"Be patient where you sit in the dark. The dawn is coming."

Rumi

LUKE

I give Oliver some time off. I always take care of my personal business myself.

I'Ve spent my day securing ties and doing some investigating. Seventy-five percent of my business is up and running again. The rest of my buyers are spooked. Even so, they know better than to go elsewhere. I don't tolerate competition.

I add another tick to the long list of problems and losses Mrs. Conway has gifted me. My resources are still digging into who got me released. Whomever it is has a high reach, if I've failed to reveal them by now.

I'm currently on my way to a meeting with Weston Conway. Making sure our lunch is public and that he comes alone is a must. Who knows if his daughter tags along on his business deals. Best, make sure she sits this one out.

The moment my voice registers, Weston becomes sweet as pie. As our conversation rolls, my patience gets shorter. Weston's fear is palpable. I also detect a good amount of surprise. That rules him out as my Bailer. He assures me he had nothing to do with my arrest. I'm a walking lie detector, and something doesn't sit right, but as the saying goes, "keep your friends close and your enemies closer."

I proceed to tell him I think no such thing, just re-establishing my connections. Weston seems to relax, but not completely. I grin into the phone. Smart man, I may have underestimated his intelligence. I'll still play him like a fiddle, but this meeting isn't for that.

I know that he knew the guys he set me up with were sex traffickers. Weston had tried to sell the idea to me five years ago, and I shut him down then, like I did to the guys at the meet. (I don't deal women. Everyone has a line.) My action surprised only one of the men that night. If my hunch is right, Weston wanted it to gown exactly how it did. As I recall, just before I rejected the offer. The Tweaker had already caulked his gun. I thought maybe he took the chance to take out his competition, but no, that wasn't his objective. it didn't add up then, and it still doesn't. When you make a call like that, you don't run. You stay and gloat. I don't have proof, but the pieces are starting to fit.

I arrive at the uptown steakhouse purposely late for two reasons. To scope out his company, and I want him to sweat.

I smile, knowing his daughter is mine, and he's completely clueless. I know this because I drove by her apartment this morning, and although she wasn't home, no one else was there either. I don't know about him, but if I had a daughter and the guy she put in, Mortalcine got out. She'd be locked up so tight. A breeze wouldn't pass by without my knowing. This guy is oblivious. Which leads me to believe he thinks he's untouchable or very sly, and that automatically gives me the upper hand.

I unbutton my suit jacket and sit down. Weston is indeed sweating. His overweight form pushes the integrity of the buttons on the no less than a thousand dollar shirt he's soaking. His attention skates across my newly gained scar, careful not to linger. Weston's Adam's apple bobs as his sickly sweet smile makes another appearance.

"Its good to see you, Mr. Trien."

I lean back to allow the server to fill my coffee. She's careful not to make eye contact. I was formidable before, now with the scar, I guess I'm damn near unapproachable. I order the house special and she scurries away.

"Not eating?" I goad. Weston pats his belly and informs me he's on a diet. Yeah, right! I sip my coffee as he fumbles with shaky hands. It's perfect timing,

"So, let's get started, what's the next order? Exotic animals? One of a kind artifact?... Women?" I say the last slow, and with meaning. Weston loses the grip of his cup, nearly emptying the contents in his lap. He starts,

"I'm sorry! I swear I didn't know what their pitch was. I just owed them a favor. I had nothing to do with what happened!"

Liar, but I go with it. Let him get comfortable.

"Hey relax. I'm not blaming you. How could you have known it all happened so fast,"

He buys my spiel. I am peace. Little does he know that by this time next year I'll have destroyed his daughter, his company, and his reputation. I smile with that hidden knowledge. He mistakes it for affability and mirrors my expression. Weston's posture becomes relaxed. He tells me he's up for president and is being observed too closely, but when the election is over, there's a one of a kind of painting he's had his eye on. I assure him it's a cakewalk.

Weston leaves when I finish my lunch. I call Oliver back and ask him to look into Avery's presence at the meet that landed me in Mortalcine. I was certain she was in on it, but could it be coincidental? I have to look at this through a pin of a needle and at all angles.

