Page 5 of Irrevocably

Me, I’m handling the chief, surveilling his office and home to see what I can get on him and his relationship with the club.

I glance down at the laptop sitting on the passenger seat next to me, where the camera feeds are showing me the kitchen and dining area, the living room, the stairs, first floor hallway and bedrooms.

First thing I did when I was given this mission was to put eyes in the chief’s house. It wasn’t difficult. I can see him now, sitting in his favourite armchair in front of the TV, beer in hand. He’s watching football and his team is losing, which explains his look of disgust.

I’ve already searched the house, and last night, I searched his office at the station to see what information I could turn up – again, it was easy enough to evade their security – but I found nothing. I put up some cameras in the station, just in case.

So far, my week of surveillance has revealed nothing relevant, but it hasn’t been a total loss. I now have another person of interest.

His daughter, Astrid Starling.

She’s nothing special on the surface, just a normal college student, but she’s close friends with one of the MC’s enforcers, and that caught my attention.

I’d feel sorry for her if I was a normal man, because catching my attention is a very bad thing. But I’m not a normal man. I was trained from a young age to be an assassin, a killer, a weapon, and a weapon has no mercy. A weapon has no empathy, no feelings. It’s merely a tool to be wielded – and that’s exactly what I am, a blade in the back. A bullet to the heart.

My phone vibrates, lighting up the screen with a text notification. It’s from Astrid’s friend, Rowan, reminding her that she’ll be there at eight. Good. The spyware I put on her phone when I ran into her on the BU campus today is working.

The chief is my target, not his daughter, but I think I’ll shift my attention to her, on the off-chance she has an interaction with her enforcer friend that could get me results. I’m nothing if not thorough. In my line of work, if you’re not thorough, you’re dead.

I glance at the feed from Astrid’s bedroom, which shows her coming in wrapped in a towel, having just had a shower. She’s getting ready for the party Rowan invited her to, at Blackwater Beach, near the port area.

Interesting that she’s going to the party since my research into the Starlings has indicated she’s not much of a partygoer. She’s not much of anything, or at least, not much of anything interesting.

She’s a straight-A student, who volunteers at a local shelter, has a part-time job shelving books at the campus library, and seems to spend most of her time studying and looking after her father. A normal, good little girl, living a normal, safe little life.

I watch her now as she goes to her dresser and pulls out some clothing, innocently getting ready for a party. She drops her towel in preparation for dressing, her naked body pale in the stark light of the bedroom. She’s pretty, but I’ve seen plenty of tits and ass before. They don’t move me.

Nothing moves me, not anymore. Nothing except my present mission goal, and my mission goal is to find out what the relationship is between the chief and the MC.

Astrid puts on her underwear – pretty cotton panties with little flowers on them and a lacy white bra. Then an oversized white shirt with a band logo on it, and jeans. She adds the necklace she wears all the time, a little star, then shakes her long silvery curls out, and they bounce around her shoulders like cotton candy.

She’s a fairy. She’s fucking Tinkerbell, but I don’t believe in fairies.

I believe in my Glock and the bullet that comes out of it, and the blood that usually follows. Those things are solid and real and trustworthy. They don’t lie, not like people do.

My other phone vibrates, the cheap burner in my pocket, and I pull it out. There’s only one number in it, because I only use it to send messages to one person.

Progress?

He’s always terse and to the point, so I reply in kind.

Proceeding as planned.

Good. I want this done.

I don’t bother replying. He trusts me to do my job.

Astrid leans in toward the mirror on her dresser and scowls at her reflection. Then she picks up a tube of mascara and starts applying it, and I notice the red line on her wrist. It looks like she cut herself on a piece of glass or something, but the placement is odd.

I watch her, turning an idea over in my mind. Lazarus has been very clear that we’re not to draw notice from anyone, and most especially not the law, which is why I haven’t gone straight to the chief and forced the information from him at gunpoint. But that doesn’t mean I can’t attempt getting it out of his daughter instead.

Astrid wrinkles her nose at her reflection, as if she’s dissatisfied with what she sees, but I don’t know why she would be. Her features are precise, with a sharp nose, pointed chin and a rosebud of a mouth. Not exactly beautiful, but not far off, either.

This party that she’s going to tonight could be useful to me. The beach will be crowded with college students, and dark, and I could pull her aside, ask her some questions. No one would notice.

A car pulls up out the front of the Starlings’ house. On the camera feed, I see Astrid pick up her phone and look down at the screen. My own screen lights up again with a text from her friend Rowan, who’s just arrived to get her.

She grabs a hoodie and leaves her bedroom, and I follow her progress down the hall then down the stairs. She pauses by the entrance to the living room and calls a goodbye to her father. I switch views from the laptop to the house, and the front door opens. Astrid comes hurrying out, pale curls streaming.