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"You have got to be kidding me. You can't honestly think I'll allow you to rob me," Byron sneers, sliding his phone into his pocket.
"Give me your wallet and that fancy watch or I'll stab you."
Byron tips his head back, his laughter echoing between the buildings. "Don't state your intentions, boy. If you're going to do it, don't announce it."
The kid grips the handle, brandishing it in front of him. "Give it up. Last chance."
"How about I teach you how to actually handle a knife?"
Byron steps closer, and the kid lashes out wildly. The knife slices across Byron's arm. He lets out an angry howl and stumbles back. I wait for him to pull his own weapon, but he just glares at the younger man. The thief advances, swinging the blade out, and Byron is forced to retreat until the wall stops his progress.
I slide closer, unsheathing my knife as I go. When the would-be thief lunges, I let the dagger fly. It sinks into his forearm, forcing him to drop his own weapon. He staggers back, tugging it out and letting it clatter across the ground. Wrapping his fingers around the wound, he gapes at the blood seeping through his flesh. Byron whips his head toward me, mouth falling open as the kid takes off for the opposite end of the alley.
"Impressive," Byron grunts, winding a handkerchief around his injury, though it doesn't look deep. In fact, I'm pretty sure it's not even bleeding anymore.
Grabbing my knife, I straighten, wiping the blade on my leg before slipping it back into the sheath with trembling fingers.
"I trust you're not injured?" I ask, keeping my face impassive though my mind still reels.
"I'm fine. You're a man of many talents, it seems, Cruz."
"One can never be too prepared, Michaels. Unfortunate he got away." I gesture to where the man disappeared.
He waves away my words. "Listen, I may have an opportunity for you."
Raising an eyebrow, I tuck my hands in my pockets. Relief floods my body even as my hands curl into fists. This is the in I need, but now that it's here, I have the irrational urge to decline. All these weeks I've been searching, almost hoping I didn't find an opening. A chill chases up my spine until it freezes into an icy grin.
"I'd love to hear it."
Two
Aelia
Another day in hell. Actually, hell would be preferable to this place. At least it would be warm there. I swear I've been cold for years. It's probably because I haven't had a proper meal in that much time. After this long, I should be used to it and yet every morning I go to bed with cold feet and numb fingers. Something so small shouldn't consume so much of my mind, but if I focus on the little things, I won't lose my mind.
Banging on my door has me jolting as I'm pulling on my stiletto heels. Calling it a door is being generous. My room is an old closet with an opening half the size of a normal entrance. I don't even have a mattress, just a pile of blankets on the floor. Getting dressed in such a small space grates on my nerves, but since I have no say over anything in my life, I'm grateful for even this.
"Get up," Grant bellows, hammering on the door one last time before he stomps away.
Sighing, I resign myself to making it through one more day. I peek around the door, checking the hallway for anyone else before slipping out. The building they've claimed is huge, housing most of the organization. I think it was abandoned, but I wasn't brought here until they had the place cleaned up. A couple bedrooms are still covered in dust since they focused on the places they needed for the business.
Entering the office suite attached to a large conference room, I slow when I spot my boss. He's not really my boss, but it's the only way I can think of him without examining the mess my father trapped me in almost ten years ago. Even back then, the Guild had been around for a few decades, passed from one despicable human to the next.
Shuffling around to my makeshift desk, I settle into the chair. It's the most comfortable thing I've had in my life for a while. He only gave it to me to keep up with appearances. Can't have a random whore sitting on the floor with a laptop without inviting questions as to why she's not being sold.
"Begin," Jenkins murmurs, and I grab a notepad and pen.
The laptop is still booting up, but Jenkins won't wait for it. He'll blame me for wasting his time. I shudder, thinking about the last time I fucked up. The small scars still litter my skin, reminding me of my transgressions. The mental ones run deeper.
Grant constantly berates me, telling me how temporary my place is. Although I'm beginning to think he's exaggerating. The threat worked when my father first sold me, but it's watered down now. They'd never sell me. I know too much. They'll have to bury me, which is still on the table.
"Joseph Merrick is requesting another meeting. He wants to bypass the system and be granted full VIP access because of his position. Reynolds told him that wouldn't be a possibility, but he was insistent on speaking with someone higher up."
Jenkins leans back, tapping his finger against his full lips. My eyes keep skipping to him as I pull up the programs I need for the day. Mostly I work with the money side of things. I'm basically a glorified accountant with a little receptionist work thrown in for good measure. When everything is set, I stare at him, wondering where his life went wrong.
This is one of the mind games I play to make the night go faster—how did a relatively attractive and rich man fall into an organization that traffics humans along with a plethora of other dirty businesses thrown in for good measure? Even in his fifties, he's still handsome with his salt and pepper hair and strong cheekbones. Maybe it was a family business and he was merely born into it. Jenkins certainly treats it like a business instead of the hellscape it actually is.
"Set it up. Also, set up something with Dante Cruz."
