Chapter 5
Ryder
Her gaze lingered on me until I turned the corner.
I didn’t bother rushing to my bike, not when I already knew exactly where she was headed. Violet Sonne was easy enough to follow, especially with her phone’s location services open for anyone to track.
Terrifying, really, how simple it had been to break into. That was the only reason I could follow her so effortlessly, which made my job so much fucking easier.
Pulling on my helmet, I revved my bike, having no intention of following Violet. And yet here I was, turning the corner to her place just to make sure the Uber got her home safely. The only reason I was here, obviously, was because if she got kidnapped, I’d lose my lead.
That’s it. Totally logical. Nothing weird about it at all.
Violet exited the car, waving to the driver, who didn’t wait to see whether she entered the tower block before leaving.
Which was the bare fucking minimum. Seriously, I hope she gave him one star, but from my limited interactions I would guess she’d give him five stars because she’d feel guilty if she didn’t.
The area was shit, dangerous at this time of night and wasn’t much different than the shithole I grew up in. Except my neighbours were known drug dealers, sex workers, and addicts.
I didn’t care whether her neighbours were just as colourful, but just like my old tower block, there was zero security. I knew this because I’d already broken inside the building, and may have installed discreet motion detection cameras in the hallway outside her flat.
Unfortunately, thanks to the building’s lack of fucking signal, they wouldn’t record without erroring out. But they still worked for livestreaming… most of the time.
Pulling out my phone, I clicked the app that viewed said cameras, ignoring the surrounding chill as I waited for her to appear. After a few minutes she did, the footage grainy and a few seconds delayed, but clear enough for me to watch her enter even after a text message popped up.
The Russian Prick:
You’ve been avoiding me, mудак.
I ignored Roman’s text—the needy fuck that he was—because a more interesting notification had appeared. Swiping up, I clicked on Instagram and immediately selected Violet. Her grid consisted mainly of her pretty, girly style of art.
It was over-the-top feminine, but hardened around the edges with the strange places she’d paint.
Brick walls, corrugated metal, and other industrial-looking stuff.
I’ve never understood art, but even I could admit her work was impressive in a ‘I’ve accidentally overdosed and now the void is speaking to me’ kind of way.
She rarely posted pictures of herself, and if she did her face was usually obscured with a half mask, her blonde hair tied up in a messy, long braid as she likely painted something she clearly wasn’t supposed to.
Honestly, her being a secret delinquent was kind of hot. Even if it was only graffiti.
The Russian Prick:
I can see you’ve read these, you know.
I left him on read.
Clicking on Violet’s latest post, I studied the moody shot of her reflection in a cracked mirror. The fractured glass splintered her image, giving her a beautifully broken look as she leaned her head into her hand, listlessly blowing a party horn.
Somehow, her hat had survived the night, sitting crooked on her head. The caption read, ‘Happy 25th to me.’
*Incoming call from The Russian Prick*
Groaning, I clicked answer. “Hello, you have reached the voicemail of—”
“Stop being a cunt,” Roman growled through the headset built into my helmet, and I bit back a laugh. “You working?”
“I’m always working.” Throwing my leg back over, I pushed the button for the ignition. “Why?”
“I need you to swing by.”
The bike vibrated beneath me as I pulled out, heading home. “Who says I’m in London?”
“You have an open tab at the Duckling,” he replied dryly. “Which you actually need to pay. But that’s not why I called.”
I picked up speed, enjoying the way everything whizzed past me. “I already told you my answer. It’s no, by the way. If that wasn’t clear. Why would I work for your father when I can work for myself?”
“Not my father,” he grunted, a line he’d repeated enough times that I only brought it up to fuck with him. “Look, Ryder, you’re my friend—”
“I’m your only friend, Rome. But I still don’t want to be your bitch. So you can idi na khuy,” I said, undoubtedly butchering the pronunciation. Fuck off, or something like that.
