Once you wake up to what is going on in his world, the money is no longer so attractive.
Now, we are back at almost square-fucking-one with Whisper, and time is up.
No more delay.
I’ve been piecing it all together, as much as I can, because nobody knows everything. He has contacts, who suggest women to him. They are normally loners, strippers, women who won’t be missed, or who are runaways, but they are all beautiful.
He sends out his well-paid delivery boys to abduct them. I have recently climbed the ranks, and this female is my first-hand delivery. I’m about to make it to the man himself. I will finally get to meet him.
I’ve worked the shady world for two years. I knew who to put myself in front of to be noticed. He finds his sentinels in the MMA world.
I wanted in.
I was never a delivery boy. They are just thugs, lowlifes out to make some fast cash. They are dispensable.
I’m not dispensable.
I’ve been working toward this meet-and-greet for six months.
He has a maximum of two events a year, and he’s got one coming up soon. Nobody knows when but his most trusted.
Nobody knows where but the man himself until he wants his clients to know.
He is paranoid.
He is seriously warped in the head, from what I’ve heard, and I will get to witness it for myself. The fucker is also very, very clever and unpredictable.
I move the chair closer to her bed and put my feet up on it, preparing to take a nap after I’ve finished my shit coffee. The doctor says Whisper will be out for hours with the juice she gave her, and I need some shuteye before we move her.
Things were going to heat up soon enough.
This female is a complication I wasn’t expecting.
I am an undercover agent.
At whatever cost, I. Will. Bring. Him. Down.
EDGE
With all the snooping through my personal items, I had hoped a change of clothes had been brought for me from my saddlebag, but no, that wasn’t the case.
We had to go back, waste time and get to my bike at the old lady’s place. I had a few things I needed to get for the road trip to Alabama, anyway. Extra weapons and No Mercy, my small bag used to pry the truth from men’s mouths, were both priorities. They were locked away in my specially made, hard saddlebag attached to my Harley, and I was the only one who could unlock it.
While I was getting organized, Miss Catherine went inside her home and freshened up after what looked like days of wearing the same outfit. She came back changed into slacks, a shirt, and a home-knitted button up sweater that old ladies seem to favor, with sensible granny shoes.
I stayed outside and threw on a clean, black Henley, my leather jacket, and a fresh pair of jeans. I was relieved to be out of that fucking hospital Johnny—nothing manly about that get-up. I felt like my dick and balls had been shoved up inside me wearing it back to the old lady’s house.
I had to hack the jeans off at the knee with my hunting blade to allow for the moonboot I have strapped on. I gotta keep the awkward thing on for a couple months and use the crutches, Doc’s orders.
The doc wasn’t too pleased to release me, and then Miss Catherine announced she needed to borrow the doc’s wheels. I’m not comfortable not being in control, and I prefer my bike to a cage any fucking day of the week, but we had to be prepared to accommodate more than two people.
And here I am now, being chauffeured, driven by the feisty Miss Catherine, while I navigate and play the role of a fucked up Miss Daisy, lying awkwardly across the back seat of the doc’s BMW as we head toward Henrys Ferry.
We are the odd couple, driving in silence for the first few hours because this suited me fine. I wasn’t in the mood for talking. Making small talk was just an aggravation.
Her friends still haven’t made it back or contacted her. I’m beginning to wonder if Boxer had sent that message, or if it was a decoy message sent to play with her.
If I could, I would be working alone, because I don’t need the added responsibility of an old lady to babysit when I don’t know what we are walking into. I have my loaded handgun, complete with silencer, resting on the seat beside me, and I have a couple other weapons hidden on my body. I need to be prepared for a shit storm.
My mind shouldn’t have been, but it kept wandering to Whisper/Sara and the night she came for me on my bike. She was a mixture of sweet, wild, and free.
I can see her perfect, naked body, her breasts aching to be touched as she rode me. The little noises that escaped her as she gave herself fully over to the intimate connection between our bodies, as she lay arched over the gas tank while I pounded into her.
She had let herself enjoy the sexual experience with a male who she thought wasn’t out to treat her badly. She had allowed herself to use me, knowing I was there for the same reason. It was pure lust for both of us.
I was her first.
I’ve never had deep feelings for any woman. I’ve closed myself off from all that. I keep it simple. I like to fuck, and it comes with no picket fences or promises.
We were both consenting adults. She wanted to be fucked, and I wanted to fuck her. She wanted to feel normal, and I unknowingly gave her what she was seeking after a life of abuse, which now makes my stomach churn again.
At the time, I had no idea the trauma lying buried below the surface. My own blood had done things to the sweet and wild girl for a lifetime, things that were recorded, things she didn’t even understand, things she could not let anybody else see until she was ready to know herself.
There can be no punishment for William’s crimes, and this tears me up from the inside out.
I can’t take it out on his cocksucking evil hide.
He got off too fucking easy.
She just carried that all with her silently and with a closed off dignity, watching me ride away, assuming we would never see each other again. She had no clue I was the son of her nightmares, but William had already set things in motion upon his death—our meet and greet.
It was inevitable.
After everything I’ve learned, Whisper had every right to take my father’s inheritance and give herself a life. There was no compensation great enough to turn back time and return her to her biological parents and start the clock again, giving her the life she should have had with a loving, caring family.
There was no restitution for the known and unknown abuse, for the imprisonment, for the thousands of memories she keeps locked away in her mind. I know they’re locked away because I have my own. But it would have been something toward her new life.
But she still didn’t accept that fucking inheritance.
There was a son that was owed it.
She was honest.
The same son who shot her.
Jesus Christ.
I bow my head with remorse for my actions.
What have I done to the female that had shown me how innocent she was and freely showed me her wilder side? She couldn’t have possibly understood herself at the time what it all meant; she was just following her own desires.
She had never been with a man properly to know. It had all been natural base instinct for her when she allowed herself that time with me. She had been with one of the devil’s minions, and she still managed to show her sweet soul to me.