Chapter 8 #2
The reminder that Ophelia is not the type to quit her career as a madam hits true. I’ve rebuilt my life, run away from her and the auction as I’ve killed to shove back the trauma of what happened to me, but it doesn’t change the fact that she’s still ruining lives.
I need to kill her. It won’t fix everything. I know it won’t. There’s currently one large auction in Minnesota, and that’s Ophelia’s place.
“It’ll hurt the trafficking industry,” I muse. I’m talking to myself to help ground myself, because I learned early on that cutting is a slippery slope to hell.
It lasted a year and a half until I forced myself to stop. Instead of feeling nothing, there was this all consuming rage where I needed to kill or cut after I killed the alphas who bought me in that shitty hotel room.
There was no in between for me, not when the heat of my aggression and retribution felt so good. There was drama, flare, and blood. I didn’t need or want anything else.
Not when in the aftermath I was promised blissful silence.
Once I stopped cutting, the promise of ending lives helped me keep going.
The blaring sound of my phone ringing makes me sigh. I need to pull myself together so I can answer it.
Glancing at the screen, I hit the Bluetooth enabled button on my earbud. I only have one in so that I can hear my surroundings as I drive, but being pulled over for talking on the phone would suck when I’m attempting to leave the fair city of Indianapolis.
“Hello?” I say, knowing that Devon James is on the other end. I occasionally take jobs for him when he needs to make a statement.
My kills make his men puke like little babies apparently.
“Isolde,” he murmurs. “What mischief are you currently up to?”
“You know if I told you, I’d have to kill you,” I tease him.
Devon is a decent alpha who runs the Knotted Anarchy motorcycle club in Illinois. There are about sixty people within it, and while he has a few topless nightclubs, everyone is there because they want to be.
It would be silly to have me work for them when my stand against sex trafficking is so strong. I’m very upfront about it, because the first three people that I worked for received a bloody wake up call when I found out that they were hunting and selling omegas and alphas.
People still talk about that blood bath. Even though my skin is clean now, I have a running tally of the people I’ve killed. I have no regrets whatsoever.
Only that I wish that humanity could be better than it is. Then maybe I wouldn’t need to fill the vacuum.
“That’s not cute when it’s true,” Devon grumbles. “I may need your services, and wanted to know if you were free.”
“Ah, when? I’m currently working on something personal,” I hedge. This could mean anything. Since I’m living as a beta with my medical cocktail that I’ve been weaning myself off of in a bag next to me, I can’t and won’t tell him any more.
The fact that I’m an equal opportunity hit man for all designations if they’ve been naughty helps reinforce the lie that I’ve been telling.
“In a few weeks,” he says slowly. “I have an issue with another club who is trying to encroach on my space.”
“That’s club business,” I remind him. “I have no issues with being showy with my abilities, but you usually hire me to slit throats or torture when we work together.”
“I know. This would be a little different. I need your brand of crazy on my side. I mean that in the most respectful way possible,” he says.
“I don’t do begging or compliments, Devon. What shit did you get yourself into?” I ask.
“Not me. My second in command,” he grumbles, beginning to explain. “He’s fucking the president’s daughter. Toad seems to think that if he helps the president take over my club that he’ll get extra brownie points or some shit.”
“With a name like ‘Toad,’ what do we expect?” I ask, grossed out by his actions. “It sounds like you’re talking about going to war. Why can’t I just slit throats and bring you the heads of Toad and the president? It would be cleaner.”
Devon coughs while I grin wildly. This may be why I’m the hitman instead of being in any kind of leadership position. My answer is to kill first in these situations.
“Think about it and then call me back,” I say, hanging up. I think my position is clear.
Devon is making shit too complicated.
As I get closer to Lucas’ town, I begin to plan my next steps.
There’s a small cafe with wifi on their sign to welcome people traveling a couple of miles away from Bargersville, so I decide to stop to connect to the internet.
I could probably use a bite to eat as well.
I remember the look in Lucas’ gaze when he worried that I may not be eating enough.
It was possessive, concerned, and how I think a real alpha may react in response to his omega not getting what she or he needs. It shocked and aroused me. There wasn’t a shred of pity in his eyes either.
