Page 140 of Saved By My Buyers

Leaning back against the headrest, I think about it. “When is it?” I ask.

“Friday night,” he says. “Dolly needs a fun break too between work, the group project, and school. I swear, she even wakes up tired lately.”

“I think she’s been working in her sleep,” I say, smirking. “When I came to bed last night, I heard her humming with her eyes closed. Dahlia was totally out, creating music in her dreams. How do you get someone to take a break whose brain won’t turn off?”

“You give it something else to do,” he says sagely. “Let’s get you to work before your boss asks if you got lost.”

Giggling, I shake my head as I get out of the car to walk with him. I honestly doubt that would ever happen, but my bosses and supervisors are pretty protective of their employees.

Linking my fingers in his, I watch as he locks up the truck, putting his keys in his pocket. I watched him get dressed today, and noticed that he’s begun to keep pepper spray with him at all times.

Jack is also insisting that Dahlia and I make the time to go to self defense class once a week, which we do even when we’re exhausted from the day.

Like he said, this month has been really busy, and there are things we need to make time for.

“Tell me about this party,” I say, pushing the button for the elevator. “Is it outside if it’s a block party?”

“Yeah, it’s in their neighborhood, and they go all out when they decorate. There’s caroling, hot chocolate, stations to roast marshmallows for S’mores, and a giant bonfire at the end of the street. It’s not a big space and it’s gated. The guards check everyone’s identification before you can go through the gate as well. If you’re not on the list, you can’t get in,” he explains.

“There’s a lot of people who crave peace from the public eye. They pay a pretty penny for it too.”

“That makes sense if your friends are professional hockey players,” I murmur. I’ve only met a few of them once when I watched them skate together for a charity match. Jack held his own really well, even though he only plays occasionally.

Walking together through downtown to my work, we chat a little more about Friday. It’ll be cold, so we’ll need the new warming jackets Jack bought as Christmas gifts for us all. It’ll end up being an early gift, but Jack would rather we all stay warm instead of hoarding them.

Now I have something positive to look forward to, which is sometimes all a girl needs.

Tuesday

Jack

Sitting next to Lorrie and Brady, I nod for them to begin emptying Gareth’s accounts. The meeting went as planned with the Boxley gang, so now it’s time to turn up the heat and make them believe that Gareth is backstabbing them.

None of the money in his accounts actually belongs to him, outside of a small stipend they allow Gareth. He lost his entire fortune in a bad business deal with them, and now he owes the Boxley gang his soul.

Or as close as you can get with someone who doesn’t have one. He’s not tried to reach out to Dolly or Bee again, but when animals get quiet, you need to become more vigilant.

“Draining them all now,” Brady mutters, watching as the money swiftly disappears.

Lorrie works furiously on her end, redirecting the money to various charities in Detroit. All of it is going to disappear, and they’ll never find it. She’s redirecting them all over the city.

I have my own money, I don’t need someone else’s, nor want any part of the blood that earned it.

“That’s gonna piss off the Boxleys, and terrify Gareth,” I say smugly. “I don’t want him to leave the country. Can we please make that happen? Border control in Mexico and Canada need to know that he is a person of interest, and his passport and identification needs to go on all of the No Fly lists.”

Luna hurries out with her computer, sitting next to us at the conference table.

“I can help with that,” she grunts. “If he even sneezes in the direction of a flight, it’ll lead to a full strip search and a trip to the nearest room to be interrogated.”

“That’s if he can find any money to buy a ticket with,” Lorrie says with a callous laugh.

Gareth doesn’t deserve any mercy. He dug his own grave, and deserves everything he receives. It’s just a matter of who gets to him first now.

My phone buzzes in my suit pocket, and I pull it out absently. Glancing at it, I see it’s Greg and answer it.

“Hey,” I grunt, not bothering to use his name. I don’t know where he’s at or who he’s with, and the last thing I want to do is blow his cover.

“Is it done?” he asks, and I can hear the crunch of snow under his boots as he walks.

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