Page 31 of Retribution
People still talk about that blood bath. Even though my skin is clean now, I have a running tally of the people I’ve killed. I have no regrets whatsoever.
Only that I wish that humanity could be better than it is. Then maybe I wouldn’t need to fill the vacuum.
“That’s not cute when it’s true,” Devon grumbles. “I may need your services, and wanted to know if you were free.”
“Ah, when? I’m currently working on something personal,” I hedge. This could mean anything. Since I’m living as a beta with my medical cocktail that I’ve been weaning myself off of in a bag next to me, I can’t and won’t tell him any more.
The fact that I’m an equal opportunity hit man for all designations if they’ve been naughty helps reinforce the lie that I’ve been telling.
“In a few weeks,” he says slowly. “I have an issue with another club who is trying to encroach on my space.”
“That’s club business,” I remind him. “I have no issues with being showy with my abilities, but you usually hire me to slit throats or torture when we work together.”
“I know. This would be a little different. I need your brand of crazy on my side. I mean that in the most respectful way possible,”he says.
“I don’t do begging or compliments, Devon. What shit did you get yourself into?” I ask.
“Not me. My second in command,”he grumbles, beginning to explain. “He’s fucking the president’s daughter. Toad seems to think that if he helps the president take over my club that he’ll get extra brownie points or some shit.”
“With a name like ‘Toad,’ what do we expect?” I ask, grossed out by his actions. “It sounds like you’re talking about going to war. Why can’t I just slit throats and bring you the heads of Toad and the president? It would be cleaner.”
Devon coughs while I grin wildly. This may be why I’m the hitman instead of being in any kind of leadership position. My answer is to kill first in these situations.
“Think about it and then call me back,” I say, hanging up. I think my position is clear.
Devon is making shit too complicated.
As I get closer to Lucas’ town, I begin to plan my next steps. There’s a small cafe with wifi on their sign to welcome people traveling a couple of miles away from Bargersville, so I decide to stop to connect to the internet. I could probably use a bite to eat as well. I remember the look in Lucas’ gaze when he worried that I may not be eating enough.
It was possessive, concerned, and how I think a real alpha may react in response to his omega not getting what she or he needs. It shocked and aroused me. There wasn’t a shred of pity in his eyes either.
I don’t want to be thought of as broken. I’m a survivor. I’m dealing with this in the best way that I can. The scars on my inner thighs are always covered by pants, and when I woreshorts for Lucas, I made sure to wear fishnets so that the white scars couldn’t be seen at all.
I’m going to have to cross that bridge when I get to it.
Finding a parking spot, I keep my head down as I grab my phone, backpack with my laptop, and a VPN card to disguise my IP address. I have ten of them that I regularly change out so I can stay under the radar.
Oliver is a smart alpha, if he saw any of the stuff I was shoving in my bags, he’d know a fellow hacker. However, I’m not as good as he is. I can do enough to keep myself alive and get shit done.
Getting out of the car, I lock up and walk to the cafe. It’s busy for four in the afternoon, and I smile as I push my sunglasses up onto my forehead and watch as the hostess comes over.
“Can I get a table, please?” I ask.
“Just you?” she asks, glancing at the chart of tables to see what’s available.
“Yes, just me.”
The woman nods, grabs a menu, and twists around to make sure the table she’s leading me to is clean.
“Follow me,” she says.
I walk behind her as she makes a path through the tables to one against the wall. That’s exactly where I like to sit. Perfect. The bathroom is within eyesight, as are the exits.
Taking the menu from the woman, I barely get to thank her before she darts off to help a table. It makes me realize that everyone fills in for each other, which must make this place run well.
Gazing over the menu, I find the WiFi password and take a photo of it so I can get my laptop connected. Deciding on a grilled portobello, I push away the menu and pull out my laptop. There’s enough table space for me to work and eat, and I’m verygrateful for that because I need to pull together what I’ve been thinking about on the drive over.
“Do you know what you’d like?” a waitress asks as I type in the WIFI link. The new VPN is in the drive of my laptop, so I glance up with a small lift of my lips.
