skin trade pays quite well.
The middle class neighbourhood is cute, quiet.
My guess is it’s very family oriented with a lame neighbourhood watch to keep away the riffraff.
Nothing stands out in any way, all the houses are the same style of varying neutral and earthy colours.
With sensible family vehicles in each driveway.
Looks can be deceiving, something I know all too well, and I intend to dig until I uncover whatever it is this family is hiding.
Moving around the low coffee table, I take a seat in the only available chair. Patrick choosing to sit on the chesterfield across from me.
“Will your wife be joining us?”
He shifts uncomfortably. “Maybe.”
“Her daughters go missing and she can’t be bothered to hear out a possible lead?”
“Frankly, Mr. Keller, she thinks you’re full of shit. Some wacko who’s taking me for a ride to see what you can gain from it.”
“I assure you, that’s not the case.”
“Then get on with it.”
His tone cranks that urge within me tighter. My desire to drive my fist into his middle-aged face is hard to resist.
“I know where they are.”
Patrick’s green eyes light up, and I can’t help but feel it’s genuine. “Are you sure? You’ve seen them?”
“One of them, I think. What were their names again?” I haven’t forgotten a single detail of what he told me, though it slips my mind among the eagerness to see my flower.
“Chelsea and Rose. Melborne.” He tacks their surnames on for good measure.
“Can I see their pictures again? Maybe a few different ones?”
I already know Rose is part of this family, but it wouldn’t hurt to memorize Chelsea’s face in case I pass her within the walls of Bleakcrest. Though, I’m not sure if she’s still there.
“Yes, absolutely.” His eager fingers are clumsy as he pulls the phone from his pocket, opening the photo album and passing the device my way.
Slowly, I swipe through the pictures. Rose is sour-faced in most of them, an air of negativity surrounding her. Chelsea beams like the sun, clearly the favoured child of the bunch. “Do you mind if I send some of these to myself for reference?”
“Sure, go ahead. Whatever you think will help.”
My fingers fly across the screen, selecting all the photos of Rose I find with a few of her sister mixed in, and texting them to my burner phone.
Once the device in my pocket vibrates with the new message, I delete our text thread.
Patrick doesn’t need to know what I sent myself, and this phone will be going offline very soon.
Passing the phone back to him, I say, “Do either of them have any distinguishing marks or features?”
“No. Well…Chelsea doesn’t, as far as I know. And my wife informed me Rose has a dragon tattoo, though I’ve never seen it for myself.”
“Hmm. Rose is the red head?”
“Yes.”
“Was her hair red when she went missing?”
“Yes.”
“The one who I thought could be your daughter has black hair. There isn’t any reason she would change that without your knowledge?”
“No, sir.”