Read Story: SEASON 2 EPISODE 68

Thursday, September 12th, 1:45 pm

My phone buzzed, pulling me out of whatever trance I’d been stuck in, and I felt my cheeks heat when I looked at it.

A single image of a naked woman sitting in an expensive-looking office chair graced the screen. Her legs were spread until her thighs were pressed against the chair’s armrests, and there was an unmistakable wet spot roughly the size of a quarter glistening on the rich, brown leather. Her face wasn’t in view, but a hint of choker-style collar at the neck was a dead giveaway.

Anyway, it had her name at the top of the screen.

But I didn’t need the collar or the name to know who it was. I would have recognized Helen’s body anywhere. Her dusky pink/brown nipples, the way her natural breasts rested against her chest, and the position of each tiny freckle that occasionally dotted creamy skin… I could have identified Helen’s body by touch alone.

The message under the image said, It’s back in, sir. Feel free to send me another message anytime.

Despite my melancholy, I couldn’t help laughing.

The phone showed her typing, and I waited patiently for it to arrive. When it did, it read, "Please don’t be too hard on me for taking it out without your permission. I know I disobeyed, but I tried very hard to be a good girl.

I shifted in my seat, crossing a leg to hide my growing erection so that Emily wouldn’t get a show.

I wasn’t in the mood to flirt like that after everything that happened, but I couldn’t deny the effect Helen was having on me, either. Her beautiful body, her submission, and calling herself a ‘good girl' when she was technically old enough to be my mother… it was all incredibly hot. I would have eaten it up if the circumstances had been different.

“What is it?” Emily asked, unable to hide her curiosity.

“Nothing,” I said, shaking my head. “Just Helen.”

She eyed my phone suspiciously, then I noticed her eyes dart to my crotch before looking back at me.

“Mm-hm,” she said with a knowing smirk. “Kid-friendly message?”

“I wouldn’t give a kid this phone if my life depended on it,” I said.

There were too many naked selfies on it. They would’ve sent me straight to jail.

“Your phone probably needs its own MPAA rating,” Emily agreed.

My phone buzzed again. This time, it was Jonah. It was a picture of him and Honey eating at a restaurant. They looked like they were having fun. The message read, Hey, man. I just heard that your helicopter was shot out of the sky, you spent a few days in a forest, and that you’ve been rescued. I found out about the whole story ten minutes ago. I'm glad you’re okay, and I can’t wait to see you again.

I had to admit… it was nice to see so many messages from people telling me they were glad I was okay. Seeing the outpouring of love from people like Derrick, Kwan, Rose, Mom, Dad, Richie, and others—old friends and more recent ones—made me choke up a little. I hadn’t heard anything from Jacob, but Haley, his wife, texted me that I needed to visit my nephew soon.

Money wasn’t the only thing I had an abundance of.

“So,” Emily went on, “Helen has a way to track you besides using your phone’s location? Is that how they were able to find you?”

“Helen doesn’t,” I said, not wanting anyone to think that Helen had some special way to reach me. That could have put a target on her back. “I have a service that keeps track of me. Helen just made sure they were just doing their job.”

“That was money well spent,” Emily said. She smiled at Natashya as her girlfriend returned with a fresh drink. I took it gratefully as she took her seat.

“Did I miss anything?” Natashya asked.

“Marcus was just saying that the company Chloe worked for did a great job tracking him down.”

The company Chloe worked for.

I felt my stomach drop in a way that had nothing to do with turbulence, and judging by the look on Emily’s face, she knew she hit a sore spot.

I took a sip of my whiskey and looked back out the window. “They did a fantastic job,” I said, agreeing with Emily.

______

Wednesday, September 11th, early afternoon

“Where is everyone?” I whispered, staring at the cabin from the forest. The clearing around the cabin was minimal—just enough to provide space for a couple of helicopters and a shed around the back. It was modest-sized and looked like it had been built in the past ten years. Rough-hewn timbers lined a porch, and there was a sturdy front door with an oval of glass set inside it that had a colored pattern. The whole thing was hardly worthy of the moniker ‘cabin,’ and reminded me of wealthy people trying to play at the idea of roughing it. I think they called it ‘glamping.’

