8. Damsel
Damsel
Tony
Ididn’t get the video feed to work, but I have audio.
She talks to herself a lot. Which is great for me.
After I left her in the bar, I ran to her room, knowing it would be empty.
I also tripped that redhead alpha that tried to drug Kelya, and he fell face-first in the middle of the lobby. That was fun.
Kelya’s room is my twin. It’s odd for omegas, who are known as hoarders, but she has little to no items to her name. A small bag. Things on the bathroom counter. Cups of coffee lying about.
A little sadness grew inside me for the omega.
I checked the trash, and besides some cotton balls, there was nothing. My inner alpha was losing it. I finished setting up the camera and the microphone, then just as she walked in, I hopped off her back balcony to mine.
I couldn’t focus on setting up the equipment. The alpha in me was uninterested in surveillance. I needed to do something for her.
I checked in with the front desk about everything that happened in the bar earlier.
A large man with hairy knuckles named Tortuga told me he took Jones outside and beat the shit out of him.
I found him pacing around the streets, so I drove him to San Juan airport and dumped him out front. Unconscious.
Then I went shopping.
Valentina and Rodrigo were very upset. They assured me that things like that don’t happen here. Valentina said omegas should be safe here. I noticed the three of them bore the same tattoo. Mongoose. It was a sure sign they are in a clan.
Based on scent, Valentina and Tortuga are in a pack, and she’s also related to Rodrigo. Aunt or half sister.
I asked Rodrigo to bring the ice cream I bought to Kelya, then I went back to my room to check on my surveillance.
Fucking video isn’t working, but audio is not only working, it’s saving. I hear her telling off Jones, the predator from downstairs, as she talks to herself. I also hear her getting the delivery.
It takes her a second, but she does sit down and eat. My inner alpha finally settles.
In a small but resolute voice, she says on the live feed, “I have to get out of here.”
Fuck, she’s going to bolt, but she just laughs, then eats some more. God, omegas are cute.
I hope she doesn’t run again, but I’m prepared. There’s no way I’m ever letting her leave me now. According to the Heat Map, the next hot spot is in Canada. She’ll need to fly out of the other airport in PR to get there.
I shuck off my shoes and pants, then lay on the bed and listen for a while.
I don’t mind surveillance. I don’t mind any of this.
The following and the pursuit. The hiding.
The watching. The listening. I keep it all in careful logs.
And when I’m back home, between jobs, I go through the logs and relive every moment.
I shouldn’t be searching for an omega, though.
It’s too primal. There’s something too obvious about it. They are precious, and my inner alpha responds to that.
And this one…
I resist the urge to rub my palm against my dick as I listen to the sound of her breathing.
The next day, she’s out at the boat docks, walking up and down the pier in a white dress with little red hearts printed all over it and wearing an oversized sun hat.
She’s looking utterly lost. Cruiseliners, massive sailboats, yachts, and boats of all sizes are docked here.
Some have just arrived, and others are here with long-time occupants.
The crowds are huge, and the seagulls are loud.
Men have asked her several times if she needs help, but then have moved on. I’m not entirely sure what she’s up to.
I get comfortable and watch her wandering about for an hour or so.
Finally, she sees a man at the cafe. She takes her time watching him, and I get to see her at work.
He’s older. White hair. No ring. His white shirt is unbuttoned to reveal his tan chest. He’s got a pout and a strong jaw. I wonder why she’s chosen him.
Is this her type?
She sits on the white wall with curvy columns, and at first, just looks over the water at the boats, then starts preening.
She leans back on her palms, drops her head back, and looks up at the sky through her sunglasses.
Her breasts are on full display. Her dress looks like it’s held together with a small sash, and if that came undone, the whole thing would fall open, like a robe.
Whether I want to or not, I’m staring at her moving around, not paying enough attention to my surroundings. It’s the first time I’m seeing her in the sun-drenched outside world. The wind blows her hair and dress. Her hands keep adjusting herself…
Her hat floats down onto the stone ground and blows away.
When her head snaps up, she has her mouth in a cute little “o,” and she lets out a tragic squeak.
The older man sitting at the table outside the cafe jumps up and chases after her hat.
She makes a sorry attempt to retrieve it herself.
Her long fingers cover her mouth when he nearly topples over, snatching it off the ground.
She lifts her sunglasses onto her head, tips her chin down, and bats her eyelashes at him when he hands it back.
Oh god.
Gag.
Her curls are a mess from the wind, and I’m wondering if I could sort them out. Being 6’2”, I’m taller than her. She’s 5’ 5” and not an inch taller. She’s wearing flat sandals. The same that flew underneath me in the bathroom. I’d tower over her if given the chance. I could fix her curls easily.
She beams at the old man, and I hear her say “boat” a few times. He matches her smile, gestures to the dock, and they just start fucking walking together.
I’m absolutely floored. She’s trying to get on a fucking boat! She can’t leave the goddamned island. I rush through the crowd after them. I match the man’s steps and pace, burning a hole in the back of his head with my laser-eyed stare.
Just last night she was nearly drugged and taken! Trafficked. Assaulted. Who knows what all would have been in store for her.
With that thought, I turn around and run back to the cafe. His receipt sits underneath his napkin, and I swipe it.
Dave Aparat. And the last few digits of his Mastercard. Beautiful. I rush back down the pier. My long legs make it easy for me to pretend I’m being casual while making a lot of ground.
He’s standing in front of a small yacht, gesturing and boasting about the vessel. Kelya looks mighty impressed.
“Wow! Does it really?”
“Sure does, honey. I’ll take you for a ride sometime.”
“Don’t tease me!”
“I’m not teasing. I’ll take her out tonight if you’re free.”
“Oh no. Tonight won’t work.” She frowns and clutches her large hat.
Where did she even get that from? I didn’t see it in the room.
“That’s ok. I’ll be here all week.”
“How about the morning?”
“Yes! Morning.”
“I can be here at 8?”
“I’ll have her all ready to go.”
They exchange phone numbers, and she tells him goodbye and floats away while he’s still talking.
My gut is twisted, and my inner alpha throws his body around in a tantrum.
To complete this job, I just need to tell the client if she’s doing alright.
I need to take photos and provide details on her whereabouts.
I was specifically asked not to approach her with the information that her loved ones are worried about her and missing her.
I can gather information covertly on her current circumstances, and that’s it.
I have my eyes on her right now. I can snap a photo, write down the address of the hotel, and this job is done, but…
I can’t tell the client she’s bouncing around from cock to cock, running from city to city, nearly getting fucking killed for all her petty crimes and ignorance, and that she just took off on the open ocean with some old white man she doesn’t know.
And what do I tell them if she gets into some new mess and I lose her?
She’s scheduling time to go out on a stranger’s boat! What if she boards and is never seen from again. That will be on me. It’s my responsibility. No, this job isn’t over. Not yet. I need to look into this Dave guy. I need to know more.