AllFreeNovel
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The elevator is old and slow, and it takes forever to get to the fourth floor. When the doors finally open, I step out into a long hallway. The walls are covered in graffiti, and the carpet is stained and worn.
No one on this project ever promised me luxury.
I walk down the hallway until I find the apartment I am looking for. I knock on the door, and it opens a few seconds later. I'm sure there are cameras everywhere, and they know damn well who I am.
Butter rushes to my knees, excited as hell to see me. At least someone in my life is. While getting Butter was part of a larger plan, I’ve been surprised by how attached I am to him.
“Good boy,” I tell him, the big old goof going on his back, showing me his belly. Giving good scratches means my shoulders relax, the bulge of money in my pocket a reminder of the crazy morning.
I was out buying dog food, came home with a few extra grand for shits and giggles.
Except there’s no laughing about that fender bender. That was Paigelynn, and those goons were way more than standard security guys.
I sit down on the couch and look around. The apartment is small and cramped. The furniture is worn, and the carpet is stained beyond repair. There are smears on the walls, a couple of them a dark rust color that makes me turn away.
I don't want to know how those happened.
Some dude I don’t know, with no hair, a thick, black goatee, and eyes that look like murder weapons jerks his head toward the hall. In a bedroom, if you can call it that, I see a command post. Two cheap, long plastic tables with old folding chairs around them, and two large monitors, both with a woman’s face all over them, in a montage of pictures that could be an Oscar nominee’s thirty seconds of fame, but instead is all we’ve got to save her life.
Debbie's “office” door is ajar, and I make the walk to her desk, my eyes scanning the room. There's a new face at the table.
"Hey, Lauren," I greet the redhead. Her eyes are blue, her hair a deep shade of red. Her skin is freckled, and though it hides muscle that stretches in long, hard lines, she's also covered in colorful tattoos.
Lauren isn't an operative who blends in anywhere but in motorcycle compounds.
Which are her jam.
The American flag tattoo on her forearm is just one of them. There's a sword on her forearm, the tip of the blade coming to the inside of her wrist, with the words "The sword of truth" written above it.
She gives me a small smile, her lips tight.
"Debbie's here?" I ask.
"She's in the bathroom."
"She alright?"
"She's wondering the same about you."
"Me?"
"You look like shit."
"Thanks, Lauren."
"I mean it. You know I know what you've been through with the code. I'm worried about you. Gotta stay focused."
"I'm fine." Butter comes up behind me, his tail thumping my calf. “See? Butter’s wagging happily. That means I’m fine.”
She smiles at the dog, then frowns at me.
"You're not fine." She glances toward the bathroom. "And Debbie's a live wire these days."
“Got into a car accident on the way here.”
“No shit? Whose fault.”
“Mine.”
