4. Raegan
Chapter four
Raegan
I take up every minute of the hour he offered me to pamper myself for the first time in a long while. The hot, soaking shower was at least half of that time. Then blow drying my blonde hair with soft curls and adding some makeup, another chunk. After my needs are met, I snoop.
I mean, he can’t think that I wouldn’t, right? Something about him sets off warning bells.
He’s too nice .
No one is that nice without wanting something.
He already had sex with me, so unless he knows exactly who I am, which I doubt considering how calm he was around me, I don’t know what else he thinks I have to give him.
I decide by the second empty closet in this room that it’s a guest room. There’s no dresser and no clothes in the closet. No personal items. The bathroom was stocked with items that any guest might need. Even shaving sticks and cream for men and for women.
It’s weird to sleep in your guest room when you bring someone home for sex, right? On second thought, that’s fucking smart. No personal items, less important things to steal, and not to mention more time to clean the sheets. Genius.
Elias walks into the room while I’m cramming myself under the bed, my ass in the air and dress riding up above it, in search of a secret box or safe or something that might clue me into this guy. He clears his throat. Startled, I jump, and my head smacks against the metal frame.
“Ow! Fuck, that hurt!” I shimmy out from under the bed, even if that means my dress only rides further up my waist in the effort. I focus on rubbing the injured spot on my head first. “Can’t you walk a little louder?”
He’s still in his suit, but he’s wearing a matching gray jacket now as well that’s buttoned at the middle like he’s ready for business. Which, I guess, he is. Amusement flickers in his eyes rather than annoyance at my snooping which, again, screams that something is not right. “Is that what you really want? Or would you rather I hand over whatever it is you’re searching for under the bed? Buried treasure, perhaps? Weapons?”
Standing upright, I finally straighten the dress. “If you’re offering, I wouldn’t mind the weapons. Are you a serial killer or something?”
“Oh? No treasure?”
That wasn’t a no to the last question. Or a yes, either. My mouth twitches into a smirk. “Too heavy. I travel light.” Though I wouldn’t mind extra cash. I have a decent amount from bartending in the last city I’d been in, but it won’t last me long. I lift my backpack and loop one arm through.
Elias eyes it for a long moment and then brings his gaze back to me. “Interesting.” He turns and flexes two fingers over his shoulder in a come-on motion. “Let’s go. I need to lock up.”
I follow him out and check that the hallway’s clear while he’s busy pushing buttons and turning keys on his door. “Well, it’s been fun,” I start while turning away to leave.
“I can walk you out,” he offers, but I wave it off.
“I can see the stairs from here, and I’d rather get going.” Better to leave while I’m ahead and before the status quo changes. I shoot him a smile and then make a beeline for the stairs to put some distance between us.
I meant what I said before. I probably won’t ever see him again, as interesting of a character as he was. After I check out the supposed gift from Jackson, I’ll be hitching a ride or hopping on a bus across the country. Any city that’s as far away from this one as possible.
I’ve only seen Jackson one time, and already my nightmares are bringing me back to a time that I wish I could forget. I don’t need the pain of seeing him or the others and reliving everything I’ve done and everything I’ve been through.
Between stopping for food, buying a new outfit to change into, and walking the twenty blocks to get to the address, it's nearing eight at night, and the sun has set.
The address brings me to a warehouse in the middle of a manufacturing district. There are small, rectangular windows along the top of the building that would barely allow any light into it during the day. It’s all wall and garage doors, with a single man door at the front left corner .
After dropping my backpack in a corner, I pull my gun and flashlight from it and then lockpick my way inside. Heavy breathing, followed by the cloying scent of copper, floods my senses. What the fuck am I walking into?
My hand tightens on my gun, and I raise my flashlight with the other hand to sweep over the area. It’s a single, open space with a concrete floor. A man is tied to a chair in the center of the room, with rows of chains piled on the floor ten feet from him. His shoulders quake with the effort of his labored breathing as his head hangs forward.
I shine the light over the rest of the warehouse again to make sure there are no other entry points or hiding places aside from the door I entered and the closed garage bay doors. Satisfied, I close the distance between us and squat to get a look at the prisoner. There’s dried blood pooled at his feet and spattered over the concrete.
How long has he been here? At least a day, considering when Jackson gave me the card. And he’s been sitting here waiting for me. Oops.
He tilts his face up to look at me, and it’s swollen and bloody.
“Are you here to rescue me?” he whimpers.
I smile, resting my arms on my knees and angling the flashlight into his eyes so he can’t get a good look at me. “No, I’m not. I’m here for answers.”
There must be a reason Jackson left this guy for me as a gift. I don’t recognize him, but I have a good guess he’s related to Gifted Enterprise.
The man simpers, and I curl my lip when snot drips from his nose. “ I’m just a recruiter. I don’t know anything you’re looking for except for the upcoming gala. You’ll be able to get what you need there.”
My attention perks up at that. “Tell me everything about the gala.”
He mumbles about already telling my buddy everything, and I press the barrel of my gun against his kneecap to regain his focus.
