Chapter 11 – Blue （February 13）
Ilean my head against the cool glass of the window, watching the gray blur of the highway give way to the rolling green hills of Napa Valley. Beside me, Gary is vibrating with manic energy, reviewing a clipboard with a red pen like he’s grading exams for the apocalypse.
"Remember, people!" he shouts over the hum of the engine, standing up in the aisle and nearly losing his balance as the bus takes a curve.
"Eye contact is minimal. We are furniture.
We are helpful ghosts. If Dr. Thorne asks for water, you have it before she finishes the sentence.
If she looks at you with disdain, you thank her for the attention! "
A collective murmur of assent ripples through the bus. I just adjust my glasses and keep staring out the window so no one will see my eyes roll at that.
Usually, this kind of environment, trapped in a metal tube with a micromanager and no exit strategy would have my anxiety spiking. I’d be plotting three different ways to break the emergency glass and tuck and roll onto the interstate. But today? Today, I’m calm.
My body feels heavy, but in a good way, a grounded way.
I can still feel the phantom weight of Andre on top of me from last night, the echo of his voice in the dark commanding me to let go.
After that, Damaon and Marcus took me into the master bathroom to clean me up in the shower and then made a mess of me all over again.
For the first time in years the dull ache of being alone in the world is gone.
Blindfolded, with just his warm rough voice in my ear, I had let it all go.
All the control I held onto so tightly to survive the pain of the last few years disappeared.
When his mouth slid over my own, it was like the key to unlocking it all.
All the want and need I’ve been suppressing rushed through me and I was desperate for more, more of all of them.
Not just sexually but all they were offering.
I took a deep breath and dove head first into accepting all of it.
Those three men have filled all the empty spaces inside me and it’s settled me in a way I didn’t even know I needed.
Even blissed out after multiple orgasms, I didn’t sleep much last night.
My brain kept going round and round on the plan and the moves or pivots I might need to make for every contingency.
A brief flare of guilt hits me at things I haven’t shared with the guys but I shove it to the side.
I trust them, I do but… there’s some control that I just can’t give up yet.
I’m focused and have no doubts at all that this is the right play.
I check my phone. A single message from an encrypted number waits in the notifications.
Green: Tracker shows you crossing onto the property’s boundary. Comms are live but silent. We’re listening.
I don't reply, just tap the screen twice to acknowledge. I slide the phone back into my pocket, right next to the small earpiece cuff I’ll insert once we’re on site.
The bus slows, turning off the main highway onto a private road paved with smooth, dark asphalt.
Iron gates, two stories high and flanked by stone lions, swing open slowly.
We wind up a long driveway lined with cypress trees until the estate comes into view.
I try not to scoff. It’s not a house, it’s a monument to ego.
Dr. Aris Thorne’s estate is a brutalist nightmare of concrete and glass perched on a hillside overlooking the vineyards.
It looks cold, imposing, and impenetrable.
Sharp angles jut out like knives, and the floor-to-ceiling windows reflect the overcast sky, turning the whole building into a gray mirror.
The front doors aren’t for us peons though, so the bus turns and takes a service road around the side and tucks into an area away from the grandeur of the front.
"Alright, listen up!" Gary barks as the bus hisses to a halt in the service bay. "Badges on. Phones off. Let’s move!"
I file out with the rest of the drones, stepping onto the pristine concrete of the loading dock where security is tight. Two guards with wands check us one by one, matching our faces to the badges Gary distributed yesterday.
I hold my breath as the guard scans my badge.
Beep. Green light.
"You’re clear," he grunts. "Move along."
I let out a breath and step inside the belly of the beast.
The next few hours are a blur of physical labor and mental cartography.
Martha is a tireless runner that does more than what’s asked of her so I stay busy.
I carry crates of champagne glasses, steam linens and set up hundreds of gold Chiavari chairs in the ballroom until my hands and back ache.
But while my body works, my eyes and the small camera hidden in my heart broach are recording everything.
I verify the service corridors to be sure they match the schematics I stole perfectly.
