I glance around, looking for a place to sit to do a casual stakeout of the motel.
Sven saidthey—singular they—are here, the person I’m looking for. He didn’t give me the room number, but he says he’sconfident this is where they’re at. And he’s never been wrong in the two years I’ve been working with him.
I peer across the street from the seedy motel and see a rundown diner.Blyat. Sticky tables and the smell of acrid coffee will surely meet me as soon as I step inside. It makes me shudder. The way it will cling to my clothes, my skin.
I throw a wad of cash at the useless driver and step out of the car. The warm air meets me as I walk across the street. And when I enter the dank restaurant, I can feel the scent of age sticking to my skin, infiltrating my lungs.
It makes me itch. Not that I show it.
I restrain every irritating feeling as I take a seat at a table facing directly toward the motel.
“What can I get you, sir?” an older woman asks, her face aged, her teeth yellowing. She looks tired. I don’t blame her. It’s late, and I guarantee she’s been on her feet all day.
“Tea.”
She arches an eyebrow, probably annoyed that I’m not a well-paying customer.
“And some toast.”
She sighs and slaps her notebook into her apron.
“Coming right up.”
She stalks away, and I turn my gaze back to the motel, my hand grabbing a fistful of napkins and wiping up the table as best I can. A bit of it gets stuck to a blob of maple syrup, and I stare at it for far too long.
This is not going well, I think as I turn my gaze back to the motel. It’s sleazy, most likely full of drugs and prostitutes, but then again, what did I expect? A ritzy hotel? That would draw too much attention. And from what I can gather, that’s not how this person operates. Everything is hidden, done in the shadows. So elusive that they’re almost invisible.
But then again, I always manage to find the hidden problem. It just needs a little patience.
The waitress brings a mug full of hot water and slaps a few tea bags onto the table.
“Toast,” she says, the plate clattering down in front of my hands. It’s burnt, not edible at all. Not that I was going to touch it, but then again, I don’t want to draw attention to myself.
I don’t want anyone to know I was here.
“Thank you,” I say lowly, and she scoffs, moving away from my table. I stare down at the boiling water and then pick up the one tea bag that didn’t settle on the dirty tabletop. It sinks into the water and I let it steep for a moment, my eyes turning back to the dilapidated sign with missing letters and a dead tree out front.
My phone rings and I glance down at it. It’s Mikhail, probably wondering where I am. Not that I’m going to tell him or Anthony what I’m doing. If I do, they’ll get reckless, and I may never get the answers I want.
Stuffing my phone back into my pocket, I pull the tea bag from the now-brown water. It looks as unappetizing as I assumed it would be.
I won’t drink it.
Bane would, though. He would probably gulp it down without a second thought.
My heart flutters in my chest slightly, and I force myself to breathe normally. That man eats like a heathen, crumbs and mess everywhere.
The way my palms itch to spank him.
I twine my fingers together and stare out the window once more.
My phone beeps, and I see Sven calling. Another Craigslist find.
Really, that site is severely underrated.
Without hesitating, I pick it up and hear him breathing on the other end of the line.
“You sure they’re here?”