I don’t want to be thought of as broken. I’m a survivor. I’m dealing with this in the best way that I can. The scars on my inner thighs are always covered by pants, and when I wore shorts for Lucas, I made sure to wear fishnets so that the white scars couldn’t be seen at all.
I’m going to have to cross that bridge when I get to it.
Finding a parking spot, I keep my head down as I grab my phone, backpack with my laptop, and a VPN card to disguise my IP address. I have ten of them that I regularly change out so I can stay under the radar.
Oliver is a smart alpha, if he saw any of the stuff I was shoving in my bags, he’d know a fellow hacker. However, I’m not as good as he is. I can do enough to keep myself alive and get shit done.
Getting out of the car, I lock up and walk to the cafe. It’s busy for four in the afternoon, and I smile as I push my sunglasses up onto my forehead and watch as the hostess comes over.
“Can I get a table, please?” I ask.
“Just you?” she asks, glancing at the chart of tables to see what’s available.
“Yes, just me.”
The woman nods, grabs a menu, and twists around to make sure the table she’s leading me to is clean.
“Follow me,” she says.
I walk behind her as she makes a path through the tables to one against the wall. That’s exactly where I like to sit. Perfect. The bathroom is within eyesight, as are the exits.
Taking the menu from the woman, I barely get to thank her before she darts off to help a table. It makes me realize that everyone fills in for each other, which must make this place run well.
Gazing over the menu, I find the WiFi password and take a photo of it so I can get my laptop connected.
Deciding on a grilled portobello, I push away the menu and pull out my laptop.
There’s enough table space for me to work and eat, and I’m very grateful for that because I need to pull together what I’ve been thinking about on the drive over.
“Do you know what you’d like?” a waitress asks as I type in the WIFI link. The new VPN is in the drive of my laptop, so I glance up with a small lift of my lips.
“Can I get water and a grilled portobello burger please?” I ask.
“Absolutely. I’ll put that right in,” she says, not bothering to write it down as she grabs my menu.
I dive into different rental property options, eschewing several as I see that they’re under the same property manager. Small towns like to talk. I need something else.
Going through the listings, I find one where a man is going on an extended work trip for several months and needs someone to live in the property.
The name of the property will stay in his name, the contract will be between the two of us.
My lips spread in a wide smile as I read that this house has three bedrooms, is in a quiet neighborhood, within walking distance of Lucas’ home.
I email the man, ensuring that the neighbors will know that he’s renting. The last thing I need is for the cops to be called because I’m going in and out of his house.
Chuckling under my breath, I glance up to find that my water is on the table and the waitress has my food in her hands.
“Thanks,” I say, moving my laptop and closing it.
“No problem,” she says brightly, putting down my plate and continuing on. It’s beginning to get loud in here, but I can’t put in my other earbud to drown everyone out.
While I doubt that something will happen to me here, I can’t help remaining vigilant. It’s this constant reminder of the last time I didn’t and ended up enjoying Ophelia’s hospitality for several years.
Or lack of.
My first bite of my burger has me make a small noise of happiness. The onions are caramelized, the lettuce is crisp, the mushroom is juicy, and the bread is crunchy. It’s a damn good burger.
I might not be able to get a place to stay tonight, but I’m not worried about it. I don’t need much. That may sound awful, however my experience at the auction house has made me more resilient.
It doesn’t mean that I’ll ever thank her for it, not unless you count shoving a grenade in her vagina as payment. Hmm. It has a fun ring to it. I may need to do that.
The French fries that come with my sandwich are delicious as well, and I eat a few before pushing away the plate. My stomach is smaller than it used to be, and I’m sad that I can’t bring the rest of my food with me since I don’t know where I’ll land tonight.
Checking my computer, I pull up my email and find to my chagrin that he wants to meet tomorrow morning. I had a feeling. Thankfully, he says that he does plan to let the neighbors know he’s renting his place and will give them a brief description of who I am.
Feeling better, I glance up and have a wordless conversation with the passing waitress. She mimes if I’d like the check and I nod. Simple and effective.
Mr. Adamíc,
Thank you for your reply. Tomorrow morning works well for me. I’ll see you at ten.
Isa.