Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Harlan
“What’s his status?” I ask Kyren as Syrus pulls into a parking lot across the street from the hotel. It’s a large convention type of venue, one I expect has the ability to accommodate large groups of people with many meeting rooms.
“He’s settled in at a table at the hotel bar with a few of his colleagues and boss,” he replies. “My research says that he’s looking to move up in the company, and schmoozing is the way to do that.”
“He used to use me as a way to garner favors with his friends,” Silva says dully. “Luke and Brad will do anything to get ahead. I’m not surprised he’s still doing it.”
She’s too quiet, the spark is gone from her voice, and she’s gazing at her lap. My lips purse as I pull my hair back from my face and into its usual bun. It felt nice to have it down for a while.
Kyren turns in his seat to gaze at her, worry in his eyes.
“Do you want to stay in the car? I can find a different way to make the optics work on this,” he says.
Taking a deep breath, she shakes her head, but her eyes are still dull and lifeless as she looks up.
“Mi amor,” Izzy whispers.
“I got it,” she mutters. “I just can’t focus on more than one thing at a time. I’m one panic attack away from a vacation with grippy socks, Izzy.”
“Compartmentalizing and murder it is, Spitfire,” Syrus says. “Get your shit, guys.”
“Got it,” I say, climbing into the trunk to get the bag full of murdery toys.
At some point, Silva snuggled up with Izzy while she was sleeping, allowing me to pack a bag with goodies from the weapons trunk. We all have our firearms in our holsters, guns strategically placed, etc. This is more for backup ammo and fun toys.
“Here’s the plan, Princess. You’re going to walk inside, Silva, go to the bar and smile at the bartender. Pretend that you’re looking for a job,” Kyren explains. “Flirt just enough, and then look around and make eye contact with him.”
“Make sure he recognizes you,” Izzy grunts. “Then hightail it out the back door off the lobby and run for the woods.”
“We’ll be waiting,” I add, plopping back down in my seat, murder bag situated. There’s a cordless chain saw, plastic sheeting, and other odds and ends in the duffel bag as well. “What’s in your pockets, beautiful?”
Her lips twitch even as she dissociates, which I decide to take as a good sign. She disappeared so easily, it reminds me of my pack. We just…go away. No one’s home, no personality, and we make shit happen.
Her black cargo pants have a million different pockets, and her hand pulls out a knife, a lighter, and a stun gun.
“What else?” Syrus asks, twisting to watch her.
“It’s like you know me or something,” she grumbles, unzipping both combat boots to reveal another pocket knife and a small ice pick.
“Marry me,” I blurt out, jaw dropping. The ice pick is genius.
“Ask me again another day,” she says sweetly, kissing my cheek before putting her weapons away.
Syrus hides a smile, while Izzy and Kyren roll their eyes. There’s no jealousy, it’s just easy.
“I have my crossbow, a small saw to break up the body after, and there’s a change of clothes in the trunk for us all,” Kyren says. “Everyone is suited up with their guns and shit. We’re not going to use them unless there’s a silencer.”
Kyren glances at Syrus who rolls his eyes.
“Cops use silencers too, Dicknoodle,” he mutters. “I have one with my firearm, but I might need to borrow something so the ballistics don’t match anything on file.”
“Here. One thing we have is plenty of weapons,” Kyren snorts, giving him a replacement.
“Now, we’re set, outside of this,” Kyren adds, pulling out earcomms to hand to everyone. Silva pops it into her ear, biting her lip as she does. “Let me make sure these are all synced.”
A few keystrokes later, Kyren closes up his computer and puts it away, locking the compartment. There are many hideyholes in this vehicle.
“Let’s roll.”
Opening the doors, we all bail out, and I squeeze Silva’s hand.
“We’re going around to the woods. Do you want Izzy to go with you?” I ask.
“No,” she says. “He’s more likely to approach me if I’m alone. Brad doesn’t like to work too hard.”
Pulling away, she pulls the hood of her coat over her ash-blonde hair and begins to walk away.
“She’s got this,” Syrus says, watching her.
Kyren chews on his bottom lip before he nods and pulls on a ski mask. Izzy and I do the same, while Syrus rolls his eyes and pulls out a black handkerchief that he ties around his lower face before pulling up his hood.
“Show offs,” he mutters, beginning to walk across to the woods.
I really want another pair of eyes on her, but Kyren can’t have his computer with him to hack into the security cameras and also be able to join in the killing.
Come on, baby. Let’s do this.
Silva
Forcing myself to keep breathing, I’m glad my shaking hands are shoved in my pockets as I walk through the automatic doors of this huge hotel.
