Page 61 of Root

Jess

The fuckers still haven’t sent me the photo of Jack. One thing the Ten64 love is torture. And there’s no easier torture than making someone wait.

Not knowing…

Oh, do I think they’ll kill Jack?

In a heartbeat.

It doesn’t matter if he’s their best member or their worst, or even if he’s still a prospect. Hell, he could be a prisoner. I don’t know and Jack not talking to me by the burner makes me lean towards the prisoner and bleeding arena.

A week to get them something. And vagaries.

If they told me what they want, I’d be happier. No, I wouldn’t be happier. I’d be fucked, but then maybe I could find a way out for me and Jack.

They want information, weaknesses, any—I imagine—disgruntled allies. All they’ve done so far is give me enough vagaries to tie me into them. I now look guilty.

If I fail, that is.

It’s a double sword, and one that doesn’t belong to Damocles that hangs over my head. Or maybe it is that double edged sword. It feels perilous enough.

I sit in the garden with Dante sunning himself on my lap.

I’ve been back here not even a day, and I wouldn’t have given in, except it was a perfect excuse to be back where I don’t want to be, collecting information I don’t want.

My phone rings and Dante growls as I pull it from my pocket, rocking his human seat.

Private number. Again. I hesitate. I glance at the entrance to the grotto garden but no one’s there, no one’s made a sound. Nikolai and Rose are out, and the cold, calculating look he gave me on my return left me with zero doubts he knew I was in that closet. Hence the change of location.

My pussy—not the pussy on my lap—throbs. What I heard was hot. What happened in that fancy apartment with Rush is something that burned all the houses down. I’m still aching, even though I don’t think I’ve come that hard or that many times in my life. Not even with any of my Bluetooth and plug and play devices.

To make it worse, Rush didn’t touch me when we got back, just showed me to that room, told me no guards would be outside and I could leave whenever I wanted, and then…gave me the kind of look where it’s a wonder I’m not glowing from the smolder.

The phone starts to buzz again.

Shit.

I hit answer and hold it up.

“When I call,” the voice says, “fucking answer, bitch. You went back to them, good. You’re our girl on the inside, the key to toppling the fuckers who think they run this piece of shit town.”

“If it’s such shit, then why do you want it?”

“Keep going, cunt, if you want your brother dead.”

“I don’t want either of us involved. Tell me concisely, broadly what you want.”

He laughs. “You fucking think you can order the Ten64 around? You can’t.”

I try to say sorry, I really do. The word sticks. Worse than when I know I should apologize for something.

In this? the only words that want to come are fuck and you.

So I stay silent.

“Good little cunt. If you don’t want Jacky-boy cut up and spread from here to the West Coast, stay like a mute. Shut the fuck up and listen. Queenstown’s instrumental to bigger and better things. The ports are treasure troves of illicit goods and the one near the bar’s not really checked. We want it. There are guns, drugs, girls. We want to trade in them. And there’s a market for medical cargo. Human live stock. A little mix and match of client to parts. We can deliver, but we need a system, and—”

“I don’t want to know.” The words break free.

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