Chapter 40
Chapter Forty
Isolde
The smoothie helps boost my sugar, and I sigh in appreciation as I give Grant directions to the building commissioner’s home. It’s a brownstone in a quiet area of Minneapolis, a place where nothing bad really seems to happen. I’m about to prove that’s incorrect.
Bad things can happen anywhere.
Pulling out my phone, I text my group chat with Cian and Corbin.
Me:
I’m taking care of that problem we discussed earlier today. Please be advised that I won’t need a clean up crew for this. I expect to make a statement.
Bubbles begin to form in the group message, and Oli clears his throat to get my attention. Glancing up, I show him that I’m listening by making a noise. He’s head down on the computer, and I expect that he’s working on something.
“Two things,” he begins. “Our presence has been scrapped from any hospital cameras we may have been caught on tonight, and no one has any cameras on the street we’re headed to. Reginald Mathers is in the middle of changing over his own security system, so we’re in the clear there as well.”
“Look at the universe working in our favor,” I smirk. “Ugh, now I need to check the trunk to see if Duncan has anything fun that I can use.”
My phone buzzes in my hand, and I check it, knowing I’ll need to silence it when I go into the house.
Corbin:
I’m concerned. Please answer your phone.
A second later, it flashes with a call, and I roll my eyes.
“Grumpy old men,” I mutter before answering. “Hello.”
“Don’t ‘hello’ me, girlie. What does making a statement mean? I’ve heard the stories about you,” he grumbles.
A text message comes in next, and I grin as I check it and see that it’s Cian.
Stop micromanaging the girl, Corbin. My only request is that you not dump his dead body in the mayor’s yard, please.
I mean, Reggie was technically hired by the mayor. Cian isn’t wrong to request this.
“See? Cian trusts me,” I tease Corbin.
“Ugh, I’m too old for this. Thank you for taking care of it,” he sighs. “I’m taking myself to bed.”
It is late, so I don’t blame him.
“Good night!” I say brightly as I hang up, which isn’t my typical energy.
The hospital made me face my mortality again. No matter how much of a badass I am, pelvic exams are the worst after sexual trauma. Every poke felt as if I was reliving what happened. I felt like a failure because I couldn’t save myself sooner. The sedative fucked that up.
Shaking myself free of the memories, I silence my phone and put it away as I climb into the trunk.
“What are you looking for?” Grant asks, frowning because I’m not wearing a seat belt.
“Rope,” I say, grinning as I find some. I’m already wearing gloves due to the cold, and it’ll keep me from leaving fingerprints everywhere.“Can someone check with Duncan to make sure nothing back here can be traced back to them please?”
I vaguely listen as Lucas calls him, and I find a knife along with a lock picking set. I think I should be fine with these items. I still have my gun as well as zip ties to hold him in place while I’m working if necessary.
“He says you can use whatever is back there,” Lucas calls back to me.
“Thank you. Grant, can you park along the back of the brownstone, please?” I ask. “I need to borrow someone’s sweatshirt too. This sweater is too bright.”
“I didn’t realize we were making a murder pit stop,” Lucas snorts. “I would have packed accordingly, darlin’.”
Grinning at his antics, I watch as Alesso pulls off his black hoodie and hands it back to me.
“I know you’re capable, I just don’t like the idea of you going in alone,” he says, making a face.
“I’ll stay in touch with Grant and Lucas through the bond links,” I tell him, putting on his sweatshirt and filling the pockets.
“Lucas?” Alesso asks, confused.
“Someone had to sing Sinatra to me through the exam,” I say, shrugging. I want to make things official with all of my alphas, including Oliver. I don’t want anyone left out, but I want to be able to spend time with them too.
“It was a really pitiful rendition,” Lucas chuckles. “Out you go, Isolde. Please be careful.”
Nodding, I reach for the button that lets me out the back, knowing that Grant will ensure he closes it again. Grant barely rolls to a stop as I slide out, my pockets full of goodies. Alesso’s sweatshirt has the deepest pockets and smells amazing.
Jogging toward the tree in the backyard, I jump for one of the limbs and pull myself up. I grimace because it’s harder than you’d think, and my upper arm strength is going to need some work after being starved. You’d be surprised how much muscle tone you can lose as well.
Welp, I’m sure Grant will train with me to regain it.
Moving carefully across the limb, I’m grateful to the grip on my boots as I work my way up to where the tree kisses the house. It has a bay window on the second floor, allowing me to step onto the sill. Pulling out my lockpicking tools, I look around the curtains, ensuring this is an empty bedroom.
Using a thin and flexible tool, I slide it between the sash and the frame to release the latch.
The security system is completely down, right? I ask Grant through the bond. I’d usually do my own legwork for this, but this was spur of the moment, and Oli has his computer with him.
I don’t want to trip the damn thing if I don’t have to.
You just gave us several gray hairs with that leap through the tree, Grant growls. The windows aren’t hot. Everything is down. Please get inside before you fall.
Smirking, I pull the window up and step into the house. I see the SUV pulling away from the curb and blow them a kiss they probably can’t see before shutting the window. I leave it unlocked so I can jump out if necessary, though I may just use the front door.
I'll feel it out.
Walking silently out of the bedroom, I search for the man who is either sleeping across the hall, or is downstairs. Pulling my gun from my pocket, I hunt him down, careful to make sure that the house doesn’t shift under my feet.
Reginald Mathers is single after a nasty divorce, and my earlier research didn’t suggest that he had anyone that he was seeing regularly.
My search finds him downstairs, drinking, a gun in his hand. Brow raised, I grin as I stay just outside of the living room.
