Page 155 of Wicked Minds
Every detail she spills is gasoline, fanning an already raging flame, stoking it into an uncontainable bonfire.
When she’s done, I choke out, my voice a barely recognizable growl, “Alright. I’ll get a profile put together and reach out to my contacts. What about papers?” I ask. “Birth certificate, passport, that sort of thing?”
She nods emphatically. “I have her birth certificate. She doesn’t have a passport.”
“I’ll need all that too.”
“I need this dealt with swiftly,” she states, that air of superiority returning. “I don’t have much time.”
My facial expression remains neutral, although my mind spins in a hundred different directions, attempting to put together puzzle pieces I don’t even have.
Why the urgency? Why now? Does this have to do with Bertram’s parole hearing? The timing seems too coincidental, yet I don’t have enough information. Only stacking questions with no answers in sight.
“Of course.”
With our business concluded, her coy expression returns. She practically glues herself to my side, her hand possessivelyon my thigh, nails digging in.Remind me to burn these clothes when I get home.
“Well,” I state, gently untangling my arm from hers as I rake my hand through my hair. “I believe that is everything. I don’t see us having any issues getting this little girl off your hands.” My smile is slimy and savage as I slide out of the booth and stand.
“Y-you’re leaving?” she asks, stunned. “B-but don’t you want your payment?”
I flash her a haughty smirk, my eyes falling to rest on her chest. “I prefer to receive my rewards at the end of a job well done.”
Not hanging around, I stride out of the room. My steps quicken, and I’m practically shoving my way through the busy underground rooms, rushing up the stairs so fast that I bang my head on the low ceiling more than once.
Stumbling onto the street, I press my hand against the side of the building and vomit my guts up.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Straightening, I wipe the back of my hand along my mouth, ignoring the stares from passers-by as I move away from the building. I brush my hands down my arms as I walk, still feeling that vile, disgusting bitch pawing at me.
How she can think for one second that I’d actually be interested… and yet I led her on. Ilether touch me. Fucking flirted right back.
I know I did it for the right reasons. That, knowing the situation, Riley wouldn’t hold my actions against me. However, it doesn’t alleviate the nausea churning in my stomach as I make a beeline for my truck and climb in behind the wheel.
“Well?” Grayson asks.
I don’t speak. Can’t. Can’t voice aloud what I just sat in on. What I fucking contributed to.
“You not gonna clue me in?”
“Not yet,” I manage to choke out as I navigate back onto the freeway, only half of my attention on the road. The other half is still in that room, replaying that conversation and trying to work out what the fuck I can do to prevent Riley’s daughter from being sold on the black fucking market.
“Well, can you at least tell me where we’re going?”
“The Depot,” I grunt. “I need to talk to Xander.”
“What’s up?” Xander asks, eyeing me from behind his desk with his arms crossed. The three of us are crammed into his small office at The Depot.
“I need you to put me in touch with someone good with computers. A hacker. That sort of shit.”
His eyes widen in surprise, unused to such a request from me. Typically, I come here to fight and get paid, occasionally to get shit-faced. “Why?”
Mimicking his pose, I state, “Can’t tell you.”
His sharp stare holds me in place. Xander is a smart guy, quick on his feet, and observant as hell.
