Sammy explained the entire story of the spider, then at the end added, “Spiders are good, did you know that?” Then, she scrunched up her nose and turned to Providence. “Why are they good?”
“They eat bugs that bother us, like fleas and flies and mosquitoes,” Providence said, tickling her.
She giggled and giggled and her joy filled a little of the emptiness in Providence’s heart.
“Time for bed,” Miranda said.
“Bye, Provi.”
Miranda returned after reading her a bedtime story and made herself a cup of tea.
“Who’s in the car out front?” Providence asked.
“Dakota’s bodyguard, Marcus Freethy.”
“Does he stay out there all night long?”
“Only when Dakota goes out of town. He shares the shift with another man.”
“Got it. Thanks for making tonight so much fun. Not just for Sammy, but for me, too.”
“You’re very special to Dakota. He’s never brought anyone home to meet Sammy. He’s been closed off for as long as I’ve known him. I’m glad he’s opening up his heart to you.”
Providence smiled. “So am I.”
Though she’d been wiped out financially, she’d gained more than she could have ever imagined for herself. She’d found the right people to help her heal. All the money in the world couldn’t help her with that.
20
The Hit
Under cover of darkness, Dakota, Sin, and Stryker entered the Airbnb on Bradley Street in Portland—their safe house while they completed the mission.
The quaint home was furnished, the curtains drawn. A single low-wattage lamp glowed from a table in the living room. The men dropped their duffle bags. Wearing their night vision goggles and with their weapons drawn, they did a sweep of the home.
They were alone.
They scattered into separate rooms to change. As Dakota pulled on his tactical gear, his mind wandered to Providence. Now, he had two reasons to return home safely. His daughter and his woman.
Earlier in the day, when The Dungeon was closed, the men had met in the Travesty room. Plans had been made, strategies discussed. Although the Midnight Raper had over thirty aliases, their target was a forty-eight-year-old white male named Jay Hill.
Luther had gotten Dakota a blueprint of the house where Hill lived. After he, Sin and Stryker had studied the map and discussed possible scenarios, they collected their gear and headed out. Though they flew on Sin’s private jet, the hit was not discussed en route.
Once dressed, and with his ski mask in hand, Dakota returned to the living room. Sin handed each of them a comm device, which they slipped into their ears. They checked their weapons, added the silencers, pulled on their night vision goggles, and pulled on leather gloves.
“No names,” Sin reminded them. “We check for cameras before we go in.”
Stryker pulled a tiny can of spray paint from his front pocket. “For the cams.”
“Let’s go surprise that mother fucker and shut him down, for good,” Dakota said.
They pulled on their ski masks and left in silence. It was after midnight.
The risk of getting caught or something going wrong was greater when doing a hit in a residential area. Security cams were plentiful, and dogs heard every damn sound. Barking triggered an array of responses, none of them good.
Walking single-file, Dakota led them through the quiet neighborhood, cutting through the backyard that butted up to Wayne Street. Once there, they hoofed it up the steep hill putting them at the rear of Hill’s property.
Standing shoulder to shoulder, they took in their surroundings. The house and the unattached single-car garage, situated behind the home, were both dark. Dakota’s trigger finger itched to take Hill out. He’d been terrorizing and assaulting women for decades.
