13. Death And Despair

Chapter 13

Death And Despair

HUNTER

I 'm staring at the tattoo on my arm and recalling its meaning. If you want to become whom you are destined to be in this world, you need to apply pressure to everything and every one until you get what you want...until you get what you deserve. It's a simple premise that has so far worked in my favor.

Apply calculated pressure.

Get the desired results.

The inspirational word, inked forever in my skin, is supposed to serve as a visual reminder of all that I've done to get where I am in life, but it must be losing some of its potency because I'm starting not to recognize myself.

My reactions to Megan are not how I normally respond to people who intrigue me, amuse me, or upset me. I've never lost control so easily when it comes to a woman, but when I saw that flash of heat in her eyes as she looked at me, dressed in that delicate silk blouse that stretched against her breasts and the figure-hugging pencil skirt outlining her curves, I felt my leash snap.

I could have simply told her from across the room about the clothing tag mistakenly left attached to her skirt, but at that moment, my dick did all the speaking for me. I was undisciplined and approached her, feeling almost like I was unable to help myself.

I started it.

It's good you know I'm nothing special.

The look in her eyes when she said that, the emptiness, haunts me. It was as if her internal flame, the vibrance that makes Megan who she is, was suddenly extinguished. She looked at me as if I finally saw her for whom she thought she truly was.

I had expected her to get angry, to lash out at my cruel words, but I hadn't expected this reaction. Now, I stare at the door, wondering if I should go back out there and seek her out. I may be a monster, but even someone like me has boundaries. I'm not usually cruel to women, and I was cruel just now.

There's a knock on my door, and I look up. A part of me wonders whether it's Megan, but it's Parker who enters. "Hey, boss, do you know what happened to Megan? She just left, and it's only the new dude out there."

"Left?" I stare at him. "Left where?"

"She said she was going home, but the weird thing is that she didn't get her coat, bag, or anything. She just walked out. The city is experiencing an unusually cold front, and it's fucking freezing out there. Maybe I should find her and drive her home?"

My blood grows cold.

Has she lost her fucking mind?

I stride across the room. "Which way did she go?"

"The exit down the hall," Parker replies, looking visibly confused. "Is everything okay?"

"Does everything look fucking okay, Parker?" I bite back.

Why the hell didn't Parker stop her? What am I paying him for? This is what I get for hiring amateurs as security. Vaughn tried to warn me. I should have hired someone with actual credentials, like a retired cop or something.

"I guess not, boss."

I throw open the door of the exit as I storm outside, angry with Parker but mostly with myself. I'm the reason why she's wandering the streets of LA without a jacket or her wallet or her phone, for God's sake.

"Miss Taylor, are you out here?"

I call for her as I look for her outside of the club, but she's not in the alleyway. There's a cold wind blowing, and if she gets sick because she's out here without a jacket, I may just kill her myself.

Cursing her for making me feel like a desperate idiot, Parker peeps his head out the club door as I roar, "Bring the goddamn car around!"

Parker hurries to obey as I continue looking for her. It may be one of the first times ever that I've wished that Blue Whiskey was located in a nicer part of town. This isn't an area that you're supposed to be taking evening strolls in. You're just supposed to come to the club, drink, get in a car, and go home.

I remember that Megan doesn't have a car and typically takes the city bus to and from work, so I walk quickly toward where I remember the nearest bus stop is located. Hell, it's been years since I've even stepped foot on a bus.

Fuck, she's not there.

I've covered over two blocks when I see a familiar curvy figure in the distance, but Megan is not alone. At first glance, I think she's meeting with someone from her school, but as a car rushes past me, I see a hooded figure lift something that looks like a baseball bat and bring it down on her head.

"Megan!!!"

My heart is pounding a mile a minute, and my brain is working overtime as I run through scenarios of how I will catch and kill whoever dared to assault one of my employees in my own backyard.

Where the hell is Parker?

My gun is in the car.

I'm running towards Megan when I see her assailant pick her limp body up and throw her into the car, which has stopped right next to them, and climb inside. The whole street is empty, but I manage to get most of the license plate numbers before the car roars off.

Parker is a minute behind, and I jump into the car, growling, "Drive!"

I'm loading the piece I keep in a gun box underneath the passenger seat when I see the car turn right before it disappears around the corner. We follow after it, but when we reach the street, it's as if it has vanished off the road.

Parker stops the car, his face pale. "Who the hell would take Megan?"

I don't answer him, reaching for my phone and getting out of the car. I have a direct line to some of the most powerful people in this country, people who owe me favors. I don't care what time it is as I stand in the middle of the empty road; the phone is pressed to my ear.

The person who picks up on the other side sounds sleep-addled and I say, cooly, "Wake up, Commissioner. I need you to do something for me.

