Page 12 of Marko

A sigh escaped me. I really didn’t want to do this, but avoiding it wasn’t an option anymore; I had to face this head-on. Gathering all the remaining items and grabbing my phone, a glass, and a bottle of wine—surely necessary—I settled onto my bed. The letter from Mathieson and the memory stick awaited. Half an hour later, the bottle was half empty, and my mind spun with thoughts.

Holy shit, the MP was a fucking psycho! Mathieson hadn’t been lying about that. His letter gave me the MP’s address and told me more about the sick goings-on in the world of Darkest Desire Productions. Just as I had thought from the photographs I had seen, the letter and memory stick confirmed that the company did indeed cater to mega-rich people who wanted to pay to carry out their darkest desires, usually in the form of hunting down and murdering people, often with rape and torture involved.

The sheer cruelty of finding something like that entertaining seemed unfathomable. The thought that there were many sick individuals out there willing to pay money to inflict such acts on others was utterly horrifying. These people had to be stopped, and the company shut down. However, I wished fervently that I wasn’t the one tasked with this responsibility.

My shoulders sagged as the feeling of being completely out of my depth weighed heavily on me, compounded by the loneliness of it all. How the hell was I going to do this on my own?

Mathieson had really landed me in it. I bloody hated the bastard for that and from now on I vowed I would not recognise him as my biological father. He wasn’t and never would be entitled to be called father by me. He was simply a sperm donor. My dad was the only father I had and the only one I ever needed. Mathieson could rot in hell. White-hot anger fizzled through my veins, and I paced the room unable to sit still. Picking up a cushion, I held it to my face and screamed into it until my throat felt raw. How could that bastard put me in danger like this?

Why couldn’t Mathieson have just sent this stuff to the Police? Or paid someone else to get the information for him and then pass it to the police? Why did he have to ask me, the daughter he’d never met, to do it? I knew I had certain skills, but I was just a young woman on my own. Surely he could have found another person, or more likely several persons, more suitable?

But he didn’t. He chose me. Now, whether or not I liked it, I was in deep.

“Suck it up, buttercup,” the nagging voice in my head taunted. I sighed, begrudgingly acknowledging its wisdom. There was no use wishing Mathieson hadn’t thrown me in at the deep end. That wouldn’t change a thing. I was in this now, and my survival depended on completing the mission.

Pouring another glass of wine, I immersed myself in the details of the MP’s security setup. Predictably, it was top-of-the-line, befitting a prominent public figure harbouring a scandalous secret. Apparently, he was meticulous and kept detailed files on everything related to his business. That was a definite plus when trying to gather evidence against him. However, accessing his encrypted files required navigating through layers of sophisticated security measures. Then there were several security guards and several bodyguards to deal with, too.

Sitting back, I sipped the rest of my wine while going over all the details again in my head. Between the high-end security and the encoded computer programs involved, it was one hell of a system to crack.

My dad would have relished the challenge and the opportunity to bring such a despicable person to justice. If he were still here, maybe I would have felt the same way. Instead, I felt overwhelmed. I nervously chewed my lip, mulling over various options. It wasn’t that I lacked the capability. The issue lay in the complexity of the security system involved—I couldn’t possibly execute such a heist alone. I needed help, and that posed a significant problem.

Dad had always worked solo or with me; we trusted no one else in our line of work. I had no contacts suitable for this kind of job. There was no one I knew whom I could enlist for help. I was stuck unless I hired someone, but finding a trustworthy accomplice willing to accept payment for such work was no easy feat and would undoubtedly take time.

I sighed heavily, not relishing the prospect of the daunting task ahead. Nevertheless, it had to be done. Pushing aside my apprehension, I focused on reviewing all the information I had gathered so far.

Once I had enough evidence, I would need to anonymously contact someone at the National Crime Unit. It was crucial to ensure the MP remained oblivious to my involvement. If the police delved too deeply, they might uncover my criminal history, or worse, the MP could engineer it. Neither outcome was desirable, and the thought of ending up in jail terrified me. Since my dad’s passing, I had turned over a new leaf, except for this slight detour, and I intended to keep it that way. But how I would manage all of this without exposing my past remained uncertain.

Exhaling deeply, I ran my hand through my hair and rubbed my tired eyes. My mind felt drained. Rest was essential; I couldn’t think clearly in my current state. Exhaustion weighed heavily on me, my eyelids drooping with the need for sleep. I resolved to revisit everything the next day, when my mind would hopefully be sharper.

I retrieved my “to go” bag from under the bed, which I always kept packed. Dad ingrained in me the need to be ready to flee if our activities were ever discovered by the police or the criminals he crossed, and I maintained that readiness. It seemed prudent given the current circumstances, so I added the memory stick and my bank card. My passport and another in an alternate name, along with driver’s licenses in both names, were already inside.

Before closing it up, I also tucked in the money withdrawn from my account during its activation at the bank, just in case. A foreboding feeling gnawed at me, suggesting I might need it.

With the bag securely back under the bed, I trudged into the bathroom, changed into my pyjamas and brushed my teeth on autopilot. Yawning widely, I climbed into bed, and I’d just got nice and cosy and was dozing off when my mobile rang.

My eyes flew open, and excitement fizzled through me at the sound because there were so few people with this number, and none would phone me this late at night except the person who had just taken it a short while ago. Marko!

Feeling all gooey inside, I reached out to grab the phone, knocking it clear across the room in my haste.

“Shit!”

Scrambling out of bed, my legs tangled with the duvet, and I went sprawling forward, landing hard on my front and knocking the wind out of me.

“Ooof!”

Panicking that Marko might hang up and I’d lose the chance to hear his gorgeous voice again, I commando crawled towards the phone, grabbing it and flicking the icon to answer.

My heart pounded as I gasped for breath.

“Hi Marko,” I said, panting hard.

“Hey there, Melissa, just checking in to see how you are after the events of earlier today?”

That he cared enough to ask gave me a warm fuzzy feeling inside.

“I’m fine thanks,” I replied, desperately trying to calm my breathing down.

“So, I was wondering if you still wanted to meet up?”

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