Ford Security

by Clara Kendrick

  “It’s complicated,” I say flatly.

  “Make it so it’s not complicated then,” he says, and it’s such a simple request but one that I’m not able to fulfill. “Help me understand. I don’t need the whole story, but I just need something to hold onto. Something that makes me believe that you haven’t been lying to me since you’ve known me. Something that makes me believe that you’re still one of us, that you’re still a good guy.”

  “I’m not really in a mood to be talking about this right now.”

  “You’re drinking.” He shifts his gaze past me and then right at me. “I can smell it on your breath and I can see those bottles on your table and the counter.” He nudges past me and makes his way into my home without my permission.

  I shake my head, realizing that he’s not going to leave this alone and push the door to a close just as he pivots back around to face me. “There are things I already know,” he continues, “and there are other things that are a complete mystery. But from what little I know, I’m struggling to believe—”

  “Then don’t believe.” I shrug, reach for my bottle, and then push my way past him to step back into the kitchen. “I just need to be alone right now.”

  “Why?” he questions from behind me, the tone of his voice heavy and dark. “Come on, Dom. Just give me something.”

  “How about this for something?” I finish off the bottle and toss it into the trash. It lands with a loud clink as I twist around to face Zach. “Did you know I have a sister?” He stands before me emotionless but my mind is anywhere else but in this home right now. It’s gone, lost, searching through memories. “Or maybe I did have a sister. Seth Grimm took her years ago, but he never upheld his end of the bargain.”

  Zach’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. There’s a particular look written all over his face, one I’ve seen a thousand times before. It’s one that screams that he doesn’t quite know what to say and he’s in a little bit of shock. I can’t exactly blame him considering the fact that I’ve never shared the fact that I have a sister with any of the boys.

  He finally speaks. “What was the bargain?”

  “That I work outside his organization, basically as a man for hire but without any of the perks of having an actual job. The only pay I received was the assurance that my sister would be returned to me safely.” I purse my lips together, tense my throat, reach for another bottle of beer and pop the top off using the counter ledge. “I killed him.”

  “Seth Grimm?” His eyes widen as he shakes his head in disbelief. “Why would you do that? Not that he was a good man or anything, but if he knew where your sister was, then why would you kill him?”

  “Because right before he was presumed dead the first time, he informed me that my sister had been dead for a long time. I meant to kill him then but the next thing I knew he was already dead, but you already know all about that.” I pass him an open bottle of beer and cheers him. “When I found out he was still alive, I made another pact with myself to make sure that I got to finish him this time. Fate would have it that I received an offer from another associate of his with the promise that if I killed him that he’d tell me where my sister was and that she was still alive.” I take a quick drink. “I began getting my orders from a man named Brendan who headed a subsidiary of Grimm Industries. He instructed me to meet him at the Grimm Industries event and that’s why I went.” I exhale softly. “And then you showed up and dragged me out of there and I’ve been angry ever since. I’ve been angry even though I know you’re not the one who rigged the building to blow, but that explosion took away the last hope I had of either finding my sister or at least knowing what became of her.”

  “I’m sorry.” It’s all he can bring himself to say as he stares out longingly into the distance, right on past me and through the large kitchen windows. “I didn’t know.”

  “How could you?” I shrug, roll my eyes. This is the last conversation I want to be having right now. People always say the best therapy is talking about what ails us but it’s not helping. It’s only making things worse. “These are my demons, Zach, and I need to deal with them on my own.”

  His eyes twist to me. “Let me help you.”

  “No,” I say as low as a whisper. “That’s not an option.”

  “Make it an option,” he pleads with me as he steps closer. “You’ve done so much for me so let me help you with this. Maybe Lola would know something.”

  I shoot him a glare. He has his own free will and he can make his own choices, but the fact that he’s wrapped himself up into the arms of a Grimm is honestly enough to make me sick. She can say she’s not like her father but I won’t ever believe it. As much as we never want to admit it, we are products of our parents and she did not have a good role model.

  “There’s nothing Lola could say—”

  “Don’t do that,” he scowls. “Don’t push me away or try to paint her with a broad brush for what her father did.”

  “I’m not the one wanting to have this conversation.” I push past him and back towards the foyer. “Don’t make me say something I’m going to regret.”

  I can feel his shadow hovering me as he follows me to the foyer. “Don’t hold back, Dom. Just say what you need to say. God knows you’re basically a closed book incapable of opening up to anyone or anything—”

  “I’m going to stop you right there.” I twist around to face him with a finger pointed squarely in his face. “I literally just brought all of my skeletons out of the closet for you to see and yeah, I know I can be closed off, but at the end of the day it’s none of your business.”

  “It is my business,” he grinds out. “Because you made it my business. You’re supposed to be my friend and friends help each other.”

  I force myself to bite my tongue. All I can do is look away because while I know he’s right, I’m really not in the right headspace to be talking about this. I’ve already said enough. Finally, I turn back to him. “That’s all I’ve ever done is help you people, but I understand there are limits and lines I can’t cross, and you need to realize there are things that you simply can’t help.”