Long, narrow hallways that run behind the main walls, allowing staff to move unseen between the kitchen, the ballroom, and the storage areas.
I verify the cameras. Damon was right about the thermal sensor on the north wall and I spot the unit tucked discreetly under the eaves near the delivery entrance.
I make a mental note to confirm the blind spot Andre identified is actually large enough for a man his size to slip through if he needs to move to me for back up.
And then, around 2:00 PM, I get my chance to check the executive wing.
"Martha!" Gary snaps his fingers at me from across the ballroom like I’m a fucking dog at his command.
"We’re short on floral arrangements for the VIP lounge.
Go to the delivery bay, grab the crate marked 'Orchids,' and run it up to the second floor landing.
Do not go into the offices. Just leave it on the table outside the double doors. "
"Yes, Gary."
I grab the heavy crate filled with exotic white orchids that probably cost more than my kidney on the black market and head for the service elevator.
I punch the button for the second floor.
The doors slide open, revealing a hallway that smells of lemon polish and money.
The carpet here is thicker, the lighting softer.
I walk down the hall, my footsteps silent.
The double doors at the end lead to Thorne’s private suite and office.
That’s the target. The Heart-Box is in there.
I set the crate down on the console table designated for deliveries and pause, pretending to adjust a wilting bloom, and glance up with a slow scan.
I need to confirm the camera coverage. Damon needs to loop the feed so I can walk through those double doors unseen tomorrow.
I spot the dome camera mounted on the ceiling.
It’s positioned to cover the elevator and the office doors.
I shift slightly, checking the angle. If I hug the left wall coming out of the elevator, there’s a distinct blind spot for about three feet before the camera picks up motion. It’s tight, but workable.
"Admiring the architecture?"
I freeze. I know that voice. I turn slowly to face the double doors that have opened silently and swallow hard.
Tyler Graft is standing there staring at me like I’m a bug he wants to stomp on.
He’s not in tactical gear, but he’s not in a suit either.
He’s wearing a black polo that shows off the corded muscle of his arms and tactical pants.
He looks relaxed, which makes him even more terrifying.
"Mr. Graft," I squeak, hunching my shoulders. "I was just... Gary sent me with the flowers. I was just making sure they looked perfect."
Graft’s eyes scan me from head to toe before he walks slowly toward me.
His gaze feels like a physical search. He’s looking for the cracks in my story.
When he’s close enough I can smell his cologne his stance changes from relaxed to menacing.
I can see the sick excitement in his eyes when he slowly shakes his head.
“I guess I didn’t make myself clear enough to you the other day. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, mouse.”
His hand darts out and grasps my upper arm in a punishing grip and jerks me closer. I struggle to stay in the Martha persona when all I really want to do is knee this fucking guy in the balls and stomp on his head with my sturdy orthopedic shoes. I let fear ripple across my face and, gah, beg him.
“Please! Please Mr. Graft, I’m just trying to do my job!”
Just as he’s pulled me close to the stairwell door, Graves steps out into the hall. He looks at the flowers. Then he looks at me and Graft with an impatient, annoyed look.
"You’re the one who was in the executive level yesterday," he says, his voice flat.
I hit him with a pleading look and try to pull my arm free from Graft's painful grip but he just squeezes tighter causing me to squeak, "Yes, sir. I’m… I’m Martha."
His gaze drops to where Graft’s grip on my arm is and shakes his head. "You get around, Martha."
"I’m a runner, sir. I run where they tell me. Gary asked me to deliver the flowers to this level, that’s all I was doing!"
He takes a step closer until I’m bracketed by both of them. I force myself not to flinch, not to back down, but to let the fear show in my eyes just enough to sell it.
"This hallway," he says, gesturing around us, "is the only access point to Dr. Thorne’s private sanctuary. Tomorrow night, during the party, there will be a guard stationed right here. No staff allowed past this point without a direct escort. Do you understand?"
Information. Gold mine.
"Yes, sir," I whisper. "I understand. No staff."