Chapter 34 #2
Again, I stay silent for a moment. She stays as she is, facing me from the other end of the tub.
Every part of me wants to say no, to end this nonsense and move on, but it feels like we’re finally reaching the end of this nightmare.
Becker’s vices, whatever they are, are within our reach, or almost, and we need to exploit that.
We need to get whatever is on his laptop and get him locked up for the rest of his life.
Only then, once he’s been ostracized and cut off from the world and his wealth, will we be free.
And even though I’m not one for revenge, I crave it.
I long to make him pay for what he did to us, for pushing for my trial, for getting Andrea shot, for hurting Maria Carmen …
I need Becker to pay for it. And if the world has taught me one thing, it’s that men like him never pay for their actions.
They glide above repercussions, as if untouchable, unconcerned.
I’ll prove him and everyone else wrong. Men like him can pay. And he will.
“Okay,” I say, determined to end this.
“Okay, what?”
“We’re going with your plan.”
Her face lights up with surprise and joy. “Really?!”
“Yes, let’s get that fucking piece of shit.”
“That’s the spirit,” she appreciatively says, sliding closer to me.
I assist her as she comes to straddle me, the ceramic slippery. “You’ll see, baby. My plan’s the fucking bomb. We’ll get out of it alive and unharmed.”
“No matter what, if you go down, I go down.”
“Same here, baby.”
When she kisses me with invigorated excitement, I feel like what Clyde must have felt with Bonnie. It’s always been us against the world, but not to this extent. We’re going to war, and either we make it out together, or not at all.
Becker hasn’t left yet, and I’m running out of patience. He’s apparently cooped up in his office with a business partner or something, which robs me of my opportunity to do what I must. I’ve spent the entire morning following Paola around and cleaning things, swallowing back my frustration.
Before my shift, Lex and I headed to an electronics store and found the perfect micro camera.
The store clerk explained how it worked, how to activate it, and everything.
It currently resides in my bra, waiting to be taken out and hidden in the safe niche.
But for that, I need to get into that fucking office.
I eye the wall-mounted clock in the room we’re currently working in, and see it’s past noon.
Fuck, I was only supposed to come back for another morning, but it looks like I’ll have to stay this afternoon as well.
Biting back my frustration, I return to my task.
Paola and I are seated at the table in the family dining room, polishing the silverware.
I thought having that many maids was a little much, but having worked here since Monday, I now understand why.
This place is not only huge, but its owners are obsessed with keeping everything as pristine as possible.
Twelve full-time maids and six extras for the week isn’t absurd given those facts.
I’m almost done with my set of forks when Mrs. Reed appears from the service door that leads to the personal chef’s kitchen. “You,” she calls out, pointing at me. “Come with me.”
My heart instantly reacts, its pulse quickening. Fuck, fuck, fuck … Am I in trouble? Did they notice any suspicious behavior on the CCTV? Did they realize the identity I gave them is false?
Mrs. Reed doesn’t wait for me to comply, returning to the kitchen. My eyes dart to Paola, who seems as worried as I am. Should I follow the housekeeper or escape? What the hell is going on?
“Paola, you can go clean Mr. Becker’s office. You’ll finish this later.”
Just my fucking luck … The office is finally free, and I can’t go. Have our stars turned their backs on us? Is our lucky streak over? I’ll get caught, never get to hide the camera, and they’ll throw my corpse somewhere no one will ever find me. Not even Lex.
No, I’m spiraling. Mrs. Reed didn’t seem any different from her usual curt and condescending self. Maybe this is nothing. I’m freaking out for nothing.
Convincing myself this is the case, I leave everything behind me and, after one last look at Paola, pass the door Mrs. Reed was at.
I’m practically holding my breath as I arrive at the kitchen.
To my relief, there’s no one but her and the cook.
The latter seems to be cleaning up, while Mrs. Reed waits by two trays that have drool-worthy lunches on them.
Having a personal chef is quite amazing, isn’t it?
Looking down at me with her usual sternness, Mrs. Reed directs, “Turn around,” while miming the act with her finger.
I comply, a little confused, and once I’m done, she nods with a “You’ll do. Mr. Becker and his associate will have their lunch in the private parlor. You’ll follow me with the second tray.”