  “I choose to not believe that.” He takes a measured step towards me. “I choose to believe that there’s always a way and it’s easier to figure out if you’re not fighting alone.”

  “I just… Not tonight.” I click my tongue against the inside of my cheek and sigh. “I just need to be alone right now.”

  He purses his lips and offers me a gentle nod. “I can understand that but just know that we’re here.” He steps to me and drops a palm on my shoulder. “We’ve all been through hell and back, especially these last few months, but there’s always a light at the end of the tunnel. You’re going to find it.”

  I pass my eyes over him and in the quietness we reach a silent understanding before he steps past me and exits through the front door, leaving me to my own devices once more. But the funniest thing happens once he’s gone, I feel alone. I feel powerless, I feel like the world’s just going to keep on spinning and I’m tired of fighting.

  I grip the bottle of beer in my hand tightly and then throw it against the living room wall. It shatters into a thousand tiny fragments as I let out a scream, “Fuck!”

  CHAPTER TWO

  KATIE

  I'm in the business of stealing secrets and then auctioning them off to the highest bidder. It's not the most noble profession in the world but it's one that has enabled me to live the life I want to live. It's enabled me to wake up every day on my own schedule and it has given me a sense of adventure that has never failed me.

  Sometimes it can get quite dangerous. When you're dealing with people who have such dark secrets, it's always a possibility that they will come after you. Everyone has secrets. I certainly have my own. Everyone around me has secrets. Everyone on the streets, everyone I ever see, there are secrets all around me and yet, I’m the keeper of them.

  But for the most part, the secrets people keep are of no interest to me. I don't ca
re if your husband is cheating on you, or if you caught your son running an old woman over while he was drinking and driving and then moved swiftly to cover up the crime. The only way I would care about those scenarios is if they could be used for leverage and even then, the person would have to be willing to pay the right price.

  Sometimes the secrets are nothing more than white lies used to discredit others in court testimonies. Other times, the secrets can be of the most urgent matter. In the name of the game of stealing secrets, I've certainly had my fair share of mishaps.

  Once, I was almost prosecuted after I had been set up to steal the secret schematics of an up-and-coming technology start-up. It was an act of revenge by someone who believed I had wronged him. Thankfully, I had my two best friends beside me. And they were the ones who threw the first red flags in the air, they said something wasn't quite right and I chose to believe them. And because I believed them, I saved myself from a life in prison.

  After that situation, one would think that I would try and change my ways, but if I'm being honest, I simply have too much fun doing what I do. Again, it all goes back to being able to do what I want to do, when I want to do it, and how I want to do it.

  I once came into contact with a man named Seth Grimm. It was at his request that I found the location of a sworn enemy of his. Once I had that information, I sent him a briefing on where he could find the man. The next day I woke up to the news that that man had died in the middle of the night. How he died? By being tied to a railroad track just as a train was approaching.

  I think that's when I sold my soul.

  I began working for Seth Grimm because he paid very well. He paid more than most others were willing to pay. Others would scoff at his prices and to be honest most of the time it was easy work. And I love money so I wasn’t about to turn down easy work.

  Eventually though, even though he had hired me to steal secrets from others in exchange for money, he ended up stealing something far more important from me.

  My brother.

  He said that he had just gotten tired of paying me to do what he knew he could get me to do for free. And I was defenseless to stop him. It should've been a warning sign for me to get out of the game. But by staying in the game, and by extension continuing to work for Seth, I knew it was the only way I would ever be able to find my brother.

  And then the bastard died. Not once but twice. And neither time was I able to be the one to pull the trigger. With Seth and all his associates long gone from the world, blown to hell and back in a timed explosion, his secrets went to the grave with him. And out of all the secrets I ever sold to him and out of all of the secrets he kept in his dark soul, there was only one that piqued my interest.

  My brother is out there somewhere. He is somewhere in this world and just when I had given up hope that I would never find him, I received a tip. You see, a little birdie got in touch with me and told me that there was one man left in this world who knows where my brother is.

  But I'm not stupid, even with the help of my associates, I wouldn't try to pry this particular secret from this man's hand on my own. There is simply too much to risk if it would go wrong.

  So here I am left with a problem that I can't solve. Not on my own anyways.

  To take down the man who knows where my brother is, I'm going to need the help of somebody else. The problem is that nobody seems to want to go against this man. He calls himself Christopher Lawson and somehow he survived the explosion at the Grimm Industry tower.

  From what I've heard, he's a well-connected and dangerous man. And though I've survived going against strong men before, I'm not willing to take this particular risk of my own.

  That's where Dominic Ford comes into play.

  # # #

  Alice Parker has been my best friend since we were in preschool together. Long after her light blonde locks had faded into more of a strawberry blonde, our bond remained as tight as ever. We went to colleges on separate sides of the country but always kept into contact.

