Huxley
Iwatch as Goddess puts her feet up on the dash of my truck and drinks the last remnants of her AMF cocktail I ordered for her. Her grip tightens around the high ball glass as she shakes a couple of ice cubes loose to chew on. “You haven’t touched yours,” she points out, suddenly noticing I have yet to take a single sip. I need absolute clarity for what comes next. “What was this drink called again?”
“It’s called adios motherfucker, but most people just call it an AMF.” I can’t help the smirk that forms on my lips. The irony of the name isn’t lost on me.
With the restaurant closing soon, I convinced Goddess that we should take our drinks to my truck to talk about how she is feeling since last night and watch the stars. I hate this part of the job, but it’s necessary. It didn’t take much to earn her trust— a warm smile, kindness, and my lethal ability to manipulate. I’ve muddled the waters, and now I have a job to do.
“You know we don’t need to rehash last night’s events. I just want to move forward. I wanted to thank you for being there and for encouraging me to file a report against Arlo. I know we weren’t in the greatest place. Not sure if we are now.” She begins to shake her head as though she’s trying to clear it, bringing her feet down off the dash. “I don’t feel so good. That was one strong drink,” she says as she begins to slump.
I start the engine and roll down my window to toss out my drink. The amount of drug infused into that cocktail gives me about twelve hours to get us to our destination, but I aim for eight. She’ll have one hell of a hangover. I reach over to secure the seat belt around her limp form before leaning her against the passenger window. To anyone we drive past, it looks like she is sleeping. I have to remind myself that she is just a job. Nothing more.
* * *
I’vesince dismissed my men from the observation room. I don’t want them to witness Goddess coming to— to see her vulnerability as she tries to make sense of where she is. Her suite is grand but bare. Like the women before her, she will have to earn every privilege. My methods are not pretty, but they are efficient and work.
She rises slowly from the undressed mahogany four-poster bed. I don’t have to zoom to see her rubbing her eyes before taking in the room. It’s only mere seconds before panic spurs her from the bed. She checks the bedroom doors frantically, then tries to peer out of the cracks of the boarded-up windows. She runs to the en suite bathroom, but only briefly before appearing back in the bedroom. I haven’t put cameras in there—I’m not a complete savage. She finally crawls back into the bed and sits with her legs crossed. Up till this point, she hasn’t let out a single scream. They all scream. Instead, she bows her head, and this time, I do have to zoom. A single tear falls down her cheek as she looks up and around the room. Does she know she’s being watched? The amnesia effect will prohibit her from remembering any of our commute here, but she will recall everything before … including the cocktail I gave her. By now, she has to know it was me who took her. She will have so many questions, but first, she’ll have to submit to the ideal of being here. Until then, I can’t give her the thing she will want most— answers.
I enter ten digits to password protect the footage to the camera in her room. The screen goes black, removing her from my view. My guys know that specific surveillance is off-limits. I do have an alternate supplemental code to her suite should I need to grant them temporary access. They’re currently guarding the perimeter. The work to get this place Fort Knox ready was done long before we arrived— the second Operation Phantom was activated.
I unlock her door from the outside and enter the room. She looks up at me with tears still streaming down her face. “Where are we?” she asks.
“I can’t tell you that.”
“So not in Marietta?”
“No.”
“Are we still in Georgia?” Though still a bit wobbly, she manages to get to her feet.
“No.”
“You drugged me.” This is more of a statement than a question. “And kidnapped me.”
“Yes.”
She charges me, her fist connecting with my chest several times before I capture her wrists.
“Why? I trusted you!”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Is that all you have to say aside from your fucking one-word answers?”
“Yes.”
Infuriated, she aims to spit in my face, but I turn my head just in time. The wetness still grazes my ear. She becomes unhinged. She struggles against my grasp, but I don’t let go.
“You work for him, don’t you? It’s how he really found me. Did you tell Arlo you fucked me too? You pretend to want to help and protect me, knowing this was your plan all along? Why insist that I fill out the police report? When will he get here?”
“Enough!” I boom. Her allegations are preposterous.
“Does Rosalita know about this? You both had me fooled. I hate you,” she screams.
I shove her away from me because I don’t want to feel her touch at this moment. I know how this looks and how she must be feeling, but how could she possibly think that low of me or my mother?
“You’re fucking insane for even thinking for a second that Mother has been anything less than genuine with you. I can’t do this with you right now.”
I storm out and slam the door behind me, ensuring to engage all the locks before disappearing to my office. I didn’t expect to be welcomed with open arms, but I sure as hell didn’t expect those accusations. After everything we did to help her and make her feel welcome, how could she question our sincerity? Especially from my mother. That is not the kind of shit that can be faked. Yes, she was a job — is a job, but my intent and kindness were pure. I pour myself a double of scotch before sitting behind my desk. I’m fuming. It’s evident that she lacks the ability to judge character. Her husband is a total shit bag, and she had no idea until he started beating her ass. Yet with everything I’ve shown her in these past couple of weeks, she isn’t even giving my mother or me the benefit of the doubt.
My burner phone rings, interrupting my furious monologue. Finally, a fucking update and not a moment too soon. The sooner I can part ways with this job and away from her, the better. I’m becoming way more invested than what’s normal for me.
“Have you made it to your destination?” The voice on the other end of the line gets straight to the point.
“Yeah. We’ve gotten settled, and my men are on guard. Nothing is getting past our defenses.”
“Glad to hear. I will keep you updated, but right now, the girl isn’t the target.”
My chair flies backward as I abruptly stand. I begin to pace. There is too much shifting in this case, and I don’t like it. What do you mean she isn’t the target? Why are we here then?”
“The father is the target. They will likely shift focus back onto Goddess once he has been eliminated. Did you leave all of her belongings behind?”
I activated Operation Phantom, so of fucking course I did, but I don’t say that. “Yes,” I say simply.
“Good. I’m going to text you the coordinates on where to locate a package that I have for you, including a new burner. Don’t use the one you have now after this call.”
“Got it.”
He ends the call, and a text with the coordinates comes through as promised. I note the information before dismantling the phone. I will send it with one of my men to be disposed of while he is retrieving my package. I’ve been seen with Goddess and therefore share her ghost status. Looks like I will have to endure her presence longer than I anticipated. Son of a bitch.