It takes two hours of police barricades over a 50-square-mile block radius, every car being checked and traffic cam footage being reviewed before the first sign of the car is found. It's in the system as a stolen vehicle, but one of the traffic cams caught it, turning it into an area that has primarily empty warehouses.

"We'll take it from here," I tell the police commissioner whom I dragged out of bed to accomplish this. The various cars surrounding the road and cutting off any escape routes belong to me now.

The commissioner, an older man with grey temples and crow's feet, looks uneasy. "My debt is paid, Middleton."

"Is it?"

"You've spent two hours of Los Angeles Police overtime and a plethora of resources to find one employee. We're done."

I've spent many years making shady deals and trades to have powerful people at my disposal, but the commissioner is probably right. This was a big favor I called in, and normally, I wouldn't have wasted it on searching for one of my employees, but...this is different.

This is Megan.

"Your attention on this matter is appreciated. Sorry I dragged you out of bed."

"Just try to make sure this doesn't make the news."

"It won't," I murmur. "It never does."

When the commissioner drives away, I signal to my men. It's all hands on deck. I have my entire team here, even Vaughn.

"There are a number of empty factories and warehouses on this road, all slated for demolition. She's got to be here somewhere," I say. "Find her."

Lars and Parker organize the men while Vaughn and I enter the first warehouse. We're both armed and move softly, years of practice under our belts.

"It doesn't seem anyone's here," he says, quietly, his voice grim.

He's not wrong. There's nothing disturbed here, and the only sound I hear is of him breathing.

"Let's do one more quick sweep and then move on to the next one."

We find nothing at the first warehouse.

The next one is also empty.

But it's the third one where we hit the jackpot.

"There's a car here," Vaughn whispers, jerking his head towards a corner. It takes me a minute to see it since it's concealed by the dark shadows of the wooden structure above it.

"Keep a lookout," I instruct as I keep to the shadows and make my way toward the vehicle.

It takes me a few minutes to identify the license plate. It's definitely the same car.

"It's empty," I say, peering inside.

"She must be here somewhere," Vaughn mutters. "How many floors does this place have?"

"Looks like two."

We exchange a look and I nod. "You take the top floor. I'll take this one."

This warehouse clearly used to be a slaughterhouse.

God, I hate these places.

It smells of death and despair.

As I go deeper inside, having notified my team of the car via text, I hear a murmur of voices coming from the back of the cooling room where meat was probably once hung to drain. I move through the old, tattered tarps, careful not to make any noise.

I text my team as well as Vaughn that I think I've found something or someone but to still keep looking for clues wherever they are. Everyone knows that I can handle myself if I happen to find myself in trouble.

The murmur of voices grows louder as I reach the back where there seems to be an open area. There is a single-bulb lamp dangling from the ceiling and it's lit, casting light over a small area where I can see one folding chair and a person tied to it.

"Bitch!"

The sound of flesh striking flesh is not an abnormal sound to me, but my blood grows cold as I watch who is being hit.

Megan's face whips around by the force of the blow. She doesn't see me, but I can see her face, and it's the emptiness of her eyes that makes me tighten my hand on the gun. I've seen this once before. It's as if she's not present in the room. Almost as if she has to disassociate herself from the situation to survive it. It's a coping mechanism that only someone who's had their ass beaten repeatedly would know to use. The thought of that makes my chest tighten.

"What did you do?" A familiar voice snarls. "You little bitch, what did you do? You snitched to him, didn't you? That's how that bastard knew about everything, right? You wanted my position and used your tits and ass to get it, I bet."

Nothing typically surprises me, but I have to admit that I underestimated my former manager, Steve. I thought he was nothing more than a lazy jackass using an overworked college student to do his job for him, but now I see that he can get very creative when he wants to be, and he clearly has a taste for vengeance. That would have been nice to know a few months ago. Perhaps I could have used him in other areas of my work, but now he's really just pissing me off.

Even though every part of me wants to put a bullet through his head right now, I have to be smart about this. From my recollection, there was a getaway driver, so his accomplice must be somewhere in here.

I watch Steve's hand grab a chunk of Megan's hair as he forces her to look at him. "What did you do? Suck his dick? Did you crawl on all fours and let him fuck you? You always thought you were better than me, but you're nothing more than a little whore, you know that?"

Megan doesn't utter a word, and when he releases her after a stinging blow to her ears, her head falls forward, her eyes dazed. She's totally checked out. Gone is the fiery and brave girl who took on my entire table at The Blue Whiskey.

I grind my teeth, my hands itching to blow this bastard's brains out, but I watch carefully around the edges of the room where the light dimmed, and sure enough, I see a slight movement.

There's definitely someone else here.

So I wait.