It wasn’t what I expected, considering how much of a badass Astrid turned out to be. She kept her grace and poise while being stuck under a wrecked helicopter. Not only that, but most of the time, she’d been able to shrug off the pain as if it weren’t that big of a deal. And then there was her shooting. I’d been distracted, but it wouldn’t have surprised me to learn that every bullet she shot found its target.

My image of her had been that of a Norwegian princess, coming from wealth and prestige with minimal experience in anything besides navigating social situations and business. Our days together peeled back Astrid’s layers. They suggested there was more to her than just being the daughter of wealthy parents, so when I went to see the cabin, I had painted a picture of a simple structure that barely had electricity or running water. I imagined it would be something more fitting for Norwegian Annie Oakley.

I shouldn’t have been surprised at how modern and beautiful the building looked. After all, Astrid had managed to maintain her composure and beauty so well.

“You said there were only a handful of men left.” Psalter pointed out.

His dark eyes scanned the building with such an intensity that I was sure he could have painted a picture from memory after a quick glance.

“Yeah, but I figured we would see something,” I said.

“With so few left, they’re all likely inside. Maintaining cover is their best defense… especially with the hostages.”

“Where’s Chloe?”

Henry looked at me, his lips compressed and slightly turned down, and I could tell my questions put him off. “I’ve been here as long as you.”

“Sorry,” I said.

“It’s fine. Just give us a moment to assess.”

We’d discussed the possibilities of saving the hostages. According to Ryo Tanaka’s profile, Henry had stated that the guy likely didn’t pay enough attention to his men to recognize their faces, and he was counting on that for his main plan. That had been to present some of his men—the ones he’d purposefully brought with Japanese-American heritage—as Tanaka’s. They and another of his men who closely resembled me would try to convince their employer that they had captured Marcus Upton after days of hunting.

The other two plans were to get a line of sight to assassinate Tanaka or smoke them out. Both plans presented serious concerns and limitations, making the fake soldiers plan the best.

Except for one big problem.

“That’s great, but according to Chloe, he’s a loose cannon. Maybe he won’t know his own guys’ faces, but I’m a little more important to him. What if he takes one look at your guy and shoots him in the face because he’s not me? What if he kills the other hostages just because he’s pissed off?”

“It’s a calculated risk that we're going to have to take,” Psalter said.

“Shea’s in there. Chloe could be, too, for all I know. I’m not risking their lives on a calculated risk.”

“Do you have another suggestion?” Psalter asked.

“I go in there alone.”

“Absolutely not,” Henry said.

“He won’t kill me,” I said.

“He shot you out of the air with an RPG,” Henry replied dryly.

“And since then, he’s royally fucked up. He’s lost his ride and can’t call for backup because his dad will know he’s failing. Killing me might appease Hiro, but it doesn’t solve the problem of them being stuck in the middle of the forest surrounded by people who want to kill him.”

“You have no leverage.”

“You said it yourself,” I pointed out. “I have a helicopter.”

“You’ll give him the helicopter in exchange for the hostages?”

“It’s a sweet ride. He’ll have a hard time saying no.”

“And then we can just… what? Buy another and wait for someone to fly out to us?”

“You’re on the clock, and I’m paying you. Do you have somewhere else to be?”

“I can’t be held responsible for what happens to you if you step inside that door,” Psalter said. The look on his face was so serious that I had a hard time not being intimidated. Like he said, though… I’d been shot out of the sky and hunted for the last several days. I’d also had sex with Chloe. Psalter could try to intimidate me.

“Tell you what… if I die, you’re off the hook. I won’t sue.”

He stared at me for an uncomfortably long moment, then held up his phone. “Say it into the microphone. I want the recording to be unmistakable.”

______