“Are you going to play with me?” I croon. “I’ve got time, baby. I heard that you were a very bad boy. What do you have against transitional housing anyway?”
Rolling his eyes in the low light, he shakes his head.
“These omegas are uppity,” he complains. “They’re the scum underneath my feet. Why should I give them handouts?”
“Is it a handout when the world has put them beneath you?” I ask, dropping to the ground and rolling as he pulls the trigger.
I roll toward him, hitting the gun out of his grasp and shoving my own in his face. I send my alphas reassurance that I’m fine, but I can’t split my focus right now.
“I have plans for you, but I’m good with shooting you in the face and letting your house cleaner find your body,” I growl.
This is the type of person who doesn’t give a shit about cleaning up for himself, and my preliminary research did find that he does in fact contract with a cleaning service.
“Fuck, why are you so fast?” he grumbles, breathing deeply. “You’re a goddamned omega.”
“Mmhmm. It will be my greatest pleasure to teach you why you shouldn’t be a douchebag to my designation. We’re all tired of your shit, Reggie.”
Standing, I motion for him to stand up.
“Do you happen to bring your work home?” I ask, shooting a quick glimpse at the table he was sitting at.
No paperwork.
“It’s in my office,” he grumbles. “I could make you let me go.”
“If you could, you already would have,” I correct, pushing him to begin walking. “I don’t have a sense of humor today. Let’s get this done.”
Reggie whines the entire way to his office, and I flip on the light as I force him to sit in a chair that isn’t behind his desk.
“Where are the building permits for Omega’s Haven?” I ask, glaring at the piles of paperwork everywhere. “It’s no wonder nothing gets done if this is what the city is working with.”
“This is where I drop things that I don’t care about,” Reggie scoffs. “I know where everything is.”
“Find me any paperwork in regards to Omega’s Haven,” I insist. I put my gun in my opposite hand and pull out my knife to press against his neck.
It’s clear that he’s been home for hours. He’s wearing pajamas that match, and his hair is a mess. I wonder if he heard me come into the house and figured he’d wait for me to find him, or if there was a reason he was drinking so much.
I simply don’t care enough to ask. I do think he must be depressed, though, because I don’t even have to threaten him very much before he signs and approves the permits.
“What do you have against omegas?” I ask, directing him up the stairs. The banister is sturdy and should hold his weight. I’m ready to go home, and plan to deliver the permits to Callum so he can scan and upload them into the proper channels.
“They’re disgusting,” he snarls. “Omegas are the scourge of our society. They take and take and take some more! You’re just making it worse by helping them, you know. My wife was a beta, and she even cheated on me.”
“So you just hate women?” I muse.
Whatever alcohol he’s been ingesting is beginning to hit him, and he leans heavily against the railing.
“Most of them are a waste of space,” he gripes.
Rolling my eyes, I begin to make a noose for this man’s neck. He’s average height, and probably weighs about a hundred and eighty pounds. His stomach is rounded from eating out and taking too many bribes to block permits. That’s the entire reason that I’m here.
He can say that he hates women, but he loves the money that is allowing him to pick and choose which permits to accept.
“Tell me more,” I suggest, looping the rope over his neck and tying it off at the railing that overlooks the front door.
“This is scratchy. I don’t like it,” he complains, attempting to push it off.
I suppose the time for talking is over since he’s too drunk to be able to talk anymore. This is a message to the mayor. I’m going to text him on the way out using Reggie’s phone, and I’m not even going to bother with a note.
He better get his shit together, or I’m going to come back for him. This is his only warning. The only reason I’m not going after him now is because the other candidates to take his place are even more crooked.
Maybe I can scare him straight.
Pulling the noose tighter so it won’t slip out, I push his body up and over the low railing.
It groans as he swings, and I nonchalantly jog down the stairs as he struggles for air that he won’t be getting. His neck didn’t snap, which means he’s in for a rough haul.
“Maybe in the next life you won’t be a douchebag!” I call up helpfully, walking into the living room to text out my message.
Mr. Mayor, I need to speak with you urgently, in person. It’s a matter of life or death.
I watch as the message goes to read, shaking my head as he replies.
Mayor:
They’re just two young girls, Reggie. Ignore them! Omega’s Haven doesn’t need those permits.
I guess the founders have been hassling dear old Reggie for permits that are now signed. I’m not worried about this being turned around on them, because I know that Cian would never allow that to happen.
It’s not that, sir. I have an urgent matter. I hope you get here in time.
Leaving things at that, I toss the phone on the couch and collect the permits from the desk.
I’m ready for my chariot, I tell Grant, walking to the back door. Unlocking it, I glance outside and find it as quiet as it was earlier.
You work fast, he says.
It was bloodless. He’s still struggling to breathe as he stars in his very own corporal punishment saga. Death by railing.
I chuckle, realizing that I’m very loopy and tired. Not seeing Grant yet, I close and lock the door again as I tiptoe back to check on Reggie. His struggles have diminished and his face is turning purple. I didn’t bring my phone, so it’s a missed photo opportunity. Oh well.
Get your cute ass out here, Little Nightmare.
Knowing the mayor isn’t going to have time to cut his puppet down, I choose to go out a window so I won’t have to relock the back door.
The trunk of the SUV opens as I run through the darkened yard, and I climb in with a wide grin on my face.
“Piece of cake,” I say, chuckling as Grant closes the door again from the front seat.
“Slice of pie,” he grins, smoothly driving away. “You’re a minx, Little Nightmare.”
“Let’s go get our girl,” I say happily.
Peace out, Minnesota. It’s been real.