  And in the days following college, days that were filled with anxiety about getting a real job and stepping foot out into the real adult world, the two of us came back together. Both of us were tired of the job hunt and were anxious to get on with our lives and that's when she pitched an idea to me. She threw her strawberry blonde hair over one shoulder and cocked a curious gaze my way.

  It was she who first came up with the idea of stealing secrets. Back in the day, the art of thievery usually pertained to the theft of valuable possessions. There are thieves known throughout the world who make their marks by breaking into safes and banks. There are thieves who make their name by stealing diamonds, and there are thieves who make their money by stealing art.

  There are even thieves hired by the government to steal information. These people are often called spies, but my friends and I don’t slap that label on ourselves. We are independent contractors with a laser focus on one goal; to make as much money as possible and have a great time doing it. We don't let moral objections stand in our way. We don't consider ourselves either good or bad, quite contrary we find ourselves somewhere in between—neutral, I suppose, would be the proper adjective.

  Instead, we are merrily mercenaries for sale to the highest bidder. We've been on a little bit of a hiatus though because lately things have gotten stale. But the three of us—Alice and I, and our mutual friend and partner in crime, Tosha—still sit away in our hideout shooting the shit. We talk about anything and everything while sipping on hard liquor. We talk about our nonexistent love lives and we reminisce about former heists and adventures.

  On this particular night, at three in the morning on a Sunday when all the world is sleeping, Alice and I find ourselves sitting alone in the dark recesses of our sky loft.

  It’s not of the most suspect place for women like us to hide out and do our business. Most of the people who do what we do hide deep underground, in lairs underneath old abandoned factories, for instance. But I live my life by the motto that it's easier to avoid detection when you're living amongst the crowd.

  In the large open space, there is a lounge and a kitchen. There's even a bar too because us three women love our hard liquor. Off to the side is a hallway that leads to four different bedrooms. And each bedroom has its own bathroom.

  For better or worse, not only are the three of us business partners and best friends, we're also roommates. We figure it's easier that way. It allows us to watch over each other much more efficiently. And make no mistake about it, we live in a dangerous world hidden beneath the surface of everyday life.

  Alice sits on the white leather couch across from me. We're both dressed down in nothing more than comfortable pajamas. It's an odd sight seeing two grown ass women dressed like this but nobody is watching us. Right now it's just the two of us sipping on whiskey in a dark loft that overlooks the city of angels.

  Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city is bright even at this time of night. They say New York is the city that never sleeps but maybe that's because New Yorkers never really set foot outside of their city.

  Los Angeles is just the same. We don't sleep.

  "Is there something on your mind?" Alice says from across from me then takes a sip of whiskey. "You look like you're lost in your own thoughts."

  "Aren't I always?" I force a smile and swivel the drink in my hand. "You know, it is three in the morning."

  "Yeah, but that shouldn't mean anything. We are night owls.”

  She has a point. "Do you ever wonder what it's like to be somebody else?"

  "I don't often catch myself in a daydream. I'm content with the life I've built for myself."

  "Right." I drop my eyes and take a long sip of whiskey, reveling in the way it wets my lips first and then burns against the back of my throat. "But you don't ever find yourself wondering who we would be if we didn't choose this path?"

  "Sure, sometimes." She shrugs and sits her glass down on the accent table beside her. “But every time I think about
that alternative reality, I think about the fact that I probably wouldn't be happy. And I know I wouldn’t be happy because this right here is my happiness. This work we do, no matter how unconventional or dangerous it is, it makes me feel alive." She chews into her bottom lip. “I like feeling alive and that's why I'm worried about you because behind those dark, sleepy eyes, it's almost like you look dead."

  I can't help but to roll my eyes and laugh a little uncomfortably. "That's the way to make a girl feel good about herself."

  “You know I didn't mean it like that,” she says, and when I roll my eyes again, she reaches for the nearest pillow and launches it across the short distance between us.

  I manage to grab the pillow just before it collides with my face and launch it back at her. It lands against the accent table, knocking her drink over and spilling the dark brown liquid on to the white surface of the table.

  "I'm not cleaning that up." She laughs and then shifts her feet to the floor so that she can stand up. And even though she proclaimed she wasn't going to clean up my mess, she begins to march towards the kitchen to grab some paper towels. "Don't take your aggression out on me, sister."

  "You've seen me when I'm aggressive," I point out to her. “I’m being as calm as a cucumber."

  She spins back to me with a smile and paper towels in her hands as she steps back over to the spilled drink and begins cleaning it up. “Are cucumbers calm? I'm sure you meant to say you were as cool as a cucumber, but what do I know?"

  She passes me a shit-eating grin so I grab the nearest pillow and launch it at her. She manages to duck out of the way and the pillow rolls onto the floor behind her.

  "When you're done cleaning up that mess, would you mind passing me that pillow?"

  She finishes mopping up the spilled liquid, disposes of the paper towels into the trashcan and then turns to me with one hand on her hip. "I know you don't want to talk about it—”