Page 42 of Captivated with Them

Chapter Eighteen

Dillon

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I FELT LIKE A CRIMINAL.

Fuck, I guessed I was a criminal, but when you mixed with the same type of people, it diluted that feeling, made you feel more normal, as though you were just like everyone else.

But right now, I was planning on dragging someone who was completely innocent into our fucked-up world, and as much as I felt like shit for doing so, it was my best option.

I lurked beside the building opposite the one that was focusing my attention, watching the main entrance and the parking lot. I hoped the person I was after wouldn’t use a rear exit, so I missed him, but it was impossible for me to keep an eye on both areas at once.

It didn’t help that I had a gun tucked into the waistband of my jeans, my fingers never far from the grip, and that I’d been wearing the same clothes for almost a week now. It had been the same amount of time since I’d last taken a shower, too, and every time I moved my arms, I caught a whiff of myself. If anyone caught sight of me, they’d probably assume I was homeless. I glimpsed my reflection in a parked car window. It wasn’t pretty. Blood was crusted in my hairline, and my face was streaked with dirt. I’d lost weight as well, my cheekbones sharp and cheeks hollowed, though the lower half of my face was hidden with dark beard-growth.

Would he even recognize me?

I wasn’t sure. We’d only been in the same room for maybe twenty-minutes—half an hour, at a push—and I hadn’t been the focus of attention either. He would remember Ryan, though, I was sure of that.

I remained hidden in the shadows, watching the parking lot as people left the building. At first, it was clearly patients who were making their way to their cars, but then staff members, lanyards with their names and job titles hung around their necks, left as well.

I still hadn’t spotted the person I was looking for. Could he have had the day off? That would royally screw up my plans.

The minutes passed. There were still lights on inside the building, but there was a chance they were on for security purposes.

Then I saw him, backing out of the main door, a set of keys in his hand as he went to lock up.

Moving quickly, I pulled the gun and stepped forward. The man was bigger than I was, but I’d proven that size wasn’t important when I’d taken down Meathead. I had no intention of harming this guy, but he didn’t know that, and I was unfortunately going to need to make him think I was happy to hurt him if I didn’t get what I wanted.

He didn’t hear me approaching, and I jammed the muzzle of the gun against his ribs. “Open the door. We’re going inside.”

Gordon Little froze but didn’t turn around to look at me. “There’s no money kept on the premises,” he said, his voice level. “And all the equipment is security marked, so you won’t be able to sell it.”

“I’m not interested in any of that. Just open the door so we can go inside.”

I was aware of the wide-open space at my back, the possibility someone might come back—a member of staff who might have forgotten something and needed to return to their office—so I jabbed him harder with the weapon.

“Hurry up.”

The lock clicked as it disengaged, and the door swung open. I pushed Gordon into the building, and we passed through the reception area and down the corridor.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“To your office.”

“Why?”

I jabbed him with the gun again. “You’ll find out when we get there.”

His office door was shut, but Gordon opened it, and I shoved him inside. Even though I assumed there was no one else in the building, I closed it behind us again.

“Sit,” I told him, gesturing to the chair the patients normally sat in. He dropped heavily onto it and lifted his face to look at me. His eyes narrowed. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

It was time.

I lowered the weapon, but only a fraction. “Yes, you know me. I’m a friend of Ryan Banks. I came here with him not so long ago when he attended an appointment with you. He’s a below the knee amputee.”

Gordon’s frown deepened. “Yes, I know Ryan. And I remember you, too,” he gestured up and down my body, “though not like this.”

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