I retrieve a baggie from my back pocket and open it, holding the bag and rag coated in chloroform over her mouth. She passes out in my back seat. I drape a black sheet over her body. Tugging down the baby sun blinders on the backseat windows, I slide across my little black curtain that divides the front and back seats. No cameras can see intomy rear window now as I drive to my house, over an hour away on the outskirts of Baltimore.
Daphne fucking Fox is in the backseat of my car. I’ve been following her for weeks, tracking her to see where she goes, what her schedule is, and how tough her security detail would be. She’s a key piece to stopping the Bradshaw Bill that her father’s so desperate to pass. If it passes, it’ll ruin the lives of millions of people—not that her dad cares. He has stocks in multiple health insurance companies, and when this passes, the President and his cronies will have a massive stock bump. Her Dad will make millions overnight, whereas millions of people would lose their health insurance—or be forced to pay so much they might as well not have insurance at all.
Daphne’s a homebody, which made my work easy. I knew exactly when she’d be at work, so I could slip into her house and hack her personal calendar. Her security detail is minimal, but the Secret Service patrols her block a few times a day, so I couldn’t risk grabbing her at home. I waited until she had something booked—a date. And with McArthur’s son of all people. Representative McArthur drafted the fucking bill, and he’s on my hit list.
But first, I need to take care of Daphne.
She’s still asleep as I park the car in my garage.
Dragging Daphne from the back seat, I make my way down to the finished basement. I lay her onto the oversized couch and settle her head onto a pillow.
I almost pity the poor girl. She can’t control who her dad is—but she’s reaped the benefits of a spoiled and easy life. A woman like her has never knownrealstruggle. She’s always had food on the table, always had a medical appointment when she had a cough or tummy ache, always had money for extracurricular activities and hobbies to padher college applications. Student loans are a foreign concept to her.
No, Daphne Fox doesn’t deserve pity.
And maybe I don’t pity her. But the sight of her sleeping on my couch softens something in my chest. She’s pretty, especially asleep. I tuck a lock from the wig away from her cheek. She looked better in her natural blond hair.
Taking the shackle and long chain bolted to the wall, I cuff her left wrist. I noticed at the bar she’s right-handed, so I’ll leave that hand free.
I shut the door before returning to the garage. I strip the car of its vinyl covering, spending over an hour peeling off the lazy vinyl coat job I did last week in preparation for tonight. The car transforms from red back to its original black. I think I can use it one more time before I’d have to call it quits with this car and move on to something different.
And I’ll make sure the car is detailed before I return it to the owners. I might not have asked permission, but I wouldn’t steal a car. Not permanently. I always return them, polished and detailed, with no DNA left behind. I never keep a getaway car for more than two weeks.
Wiping the damp sweat from my forehead, I toss the last bits of crinkled vinyl into the trash bag. Tying it up, I sling it over my shoulder and stomp out to my backyard, where the wide expanse of trees stretches. The forest behind my house is small, with a creek bed and plenty of space between my neighbors and me. I could walk for miles before running into anyone else’s yard.
The sun’s already setting, and orange mingles with navy blue across the treetops, budding to life with the warmth of summer settling in. The June air teases out fireflies as they skip across thebackyard.
Dumping the bag in the trash can, I head up to my master bathroom. Stripping out of my clothes, I peel off the blond wig and wig cap, tossing them into my drawer of wigs. I should go through and comb them soon.
I tug off my glasses and slip them inside the drawer, too.
My fingers are still sticky from the vinyl residue, making it easier to peel off the prosthetic nose covering that gave me a wider nose.
Scrubbing my hands until there isn’t a single bit of vinyl glue left, I remove my contact lenses. One wasn’t necessary since one of my eyes is already brown, but it’s better to be sure my eyes completely match. Otherwise, it’s something noticeable about me. The point of a disguise is to be as invisible as possible—in this case, blending in as a pretty boy at a swanky cocktail bar.
I step into the shower, but don’t turn the water on. Grabbing a bottle of baby oil and an exfoliating glove, I get to work removing the fake tanner from my face, neck, chest, and hands. Anywhere visible. There goes my rich-boy, golden skin glow after ten minutes of hard scrubbing. My skin flushes pink from being rubbed raw, but I finish, then indulge in a well-earned hot shower.
After a good twenty-minute soak, I loop a towel around my waist. I pad barefoot down the hallway of my house until I reach my studio. Checking the security cameras, I see Daphne stumbling around the basement, still groggy from the drugs.
Oh good. The princess is awake.
CHAPTER THREE
DAPHNE
No...Not again.
My stomach churns as the woozy effects of the drugs clears from the foggy edges of my brain. My mind’s overwhelmed with questions, and the familiar, sickening feeling churns my stomach, threatening to bring up whatever’s left.
All the who, what, when, where, and why questions flood my brain like someone opened the gates of hell and let every demon out.
Where am I? Who did this? Why am I here?
Did he… did he hurt me too?
Through the lingering haze, I don’t feel hurt. I’m not sore. There’s no tenderness between my thighs like last time.
I don’t feel sticky like last time either.
