Page 18 of Scarred Sacrifice
“What if they sense something? What if they figure out who I am and why I am there?” I ask, pausing. “In fact, why am I there?”
Eden smiles. “We know Henry doesn’t keep his trafficking information at his home address. He has other properties allover registered to him, but Isabella has informed us where this year’s event is being held. It is actually at one of his properties, not registered in his name. It’s registered in his uncle’s name, so then anything found at the property he can say it was his and plead ignorance. This place is in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by woodland and a huge lake. The nearest town is over an hour away.”
“Again, that doesn’t prove that any proof is there. Which means I’ll be stuck in the middle of nowhere, with no way out and no contact with you,” I point out.
“My father has an underground office there, only accessible by an elevator. I, myself, have only ever seen it once when I was just ten years old. It’s surrounded in concrete, and the door is a thick iron door that only opens with his fingerprint. I should also mention that there is a guard on the elevator twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week,” Isabella informs us.
I throw my arms up and flop down on the couch. “So, I just have to cut off your father’s finger and somehow beat up or kill the guard without causing a scene. Easy,” I say mockingly.
Betsy hands me a small black wallet. “Inside there is a small, very thin silicone strip, along with some special powder for transferring the fingerprint. What you need to do is carefully take his glass, open the powder, and just lightly blow it onto the glass. It will highlight his fingerprint just enough for you to then place the thin strip to lift the print. Wear gloves and use that as your fingerprint to access the office,” she states smugly, like she’s solved the whole situation.
“Firstly, you said they check all luggage. How am I supposed to explain this?” I ask, holding up the wallet. “And secondly, there is still the matter of the guard, and you know not being seen by the hundred guests in attendance or the many staff members that will be working,” I remind her.
Betsy smiles and turns around, handing me a small bottle of perfume. “This is highly concentrated laxative. All you have to do is pour some in their drink, and they will be clutching their ass so tight that they won’t have time to call for a replacement. By the time they’ve emptied their guts and called for cover, you will be out of there and back at the party with no one knowing.”
“And how exactly am I supposed to roofie the guard’s laxatives?” I ask, arching my brow.
“There is a small table just to the side with a jug of water and glasses for them. Pour it into the jug and then wait,” Isabella suggests.
“Right, fine. Anything else?” Betsy winces and holds up what looks like a piercing gun. “What the fuck is that?” I ask.
“I’m going to plant a microchip in your arm. It’s just a tracking device. So, if anything should go wrong, we will know where you are, and we can come and get you.” Betsy grins.
“Hold up. You’re going to AI me?” I screech.
“We are not AI-ing you.” Eden snorts, rolling her eyes. “Well, with that in me, you are making me feel like a robot. Or a dog. We chip dogs, and I am not a dog,” I argue.
“Look, this isn’t about what you are. It’s about your safety. What if Henry decided to sell you? Or he finds out who you are and ships you off to Tim-buk-fucking-tu! Then what?” Eden rants.
“Okay, fair point. But you promise to get it out when I get back?” I ask.
Betsy winces. “Well, that might be painful. It could end up shifting inside your arm, and you may need to have it surgically removed.”
I look at the gun contraction in her hand and back up to her face. “This better fucking pay off,” I huff, holding my arm out for her.
CHAPTER SIX
MORRIGAN
“DoI really need all these outfits? It’s only for four days?” I state in protest.
“Yes, you do. Doesn’t she, Isabella?” Eden asks, looking to Isabella for confirmation.
Isabella nods while giving me an‘I’m sorry’look. Considering we were supposed to be keeping an eye on her and keeping her at arm’s length, she is now currently sitting on my bed next to the suitcase, while Eden shoves brand new outfits at me to try on. Standing in a black silk backless dress that I apparently have to wear for the black tie dinner, I cringe at all the skin I’m showing.
“I can’t wear underwear with this,” I sigh in protest.
“You don’t need underwear. Your boobs are still full and pert.” Eden shrugs.
“What if I eat too much cheese? You know what happened to me the last time I ate too much Brie,” I argue.
Eden snorts a laugh. “Yeah, you shat your pants in the middle of the grocery store.”
Isabella coughs, fighting back her own laughter. I glare at her, daring her to laugh. She looks down, covering her mouth with her hand.
“I think you look beautiful,” Betsy compliments.
“Thanks. I just don’t feel like me,” I state, fidgeting.
