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I need a list of all the VIPs that used Eden.
HARLEY
I don’t like where I think this is going.
XAVION
You got it. How’s she doing?
KAIN
She’s healing.
HARLEY
Kain. Don’t do what I think you’re about to do.
KAIN
Get me the list.
HARLEY
Fucking hell, Kain. Fine.
I toss my phone on my bed and ready myself for a satisfying hunt. Dressed in my signature black suit and silver cufflinks, I secure myself in my metaphorical armor. Two guns in their holsters hidden under my jacket. Another tucked into the back of my pants. A smaller gun strapped to my ankle. And a copious amount of knives hiding in seams and pockets topping off my ensemble.
A chime from my bed signals an incoming message—Xavion with a list of twenty names and a jovial note that reads,I’d start at the top. Happy Hunting.
* * *
The high-rise officebuilding that houses the Minor and Smith law offices is one of the tallest in the city, with thirty floors of office space and a penthouse apartment at the top. Inside, on the thirtieth floor, a man who sits behind his desk, his world perfect with a loving wife and doting daughter. I skim down his online social media profile, flipping through pictures of smiling faces and family outings. The latest, a celebration dinner at a fancy restaurant for his wife’s birthday, a wife he doesn’t deserve. This man has a secret, one I’m about to expose for all the world to see.
I ride the elevator to the twenty-nineth floor and climb the stairs one more. Most people have left for the day, but I wait in a small alcove on the stairs for Mr. Minor’s receptionist to say her goodbyes and enter the elevator.
Waiting for the elevator to close and start its descent to the ground level, a familiar feeling of excited anticipation hums through my body, igniting every cell and making me feel truly alive.
On silent feet, I exit the stairwell and approach the heavy wooden door. I rap my knuckles on the frame leading into the office of one senior attorney and co-partner of Minor and Smith. “Mr. Minor,” I say, keeping my face expressionless.
He jumps at the sound of my voice, obviously not expecting anyone to be in the office this late on a Friday evening, before composing himself, and asking, “Can I help you?”
I step slowly into his office, my hands in my pockets, a relaxed note to my stance so as not to set him off too early. I want him quaking in fear of me, need it, but not just yet. “I’m hoping you can.” I push a little sorrow into my tone, letting him relax into my presence, but only for a moment. I take a seat in a chair across the desk from him and pull out my phone, lighting it up with an image of Eden, bloody and broken filling my screen. “You see this girl,” I turn the phone so he can see the screen, “do you know her?” I ask.
His complexion pales as he stares at the screen. Is it the gruesome image that has him turning a shade of green now, or is it the fact that he’s been caught?
Do you honestly care?I ask myself. Not really, but I do wonder if he ever felt this sick after one of his nights with her at the club. After he took leather to her milky skin, wrapped his meaty hands around her neck, left bruises and marks all over her, and took what he wanted without her say. Maybe after the first night, before the power and control corrupted his mind. The barest hint of recognition crosses his face, a twitch of his right eye, the way his pupil dilates, and the small hitch in his breath when he looks at the screen. “I’m sorry, I don’t,” he finally says, swallowing hard.
Pulling the phone back, I glance at the screen “Hmm, are you sure?” I hold the phone back out to him. “Look again, and I caution you against lying to me, Mr. Minor. While you may have friends in low places, you should know they will do you no good against me. I don’t fear any of them,” I whisper, reveling in the way his body trembles.
“I-I might have seen her at a club I sometimes frequent. I think she’s a dancer there. Scarlet Bush Club.” He sits back in his seat as though he’s shared everything he knows and is completely relaxed and not at all worried about what might come next.
I stand, running my fingertips along the edge of his desk as I walk around to stand behind him and grip the back of his chair. “So, you’ve never talked to her? Never had any interactions with her?”
“Nope, none that I can recall.” There’s a slight visible tremor in his hands, one he tries to hide by gripping the arms of his chair.
Bending down close, I speak low next to his ear. “You’ve never gone to a back room with her, never requested to have some one-on-one time? Maybe live out a fantasy or two?”
“N-no,” he stutters. Sweat beads along his brows and hairline.
