Which rarely happens.
I open my laptop and click the keys that take me to the dark web. I never, not in a million years, would have thought that I’d be a girl who knows her way around this part of the internet, but damn it, when your sister goes missing, and you’re doing everything under the sun to find her, you learn new skills.
Luckily for me, I worked with a guy in Seattle who had a brother who wanted a full back piece done, and in exchange, he taught me well enough for me to maneuver my way through on my own.
I’m not hacker level, and I’ll never be worth a damn when it comes to espionage, but I can find message boards and such and scan her name.
I also know how to narrow it down by region, so I can read about things going on locally and don’t have to wade my way through information on every part of the world.
So far, it’s the normal stuff. Hits for hire, drugs, guns. False IDs. I’ve become desensitized, because in the beginning, reading through this stuff made me sick to my stomach.
Now, I’m enjoying my lunch while I page through.
And then I come to a screeching halt.
I drop my fork and lean forward.
Las Vegas: moving girls. Need muscle. 9/13 11:00. 447 Craig Rd.
“Moving girls,” I whisper and feel heat rush through my body.
I’ve never seen anything like this before, but I’m going to be there. I glance at the calendar. The thirteenth is Wednesday.
I type all the information into my phone and then go through the keystrokes I was taught that’ll erase my IP from ever being there.
Looks like I have a date Wednesday night.
Because if there’s even a possibility that my sister will be there, I’ll bring hellfire down on that place to get her out of there.
The convenient thing about how this worked out is, I take Wednesdays and Thursdays off from the studio, so since it’s my day off, I’m taking advantage of having the day to prepare to go to that warehouse tonight.
First up is the gym. I go religiously five days a week, before work. I don’t just do cardio. I lift, and I spar if someone’s around to work with me. I haven’t found any MMA classes that I like, but there’s a trainer at the gym I go to that’s excellent with me in the ring.
So, in my yoga shorts, tank, and hoodie, I walk inside the gym and straight back to the locker room to put my stuff away, then go out to where the free weights are.
I don’t want to exhaust myself today and be too weak and sore later in case I have to kick someone’s ass, but I need to get some nerves and tension out.
With my earbuds in, I start at the squat rack and get to work. I like to sweat. I like my muscles to burn, and I absolutelyloveit when those muscles flex and fill with blood from the exertion of the weights and I can see the definition in them. I don’t look masculine at all, but I can see the evidence of my hard work, and I think it rocks.
I’ll always be curvy, but I like my body. I don’t want it to be anything other than what it is.
After an hour with the weights, I’m drinking some water, resting between sets, when I see the trainer come in. He nods at me and gestures for me to join him in the ring, and I get excited becausethisis what I need.
“Hey,” I say as I pull my earbuds out of my ears. “Do you have time for this today?”
“Sure, let’s do it.” His name is Danny, and he’s all lean muscle, a former fighter himself.
“Great, give me five to use the bathroom.”
He nods and I set off for the locker room.
Eleven
MATEO
Idon’t want to look skinny, I want to look like I can kick your ass.
I smirk at the writing on the back of Violet’s hoodie. Christ, my girl is funny. And watching her lift weights for the past hour has been, well, a cocktease.