“Can you hear me, baby?” Harlan asks in my ear.
“Mmhmm,” I reply.
Putting one foot in front of the other is the only way that I get myself from the lobby to the bar on the right side of the area.
While there’s bright lighting in the lobby, everything is muted in the bar as men smoke their cigars and make deals with their scotch and water in front of them. They think it’s a power drink, and I think that the deals aren’t meant to benefit anyone else without high loss to the other person.
“Good,” Kyren breathes as I walk.
Their voices help to ground me. My heart stops sitting in my throat, and I no longer feel as if I may pass out. I want to show them that I can do this.
This place reminds of the Henderson mansion, in some way, from the greed in some of the men’s gazes and the desperation in others. The world preys on the weak, and this place isn’t any different.
Brad sits in the corner, attempting to look cool and confident. Pushing off my hood slowly, I’m aware of the interest I’m receiving as I walk through the room to the bar. Forcing a smile at the bartender, I nod as he inclines his head toward his clients waiting.
I get it. I’m not really here for him anyway.
“What do you see, Spitfire?” Syrus asks. “Is he still there?”
Turning slowly, I push back my long hair that’s dried naturally in waves. In the corner of my eye, I can see Brad lean forward, trying to see me better.
“Yes,” I say under my breath.
I don’t know if I look familiar to Brad, or if I just appear to be a pretty face he’d like to fuck.
The joke’s on him though because I’m no longer eighteen, and I’m a lot more dangerous than I used to be. He and his brother had the hold on me that they did because they promised to leave my sister alone. The gloves are off, puppy.
I’m no longer on a leash.
“Hey. Can I help you?” the bartender asks, pulling my attention back to him.
I’m not very excited to give Brad my back, but I need to make sure he’s hooked enough to follow me. Brad-e-poo doesn’t like to be ignored.
“Actually, you can,” I say, facing the bartender. I know the guys can hear me, and that gives me a small boost of confidence. “Is there any chance that you’re hiring?”
“Do you think you can handle a group like this?” he asks. “The clientele here seem clean cut, but they’re still predators.”
“Not everything that glitters is gold, huh?” I ask, smirking. “I’m allergic to cigar smoke, so you might be right. This may not be the right place for me.”
Lies drop effortlessly from my lips, and I shrug as if it doesn’t matter either way to me. I decided to play this as confident instead of scared and shifty.
Brad will be even more tempted to knock me down a peg or two that way.
“Hey, man can I get another whiskey soda, please?” a man with a raspy voice asks.
Brad’s aged, just as I have. The years have been much kinder to me though.
Forcing myself not to stiffen is really fucking hard, and instead I glance over my shoulder as he presses against me. Unfortunately, it’s not enough to disguise the shaking my body is doing.
“Yeah, man. I got you,” the bartender says, pretending to ignore the way Brad squeezes my ass through my pants. He winks at me as if to tell me, “I told you so,” before walking pointedly away to get Brad his drink.
Fucking asshole. This is why I’m a girl’s girl. If someone needs help, I give it to them. Usually while making other people hurt.
“Mmmm. Fuck me, Cherry,” Brad groans, burying his nose in my hair before he stills. “It’s been a very long time since I’ve seen you. Are you whoring yourself out? I smell alphas, and bond bites? You’ve been busy.”
“Who are you?” I ask, eyes wide as I look at him.
“Brad. Brad Fielding. I think I might need to remind you who I am by burying my cock in your cunt,” he snarls.
“How about we don’t?” I ask, stomping on his foot as I step away from him. “You’ve always been a small dicked alpha, Brad. Never any follow through. Is that why you’re whining and begging for scraps in this bar?”
“You dirty little omega whore,” he snarls, glancing behind him to meet someone’s gaze. The alpha has a belly overhanging his belt, but is very well dressed as he looks at me with his lip curled.
“Go handle your business, Brad,” he calls out. “Nothing good comes from mouthy little omegas who don’t know their place in life. Grind her under your heel.”
Brad’s smile turns even more predatory as I turn and rush toward the entrance of the bar. As I gaze around, I see that a large amount of the people here are wearing pins that say Tripol International. Great, it’s like a fucking cult.
One that’s rapey and shit.
“She looks spunky,” a female alpha chuckles, her hand trailing over my thigh as I walk by.
Unable to help myself, I flick her between the goddamned eyes.
“Manners,” I grumble.
“Fuck her extra hard for me, Brad,” the woman tells him. “She’s pretty, but needs a lesson about respecting alphas.”
“Spitfire,” Syrus warns.
“Yes, ma’am,” he says respectfully. “I’ll make sure it hurts.”