Page 59 of One for the Money
But what reason have I given her to think that I am a safe place to land in this situation?
“Boss,” Dario whines from my couch, “we need to go check on her.”
“No,” I snap for the thousandth time. “She’ll come find us when she’s ready.”
“And if she’s never ready?”
“She has to come out eventually.” I rub between my eyes, unable to read the email from a strongman and cannonball catcher who wants to join the troupe. I don’t have the bandwidth to even think about bringing in newmembers when I’ve got a veritable shit show unfolding around me.
I’ve got rats in my midst, and no idea how to ferret them out.
“Any progress on finding out who it was that attacked Alex?” I ask the acrobat. He shakes his head sadly.
“No, everyone is pretty tight-lipped. I didn’t want to reveal our hand that we know it happened, but no one has a bad word to say about her. I can’t even begin to guess who it was.”
I don’t want to think that anyone I hired could be capable of this, but this isn’t exactly a bunch of choir boys. Most of us have addiction, violence, and a general disdain for authority in our pasts. Some have rap sheets as long as my arm.
But there are some things I don’t fuck with. Rob a convenience store?
Fine.
A little casual arson?
No big deal.
Resist arrest?
Welcome aboard.
Protesting your rights and a corrupt government throws you in jail for bullshit charges?
Even fucking better.
But violence against Omegas and children? I’ll take the trash out myself.
Which is why I have no idea where even to begin looking, because none of my crew have the backgrounds that would hint at this being a possibility. It’s like I’m flying blind.
“Just keep your ears open. I don’t want to think one of our own did this, but…”
“But I believe her,” he finishes for me. “And Quintonand Matteo saw injuries on her. So, regardless of whether we want to believe it or not, it happened. And we can’t let it happen again.”
“Speaking of injuries, why didn’t those assholes tell the rest of us?” I push up from my chair and head to the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee. “They didn’t think I needed to know that something was going on in my circus?”
The ancient machine sputters and starts to spit out the thick, dark liquid, the slightly bitter smell of cheap coffee filling my trailer. My caffeine consumption is strictly functional. I don’t care what it tastes like, I need it to keep me moving.
“To be fair, they’ve got a lot going on right now, what with Quinton literally Rotting from the inside out.” Dario hops to his feet and pads across the room. How can he be so graceful, so light-footed, and yet take up so much space? “Gonna offer me a cup, big guy?”
I pour two mugs and shove one into his waiting hands. “Still. It’s disrespectful, not to mention dangerous, to keep something like that from me.” I take a sip of the coffee.
It’s disgusting, as usual.
“I’m not arguing with you,” he says, taking a sip of the coffee I handed him and then making a twisted face. “You make the worst cup of coffee I’ve ever had.” Dario’s thoughts seem to mimic my own.
“Then go back to your place and make your own,” I grunt.
His eyes sparkle as he places a hand on my shoulder. “And miss out on this bonding session? Why would I do that?” The Alpha flounces off, returning to my couch and sprawling out, legs stretching his loose shorts wide.
“Why are you here, Dario?” I ask, trying not to look at the skin of his thighs, dusted with dark hair that is at oddswith what’s on his head, which peeks out of the bottom of his shorts.