Some time later. I attack my body with a mixture of fresh greens, berries, and a highly concentrated protein powder. Starting out in my suite with simple stretches. It clears my mind and prepares my muscles for the onslaught ahead. Shortly after, I head downstairs to the gym. In my second rep, my muscles start burning. It's a satisfying feeling. Renewing me from the inside out. A smile plays at my lips as my body prepares for fresh growth, my mind fixates on the reprisal to come. When my body is truly worked, I retire to my floor and into my kitchen. Leaning back, I sip on my earl grey, then choose a spot with an unrestricted view near the window where I can watch her lounge on her balcony.

She's pretty, looks nothing like her father. Her cool brown hair skates across her generous thighs as she reaches for her drink. Hm... she's thick in all the right places. Good, I can afford to get a little rough with her, doing no lasting damage. Huh, that's odd. My plans were to kill her, right? Torture, question, and serve her in a bag to her father. Today, the latter doesn't sit right with me. Why not? Is the question she deserves it. Maybe all of my humanity hasn't vanished yet. "Give it time." I think aloud...

Since I'm a busy man and don't have the availability to stake her out daily. I take alternative measures.
Today, I'm in the coffee shop she frequents as I wait for her to leave or sleep. Then I can ditch this stale coffee shop and bug her house. It's amazing what a few nanny cams can do. Not to mention the drive copier, I plan to swipe across her laptop and phone. Once I have her contacts, schedule, voice recordings, it won't be hard to make her disappear. If I'm patient, her suffering can have no end.

In the time I take to have two teas and a biscuit. I'm confident Avery is in a deep sleep. I slip past the server as she mops the floor before closing. It's dark enough that I could climb the fire escape and drop to her balcony, but I don't have to. I had a key made today for both the front and her apartment. I sent a hired hand to the manager with ten thousand. McLain said the manager didn't even hesitate. Whoever said money can't buy your happiness, didn't have enough.

I enter her house to find it clean and tidy. No clutter, just the basics. It smells like strawberries and light traces of cleaner. It's overall... pleasant. After a quick survey. I find many hidden places with an excellent view. I can discreetly hide the pin size cameras. I've just placed the last one a few feet from her bed when my attention is captured by a breathy sigh coming from the balcony.

My feet take me before my mind has time to follow. Up close, she's quite exquisite. I would have guessed her age to be twenty at most. It's hard to believe she's just five years my junior. Her skin looks soft and creamy. Avery is fair skinned, at least three shades lighter than my mixed pic and European complexion. Freckles dot her shoulders and travel across her chest. Before I realize, my finger follows the trail of my eyes as I dip between her cleavage. My skin heats, and I reluctantly pull away. Every fiber of my being is urging me to take her now, but I can't. If I do before my bases are covered, I risk complications. Already, she tests my discipline.

Turning my attention away. I get to work. It's a fairly easy set up, twenty minutes, and I cover the apartment. With one last look at her slumbering form, I ease out and shut the door rather loudly, in hopes it rouses her. It's hard to believe she's the person who sent me to Mortalcine. I'm remotely offended. In my mind, I created a great foe. Someone I could crash my fists into, who would fight back and be a physical match. My revenge was supposed to be full of obstacles I could conquer through blood, sweat, and cunning. Instead, it's a delectable apple hanging on a low branch, tempting a bite. It's too easy I'm left unsettled and unsatisfied. I know this is Weston, but why? What does he gain with me out of the picture?

I sit at my desk, flipping open my laptop. So she woke up. I watch as she dances around the kitchen. She sings into her spatula, shaking her generous sized chest. Doesn't look like a guilty woman on three different kinds of medication. I should feel enraged at her joy, but instead I'm curious and excited to see the fear on her face when she realizes her error.

Taking the hard drive, duplicator. I insert it in my drive and place the CSI stick on my desk. She's proven to be quite a distraction. When my phone rings, I almost forget I have a deal to make.

"Trien."

I write down a regular request

Ten m16's

A dozen Ruger Mini-14 rifles

A dozen Vz58 rifles

Ten SIG Sauer SIG MCX and SIG Sauer SIG MPX carbine and pistol.

I look up at the screen and pause. She sits on the couch, eyes riveted to the erotic scene on the screen. My sex stirs as her hand skims her shorts. Her lips are pursed, and her eyes have a sultry slant.

She turns the channel, looking guilty, and I curse over the phone in disappointment. This confuses my client. Realizing I missed a few items. I lie, saying I lost connection and get my buyer to repeat his request all the while berating myself for succumbing to distraction. I allow nothing to distract me, and most certainly never a woman.

Avery is a thorn in my paw and my newest obsession.