My only rule—I don't help rapists or pedophiles, which isn't an issue since Legion makes those types disappear in a more permanent way. Murderers, I take case-by-case. I've helped bad guys get away, but they weren’t lacking the moral compass I require if they want my help. There is such a thing as a gray area, mainly when it comes to murder.
“Jesus, is that who I think it is?” Silas whispers, his question saturated in disbelief.
My heart stops beating the second I lay eyes on her.
Molly fucking Devereaux is heading toward the counter, her eyes darting in every direction. Her shoulders are curved inward, and she's picking at her nails anxiously. Dark brown curls are deliberately arranged around her face, but those sad, green eyes and the scar on the apple of her cheek… it's a dead giveaway.
She was plastered all over the news when she went missing. And then her baby sister, Layla, eight months later. Most assume their father took Layla and ran, but neither has been seen since. Both girls with strange disappearances, which still haven't been solved to this day.
It's been almost six years since she disappeared. Now, here she is, in the flesh. And she looks no less sad than she did in her missing person poster .
“I got this one handled.” I jerk my chin at Silas, signaling for him to leave us alone. Without a word, he disappears in the back.
“They say that people who have eyes like yours are destined for a tragic death.”
There's a slight pause to her gait, but she pushes forward until she's a foot away, only a counter between us.
“Sanpaku eyes,” I clarify. “When you have a gap below your irises.”
“Do you greet all your guests by telling them they're going to go out in a ball of flames?”
“That's typically why they come to find me. I'm the one who saves them from the fire.”
She hums, distracting me from counting the freckles on her nose. I only got to fifteen, but I don't mind restarting.
“I'm just here for a TV,” she lies.
My answering grin is involuntary. “Sure, what kind?” I question.
“Uh—” She glances around and then points to a fifty-inch flat screen. And if I had to guess, far out of her price range. “That one.”
“That'll be five hundred dollars.”
Her wide eyes fly to mine. “Jesus,” she mumbles. “That's literally so unnecessary.”
I point toward our cheapest TV. It's a small box from a decade ago, but it has been refurbished.
“Fifty bucks for that one.”
Her nose wrinkles in distaste. “That doesn't look worth more than a dollar.”
“It's an antique.”
“It looks better suited to host a bonfire,” she retorts without hesitation.
I' m full-on smiling like a fucking fool.
“It probably is, but be careful, my employee might hear you. That's his pride and joy.”
She raises a brow. “My condolences to his wounded ego.”
Damn. I think I love her.
She clears her throat, realizing we've been staring at each other with stupid grins on our faces.
“So, uh, do you take payment plans for putting out fires?”
I lean my arms on the counter, now looking up at her from beneath my brows. I can feel how wicked it is, but I'm unable to hide it.
“First, tell me your name. Mine is Cage Everhart.”
She narrows her eyes, seemingly suspicious.
“You’re telling me you don’t know who I am? Legion didn’t tell you I was coming?”
I grin, appreciating her observation.
“Legion actually didn’t warn me, the fucker. But while I do recognize you, I wanted to be careful in case you go by something else.”
She hums, then answers, “Molly. You can call me Molly.”
I hold out a hand for her to shake, which she grabs timidly. The second her skin touches mine, it feels like tiny electrical currents zapping between our palms.
“Nice to meet you, Molly,” I rasp.
If I had to hold her hand forever, it wouldn’t be long enough. However, she releases me and pulls out a black card from the back pocket of her dark blue jeans, appearing unsure. “Legion?”
She says it like it's a question, though the gold letters say just that.
I've seen this card a handful of times. And every time, the person handing it over is someone who desperately needs an escape.
It also means Legion is completely covering their fee. And my prices are steep.
“Do you know where you want to go?” I ask, brushing my thumb over the foil letters. Usually, I keep the card, but I slide it back to her for reasons I can't explain. Hesitantly, she grabs it and tucks it in her jeans again.
“Alaska.” The answer seems to burst from her throat, as if it's been imprisoned behind her teeth.
I raise a brow in surprise. Most people try to go to the beach, where it's warm and makes them feel like they've escaped to a tropical island. I could send people to places like that, but most can't afford that hefty fee.
Ultimately, they go where I send them, though I do try to find somewhere they're happy with. Especially if they deserve that peace.
“You like the cold?”
She shrugs, and it seems as if she’s battling with her next words.
“If I'm out in the wilderness, just me and the wolves, no one will find me. No one will recognize me. I've disappeared once. This time, I want it to be for good.”
My tongue forms the words to ask what happened to her that day. Who was chasing her? Did they put that haunted look in her eyes? How did she escape? And what is driving her to stay hidden from the world?
“It's going to take my team a good twenty-four hours to obtain everything,” I tell her.
Her fingers tap on the counter, and she chews on her lip nervously.
“Does this happen to come with accommodations before I leave?” she questions, her cheeks beginning to flush red with embarrassment. “I, uhm, I don't really have anywhere to go while I wait.”
Legion will cover all her expenses, including food and necessities. If she has that black card, she might as well have his credit card.
But I don’t tell her that part. Not yet, at least.
“Sure,” I say. “We’ll help get you set up in a hotel. Legion will cover you.”
Her shoulders fall in relief, but mine tighten.
It's a feeling I can't name. One that probably has some fucking obscure word to describe it. But knowing this may be the last time I see her before she leaves doesn't settle right with me. In fact, it makes me downright desperate to ensure it's notmy last moment with her.
Not because of who she is and what happened to her. But because, for some indescribable reason, she feels like mine.
“Give me a second to get some things sorted. Stay put, yeah?”
“Yeah,” she croaks, casting another glance around.
She's uncomfortable, and I decide immediately that I really fucking hate that.
It's not easy pulling my gaze away from her, but I force myself to turn and head into the back. Silas is standing in front of a stack of boxed TVs, a clipboard in his hand as he sorts through inventory.
“Go out front and keep an eye on her? Make sure she's not recognized. I'll only be a minute.”
“You got it,” he chirps, before setting down his clipboard and heading out to the front.
I wait a few minutes, ensuring he isn't around, then I pull out my phone and get to work. Within a minute, I'm calling the first hotel.
“Thank you for calling the Milton Hotels. How may I help you?” a woman greets, her voice high-pitched.
“I'd like to book every available room for the night.”
There's a pause. “I-I'm sorry, you said all available rooms?”
“Yes, please. Every single room. Until you're fully booked and don't have a single fucking one to spare.”
“Uhm, okay. Sure.”
Once that's done, I proceed to call every hotel within a thirty-mile radius and book them out, too.
Molly
Nine Years Ago
2013
“Do you have a computer I can use to find a hotel?” I ask, tapping my fingers against the counter nervously. Cage just returned from the back, and anxiety is gnawing at my stomach.
This entire situation is so far out of my depth, and I feel a little sick if I analyze it too deeply.
So easily, I could be walking into another wolf's den. I'm not sure if escaping human trafficking has made me cautious or reckless at this point. Everything I do feels like my life is on the line, and I'm not sure if I'll live long enough to know peace.