Page 10 of Charity's Redemption

I snorted while keeping my gaze locked on the old green paper money, exchanging hands as I counted.

Having a dating app was like my mother sending me texts with unfamiliar faces of men she’d chosen from her congregation. “I’ll set you up with my mother. She’d love to choose a husband for someone.”

“She set you up with them?” she asked with a stunned expression as she stacked the chairs onto the tables.

“Uh, no. If she chose men like them, I would’ve allowed her all the dating access in my life that she wanted.”

Justine laughed, and the conversation died out, leaving another moment of piercing silence before she waved goodbye.

“I’m off; see ya tomorrow.”

“Yeah. See ya,” I said, placing the money in the bank bag.

This work had become tedious and never-ending, especially with Nico’s question bouncing around in my mind.

I’d asked myself repeatedly, in the small expanse of time since he’d asked, what was my why?

WhydidI keep coming in here day after day when my happiness was with them? My subconscious never gave me an answer, no matter how many different ways I phrased it.

I shoved the money into the safe and spun the dial, then closed the cabinet. There was a man named John I was eager to meet, and I couldn’t be late.

The dim light in the small coffee shop emitted an eerie ambiance like a thousand eyes had me pinned in place from the other side of the windows.

Whoever stood on the outside in the dark held the advantage. All it would take was someone with decent accuracy and one well-placed bullet to hit the illuminated target—and that target was me.

Chilly air bit at my cheeks as I stepped outside, locked up, then quickened my pace to my car parked on the side of the street.

The car’s heater blew frigid air across my frame as I turned the fan on full blast, making me say a little prayer it heated by the time I reached my destination.

My hands itched for blood more than usual after a day like today. There was too much pent-up excitement and not enough ways to release it… until now.

I had Luca to thank for that. Or should I thank Max for being so busy?

‘Dancing with the Devil’ by Kitty Antixs, played on the car stereo as I made my way towards a marked man.

It felt appropriate for the absolute fun I was going to have with this bastard. Although I had to say disappointment seeped into my black soul when I learned, cutting out his tongue was a no-go. It seems that you need a tongue to speak, which is unfortunate.

Maybe it could be asymbolicshowing, you know, like making an example out of him like I did Alejandro…

As my short playlist ended, I pulled into the apartment complex, checked the round in the chamber, then grabbed my lock picking kit from the glove compartment and stepped out.

I didn’t want to be caught with an empty gun if things took a turn, as I always suspect they will.

It was inevitable, especially with men dealing with a woman.

Why did they always get so offended when a woman kicked their ass? We were tough; at least some of us are. I guess it makes them feel less like a man.

Slamming the door shut to my Civic, I fixed my jacket with a shrug of my shoulders, then pulled it down to make sure the pistol sitting at the small of my back wasn’t visible.

The cracked sidewalk wound its way up to the front door, where I pulled it open and stepped inside. Stairs sat to the side in the worn-down building, but in front of me held the Devil’s ride to hell—the metal trap called the Elevator of Doom.

If I had Max or Nico by my side, it might have been less of a big deal, but there was no way I’d step foot in that death trap alone.

Better to die with good company, I always say.

By the time I hit the fifth floor, sweat dampened my brow and anger bubbled inside because someone thought to build apartment complexes in the vertical direction.

I glanced at the cracked sign that showed 525, an arrow pointing left, with a water stain on the ceiling just above it. I turned to the right and went to the end of the hall, passing two more doors when John’s came into view.

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