“O-okay, okay! Rich socialites gather to donate to their cause. It’s being held at the Reynard Museum of Art on the twelfth of the month. You need to have an invitation to get in.”
My blood chills. Were these going to be all the investors of our misery? I planned on going after the board of directors and anyone directly involved in the project, but what about those who gave the money for it?
“Are they investors of Gifted Enterprise?” My hand with the gun shakes in anger against his kneecap, and his eyes widen.
“W-what? No, most of the donors don’t realize what it’s for. The organization is fake. It’s a front for helping children with mental illnesses and birth defects.”
One second, I’m seeing red, and the next, the guy is screaming, and my ears echo with the sound of a gunshot.
Whoops. Too bad I don’t care about hurting people who kidnap children and then brainwash and torture them.
Or kill them when they don’t get what they want out of them.
Agonized, he screams and wails. I stand and point the gun at his face. “Quiet, or I’ll shut you up permanently.” He bites his lips to stifle the cries, and I count to thirty before I continue, “How do you know all of this if you’re just a recruiter? ”
“No outsiders are allowed. Only employees can do catering and serving.”
Fuck. There’s no way I can get an invite, but I thought I’d at least be able to pretend to be staff.
“How can I get in?”
“What? Y-you can’t,” he sputters, spittle flying.
I push the gun into his forehead. “Think harder. Are there any non-staff members aside from the invitees?”
Sweating, he mutters incoherently under his breath, and I force myself to take a deep breath of my own. Even though the warehouse is thick with the smell of his blood, I’ve learned how to breathe through it. When it’s the blood of my enemies, it doesn’t bother me so much.
Being a recruiter means being the lowest on the totem pole in the hierarchy of Gifted Enterprise. They find “problem” children, kids who are put in extra programs or maybe mental illness facilities when they show strange behavior, or those who do things that can’t be possible.
It started by stealing them off of the streets and out of parks. But when the parents went out of their way searching for them, and one set of parents recognized their kids years later, brainwashed, it brought too much attention to the organization. Now, there can be no loose ends.
Instead, the recruiters kill the family and steal the gifted child.
They drop children off at a facility and collect their paycheck based on the age and type of gift.
Rinse. Repeat .
They may not actively participate in what happens to the children from there, but they sniff them out and steal them away. They take everything away from the kids so they have nothing and no one to return to if they ever escaped and found out what happened.
Like how I found out that Grams was dead by the time I made it off the island.
“Time’s up.” I nudge his forehead. “How can I get in?”
“Invite! Steal someone’s invite or get invited yourself! That’s the only way.”
I roll my eyes. “If this is a common event, I can’t impersonate someone that other people know. Strike two.” Also, no way in hell I can get my own invite. I’m not entirely sure if I exist anymore. No license and no legal ID. I don’t even know the day of my own birthday; just the month and my age. It’s why I rely on more creative methods for making money and getting a place to stay for a few weeks or a few months at a time.
When he doesn’t offer an alternative, I tsk , and my finger pulses over the trigger.
“W-wait! Wait! Guest! Be someone’s guest! They get a plus one.” He’s hyperventilating now, sweat streaking down his face and into his eyes that he has to blink away while his hands are tied.
I shift the barrel back enough to see the small circular impression on his forehead. “That’s not a bad idea. I think I can work with that. So, who are some of the invitees?”
“I don’t know any names, I swear! I always worked in the back kitchens or as a valet. The servers aren’t recruiters, they’re guards. They are the ones who know. ”
Even if I had a guard’s name, it wouldn’t help. My search engine skills are basic, and most name searches return nothing true or accurate unless the person is in the spotlight. An investor with a lot of money? Yes. A person meant to hide in the shadows for illegal activity? Definitely not.
“So, basically, you have nothing more for me,” I conclude. His eyes widen just before I fire a shot between the eyes. It’s a clean kill and more than what scum like him deserves, but I now have a deadline of two days to get things in order for this gala.
Find a place to stay.
Find someone with an invite and somehow get the guest spot.
Find a dress.
Make money.
I flip the chair back with my boot, forcing the dead recruiter over to the ground. I’d clean this up, but I’m hoping to keep Jack and the others busy to avoid any other run-ins. I’ve already got Gifted Enterprise looking for me, which is why I avoided using my gift on this guy and leaving my signature. I’d do it if I planned on leaving right away, so I’m long gone before there’s anything they can do about it, but now, it looks like I’ll be staying here at least a few days longer.
It means there’s a chance I’ll run into Jackson and the others if this guy already gave them the information on the gala, but that’s a risk I’ll have to take if it means getting closer to my end goal. It’s been a slow process on my own, trying to take them down, and I’d be an idiot to look this gift horse in the face.
Hopefully, this isn’t some long game to get back at me. I don’t know why they would go after GE after they escaped them, though. The best idea is to stay hidden and try living a normal life. I’m the reckless one trying to get my revenge on them for what happened with Vera and the year after because I have nothing and no one left anyway.
They still have each other.