Page 11 of Where's Molly

Seems she also likes to cover her bases.

Protective glasses rim her eyes as she grabs the hair clippers. She won't look directly at me, and a few strands of dark brown curly hair frame her face and hide her features, preventing me from getting a good look at her.

“I got it from here,” she says woodenly.

I don't answer, too intent on staring at her to see if my hunch is right.

She sighs, and finally turns to look at me, stealing my breath. Even beneath the large protective glasses, I recognize her immediately. There's no mistaking that fucking scar.

She has big emerald green eyes, a gap below her irises that's always given her a naturally seductive stare. And right below the right one is a permanent white, slightly raised bite mark. A full mouth of teeth scarred into her olive skin. How she got it—I still don't know. But it's evident it's not a pretty story.

She's older but doesn't look much different, only more mature. However, the light brown freckles that are smattered across her cheeks and the button nose soften her features. Nine years ago, I told myself I'd count them, but I never got the chance to finish.

I intend to remedy that.

Her eyes widen, recognition flashing within them. She stumbles back, dropping the hair clippers on the table before bumping into it, evoking a god-awful sound from the metal legs grinding against the floor. Even now, she still resembles a frightened cat.

“Cage? What are you doing here?” she snaps, then urgently peers around me as if I were hiding a whole other person up my ass.

“Making a drop,” I answer slowly, my brow pinching with confusion. “You’re supposed to be living in Alaska. I put you in Alaska.” My tone is accusatory, but I’m pissed.

The lengths I go through to make people disappear are fucking tedious as hell. It feels like a slap in the face to have a person I killed standing right in front of me—notin Alaska.

That's not why you're angry.

The intrusive voice in my head can go fuck itself.

She glances around nervously. “I didn’t like it there.”

The muscle in my jaw tics. “What are you doing here, Molly?”

She rears back, as if I backhanded her across the cheek.

“That’s not my name anymore.”

“This isn’t supposed to be your state of residence either, yet here we are.”

She narrows her eyes, fire unleashing within the depths of her irises. “Why do you care? I hired you for a job. You did the job. What I do is no longer your concern.”

She’s right.

If any other client I made disappear were to materialize in front of me, I’d tell them it’ll cost triple to make them disappear a second time. But whatever happens to them in the meantime isn’t my fucking problem.

Except, Molly isn’t like the other clients I’ve had.

Mainly because I fucked her thoroughly before I gave her a brand-new identity. Then, she disappeared on me—just like she was supposed to.

And it fucking enraged me.

Now, she stares at me like a tiny rabbit caught in a trap, squealing to be freed.

She escaped me once, and I let her.

I won’t allow it a second time.

Molly

Present

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