“Ty mnye kak zanoza v zadnitse.”
I slowed for the red light. “Did you just call me a pain in the arse?”
“Of course that’s the Russian you remember,” Roman laughed. “Chtob u tebya khuy na lbu vyros!”
“You haven’t taught me that phrase yet.”
“It’s an insult.”
“Everything you say to me is an insult.” The light turned green, and I revved obnoxiously as I set off. “Anyways, I’ve got to go. You know how busy and popular I am.”
“Ryder—”
“Okay, love you. Byeeeeeeeeee.” I clicked off his call, envisioning him throwing his phone across the room as I smirked.
It didn’t take me long to get home, and parking my bike in the secure underground garage, I rode the lift up to my floor.
The one good thing about being a thief was that I knew all the best security measures.
I knew which systems were just for show, which ones could be bypassed with a magnet and a steady hand, and which ones even I wouldn’t try to crack.
My locks were designed with that knowledge, so imagine my surprise when I open my door to find a scantily clad woman currently standing in my kitchen.
“Oh, you’re still here,” I said dryly, scanning the room to make sure everything was still in its place. I was just thankful I’d locked my fucking office, because the last thing I needed was my latest fuck stumbling across my work.
At least she had the decency to look offended, but she quickly recovered with a sensual pout. “I’ve been waiting for you,” she purred, walking over with an extra sway to her hips. Her fingers reached up to brush against my chest, but I caught her wrist before she could make contact.
“Don’t touch,” I growled, and she winced a little under my grip. It wasn’t a warning. It was a rule, one that I had made perfectly clear when she was bouncing on my cock. “I thought you’d left.”
No one stayed here after sex. I never allowed it. She must have pretended to leave and then hidden herself while I showered and left for the club, because there was no way in hell I’d have been distracted enough not to notice her. She had a great pussy, but it wasn’t fucking magic.
“I thought we could… you know.” She rose onto her toes, lips barely a breath from mine before I shoved her back. Another rule. I didn’t kiss. Ever.
Kissing was too vulnerable, and I had an almost neurotic need for control. Touch in an intimate setting I could manage, but only if I initiated it. Anything beyond that edged into surrender, and I didn’t surrender to anyone.
I’d already showered after spending a few hours with… fuck… I didn’t even know her name. But if she carried on, I’d have to shower again, scrub my skin under the boiling water until it felt raw.
“I’m a little busy, love.”
She hesitated, confusion flickering in her eyes.
So I cupped her jaw, thumb grazing her throat just enough to make her shiver.
Leaning in slowly, I watched hope spark behind her lashes.
But rather than give her what she wanted, I guided her backward, step by step, until she was out into the corridor.
“I’ll call you,” I said with a wink, slamming the front door shut. I wouldn’t, but she didn’t need to know that.
Mental note: don’t fuck the clingy brunette with great tits again.
Waiting until said brunette had finally left, I tossed my leather jacket in the rough direction of the coat stand and strode to my office.
My computer screen already displayed the camera outside Violet’s door, and sitting back I stared at it for a moment. Hoping maybe she’d finally give me the information I needed, but alas, she was probably already fast asleep.
Sighing, I looked down at my notes and the limited details I’d been given by my client.
My gaze moved over to the single photograph of a dark-haired woman holding the hand of a little girl no older than three, pinned in the centre of my investigation on the wall.
The image was grainy, clearly a CCTV image and taken from an angle that was borderline stalkerish considering the woman looked to be running from something.
The girl had big green eyes, and while Violet’s hair had darkened to gold rather than white as she’d aged, it was unmistakably her.
With her social media presence, and limited information from the contact, she’d been easy enough for someone as talented as me to find. But that didn’t matter when it came to this job, because technically she wasn’t my target.
Her mother was.
And while Violet was a stalker’s wet dream, her mother seemed to have disappeared off the face of the planet six months ago. That left me with only one lead, and she just happened to be made of fucking sunshine.