It takes everything not to show how panicked I am at the prospect. I was never supposed to come across Becker, and while I doubt he’d recognize me, I’d rather avoid it entirely.
“Are you sure?”
“I don’t have four arms, do I? Come on, let’s get this done. I have better things to handle, and Mr. Becker wouldn’t want to make the senator wait.”
The senator? Jesus fuck, just how deep does that man’s influence reach?
It’s as though the camera in my bra is burning me up, reminding me I can’t get fired yet. Not when this is all I have left to do to make our mission not only possible but also a success.
So, dismissing the lump in my throat and the fear in my heart, I grab the silver tray Mrs. Reed left behind and follow her. The things on it clink together slightly as my hands tremble the whole way there. By the time we reach the open double doors of the parlor, I’m still not doing any better.
In there, Becker sits in the middle of one of the massive leather Chesterfield couches, and in an identical one in front of him, I see the back of who must be the senator.
The men interrupt their conversation when they notice us—something about an upcoming campaign—and I walk in, aiming for the senator, since Mrs. Reed walks up to Becker.
I’m not well-versed in politics, so I don’t know who that man is. Becker, however, I’ve seen in pictures, dozens of them, as well as the feeds from his CCTV. I could easily have recognized him in a crowd. But seeing the man in the flesh is entirely different.
Norman Becker is an attractive man, but not in a classic way.
There’s something about him that is purely primal, like a raw magnetism few men have.
But there’s also an unsettling darkness behind his eyes.
He looks like a villain from a James Bond movie, or one of those cannibalistic serial killers that appear charming at first.
Still, between his wealth and looks, he could get any woman he wants. Why would such a man do what he did to Lorelei Madsen? Thousands of women in this city would love to become his sex slaves, let him flog them, hurt them, make them bleed …
But the man before me is a deranged bastard. A twisted fuck wrapped in an outside that doesn’t quite match his putrid inside.
My anxiety is at an all-time peak as I set the tray on the table in front of the senator.
“You really have a knack for finding the pretty ones,” the man says. My skin crawls as soon as I glimpse left and see the way he’s looking at me. Since they’re speaking in English and I’m not supposed to understand, I steel myself and put on my best poker face.
“I can’t take credit for this one,” Becker replies. “It’s the first time I’ve seen her.”
“She’s one of the extra maids I’ve hired for the week,” Mrs. Reed explains.
“Ah, a shame she won’t be here long,” the senator says.
“Let’s see if we can find her a more permanent position here, shall we, Mrs. Reed?” Becker suggests.
“Of course, sir. I’ll make sure to do so.”
I’m uncomfortable as fuck, eager to get out of this room and the whole fucking penthouse. Thankfully, Mrs. Reed motions for me to follow her, and we exit the room. “Go help Paola with the office,” she says as soon as we’re out. “Then meet me in mine.”
“Of course, Senora Reed.”
After a quick bow of my head, I practically speed-walk to the office. When I enter it, Paola is working on the shelves behind the desk. “What did she want?” she quickly asks.
“Nothing, just to carry a tray to Becker and his guest.”
She blows out a reassured breath. “This partnership is not good for my heart,” she says, visibly stressed.
“But it’s great for your wallet,” I joke in reply.
“Very much so, yes.”
I return her smile, and after tapping my bra to make sure the camera is still there, I say, “I need to do something in the closet. Cover for me if someone comes in?”
“Yes. But be quick.”
“Of course.”
I put on a pair of rubber gloves and go to the closet.
I remove the camera from my bra, take it out of the small zip bag, and find the pressing point that opens the panel.
What takes me the longest is removing the film that protects the double-sided tape we prepared ahead, struggling because of the gloves.
I’m soon done with it, though, and crouching down, I look up at the niche’s panel to figure out the best placement.
The door of the safe won’t graze it when it opens, so that’s good news.
After a couple of fake attempts to enter a code, I find the spot most likely to catch it all and stick the camera there.
Then I tug at it just a little to test the tape’s resistance and move away, satisfied with my work.
One long press later, the camera is on. After ten seconds of filming, it’ll then only activate when there’s motion detected.
And the next time that happens will be when Becker accesses his safe.