Page 4 of The Monster’s Weakness

“Yep.”

“But I didn’t pay for anything.”

“Must be your lucky day,” Caleb said, as he held out the prescription.

Gemma took it and looked in the bag, then he saw her hand shook just a little. “My meds...” she barely whispered.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She lifted her head and nodded. “Yeah, I’m good. It’s just been a rough few weeks, but thank you so much for bringing this.”

She offered him a smile, and for a second, Caleb couldn’t move. It had been a long time since anyone had even smiled at him, and it was stupid to read too much into the action, but it meant something to him.

He nodded his head, tipped his hat, and turned on his heel. Caleb heard the door close behind him, and he made his way outside. Within an hour, the van was returned, as was the uniform, and he was going to look for his next contract. He wanted to make that their final contact.

Only, instead of following through with his plan, he was on the building opposite Gemma’s, binoculars in hand as he located her apartment. She was sitting on a ratty-looking chair, leaning forward with a paper in hand. She kept circling the newspaper and making calls on her cell phone. Gemma was looking for a job.

Even though companies were not meant to take into account her medical history, he had a feeling getting a job was exceedingly difficult for Gemma.

“What the fuck am I doing here?” he asked himself. Watching Gemma was not on his agenda.

He watched as she hung up and slumped back, and it made his heart ache and his stomach twist. As she put a hand to her face, it looked like she had given up, and he didn’t like it. Why did she feel this way? Her medications were expensive. She no longer had an accounting job. Pembroke did pay a decent wage, and he’d offered full medical until recently— his greed got the better of him. Money always changed people. Well, most people. He had more than he could ever spend but he was the same fucked-up asshole when he was broke.

Caleb was still looking through his binoculars when his cell phone rang. He put it to his ear and listened to the instructions. It was the latest contract, only this one wasn’t exclusive, and Caleb dropped the binoculars when he heard the particulars.

This was a contract out for Bastian, a man he had worked with. The kill was for ten million dollars, and it needed to be done within the next two days.

He liked money and he liked Bastian. Who the fuck would put out such an extreme contract? Bastian must have pissed off the wrong people. Ten million was not to be scoffed at. He wondered if Evander would even take it. No, there was no way Evander would take it. Who the fuck would do that?

Caleb took one last lingering look at Gemma and her red hair, even though he wanted to stay and watch her. He also had the overwhelming feeling to wrap her in his arms and tell her it was going to be okay, because he was going to make sure nothing bad ever happened again.

He couldn’t do that. All he could do was sit and watch.

****

Two months out of work now, and Gemma was grateful she’d finally been approved for prescription assistance, but she didn’t want to rely on it forever. She needed long-term security for her health, which included a job with full medical again. The assistance program had definitely helped her keep what little savings she had a bit longer.

There was going to be a point when the money ran out. She was already behind on rent this month. Thankfully, the prescriptions had come just when she’d needed them. She’d been taking the rest of her previous ones sporadically, in an attempt to make them last, but she was starting to feel the effects and knew it wasn’t going to last. She’d applied for the program years ago and never expected to hear from them. This had been a lifeline.

Gemma didn’t know what she was going to do for work. When she got the job at Pembroke, they’d been so interested in helping. It was part of their motto to be there when no one else would. That hadn’t lasted. The bottom line was what mattered, and she was too expensive to keep.

Entering her apartment, she looked around and knew it was going to be another lonely night of feeling sorry for herself. Gemma stopped in her doorway. Two months of coming home without a job, of getting her hopes up, were taking their toll. As soon as she told potential employers about her medical situation, she suddenly wasn’t a good fit. She knew it was all lies. They just didn’t have anything for her because she was too much of a liability, or at least that’s what she had come to assume. Words her parents had instilled in her head.

Her apartment was lonely. The job situation was getting dire. Her life sucked. This was not where she wanted to be. She needed a change of scenery, so she closed the door and held it tightly for several seconds, or perhaps even minutes, before pulling away. It was like her door handle had scolded her.

She made her way toward the exit and stepped out onto the street. Another deep breath, and she was free, soaking up the air as she walked. It was dark, so she wrapped her coat around herself. She never usually went out at night. She always lived a rather reclusive life, only going to work or to the store. That was how she usually liked it. Her parents had told her never to be a burden to anyone else.

She was breaking all kind of rules tonight.

Her heart raced as she rounded the street, and then she saw a neon sign for a bar. It didn’t look busy, and Gemma had never been inside a bar. Every part of her was screaming for her to get back in her apartment, to lock the door, and extend her search for a job.

But she was tired of being rejected. So, she put one foot in front of the other and made her way across to that neon sign, that felt more like a calling as she got closer.

Once inside, no one was there. Gemma knew she should turn back, but she continued down the dim hallway. She found low music playing, and although it didn’t look busy from the outside, there were a lot of men and women mingling.

No one turned in her direction, and Gemma immediately made her way toward the bar. She took a seat, and the barman was busy serving people. She held her purse in her lap, and she looked toward the back of the bar at all the drinks. She didn’t drink. But today was different. Her apartment had felt like a trap.

“What can I get you, honey?” the barman asked, coming toward her.