Page 39 of Wallflower

“Fine,” he grumbles like a child that’s just been scolded.

The video clicks off, and Richmond pockets his phone. “Someone will come for you…eventually.” He chuckles beneath his breath as he crosses the cement floor, black tactical boots scuffing loudly.

My withered body sags as the closing lock scrapes into place. The horrific sight looking back at me awakens a churning nausea in my gut. Not that there’s anything in my stomach to lose.

I can’t stop the shiver that overcomes my naked body, but I stuff down the tears starting to well up.

I am not what they will make of me.

I can endure whatever they throw my way.

The lights click off, and silence engulfs me.

Encased in darkness, exhaustion quickly pulls me beneath sleep’s surface.

Steering my car down the winding driveway, I resist the urge to call Kyle, my second-in-command. That meeting went better than I could have imagined. Like I’ve already got one foot in the door to Mr. Smythe’s operation, and all that’s left is to plant the bomb.

Pausing at the turn to the main road, I decide to pull a left—the opposite direction of the hotel I’m staying at. Bucky’s sister, Shantel, is waiting for me, but I feel as though I should have her deliver some goodies to my crew. I know, without a doubt, Mr. Tech-Genius will work through the night once he learns about Bleakcrest’s intricate security system.

I turn into the gas station, thankful I took the time to wash Rose’s blood from my arms. Her essence still colours my chest,but with the buttons done up, it’s concealed. The lacerations across her skin saturated my black clothes in an instant, but due to the weather, it dried just as fast.

Moving quickly, I fuel up the rental car I didn’t want, but Shantel insisted on. She’s the head of my security team for a reason, so I listen. Though I make sure she can hear my grumble of annoyance on the added cost.

Despite my love of dinosaurs, the founder of the prehistoric park and I have little in common.I’d rather spare the expense.

I’m a cheap asshole, and I know it.

Well, maybe I’m not. Not where it counts, anyway.

The outrageous amount I’m about to drop on Rose is enough to make me sick. If I don’t deliver on my promise to eliminate Maximus’s competition, that is. On my way out of Bleakcrest, Mr. Smythe and I brokered a new deal. He’d house my toy while I hunt down and take care of the rival. I may come and go as I please, and the joy I feel as all the pieces fall into place is incomparable.

Kyle isn’t going to be happy about the new plan, but he will have to get over it, especially if I sweeten the pot.

The mere thought of handing that money over to my enemy almost brings me to my knees. But knowing it’ll be back in my pocket eventually is enough to assuage the nausea.

The fact my dick got hard before touching her helped as well. That’s never happened before, and honestly, I’d probably drop an obscene amount of cash to have the experience again. Only, I want the luxury of unlimited, uninterrupted time when we next share space.

Fist tightening on the pump handle, I feel my fingers curve around her delicate throat. My cock tingles in my finely made dress pants as I slam it up into her. Reality fades away when she willingly kneels before me, parting her lips for my cock. I takeher pretty fucking mouth violently, over and over, until those tears she refused thatsadistic lapdogflow freely for me.

No one but me.

The handle pops out, signalling the gas tank is full, and snapping me back to the present. I’m hard as the coconuts that line the ground, standing here like a zoned-out dumbass.

Looking between the shitty gas station, and the grocery store down the road, I roll my eyes, huffing dramatically. Fucking Shantel and her absoluteneedfor fresh mangoes. At least the short drive will give me a moment to get my dick under control.

I live on the island, and run all my business from the warehouse in the industrial area. However, I can’t risk being seen there with my new face. I’ve come too far—involved too many people in this plan to fuck it all up. It’s why I’m living uncomfortably in hotels, renting cars, and travelling pointlessly. There’s so many burner phones lying around I can barely keep them straight. It’s all for the facade—the illusion I’m maintaining as a business man dabbling in the dark.

The store’s entrance doors slide open when I approach, the cooled air brushing against my heated skin. The way to Kyle’s heart is through ice cream, though I doubt it would get to him before it melted. I need something that says, “I’m sorry, but you have to dress up like a corpse so I can take your picture and prove to Maximus you’re dead.” Gummy worms convey that, right? If not, I’m sure he’d get the morbid joke of him eating worms instead of them eating him.

Moving quickly through the shop, I grab energy drinks and fruit leather for Bucky. All the fixings for an amazing sundae for Kyle—sans the ice cream. Perhaps since I spend an embarrassingly long time picking mangoes out for Shantel, she can grab some moose tracks ice cream—Kyle’s favourite—before she heads back to the warehouse.

On my way to check-out, I’m intercepted by a rather flustered man in a bright-as-hell floral button up shirt and beige cargo shorts. “E-excuse me,” he pants. Sweat coats his wrinkled brow, short salt-and-pepper hair saturated with it. “Have you seen either of my daughters?” Holding his phone up, he shows me a picture of two smiling young women. One is tall and thin with long blonde hair. The other is shorter, scarlet-red hair falling down over her shoulders.

Taking a minute to observe the image before I reply, something tickles the back of my brain. It’s like there’s a flicker of something I should know, but can’t grasp. “I’m sorry, I don’t recognize either of them.”

“Please, just look again,” he pleads, green eyes heavy with a look of defeat. He swipes to another picture. This one’s of just the blonde. “Her name’s Chelsea. She’s twenty-four, and probably with her sister, Rose. She’s twenty-two.” He brushes the drops of sweat from his brow before swiping the screen again, bringing up a new picture of the red head. There’s a comical scowl marring her face as she glares at someone out of frame.

“They’re missing?” I ask.