Nothing was well. Everything was wrong. How had Roan hired someone Gen knew? How did Gen know this Ben character? Why did the fragrance of his cologne feel so familiar? Was it a set-up? Was Roan simply playing with me? I felt sick to my stomach at that thought. Because it meant only one thing and I so did not want to admit it. To acknowledge what this strange coincidence meant.
If Roan McLaren was toying with me, he knew where I was and had known for a while. And he was taking his sweet, sweet time to play me. As though he was so sure of the outcome, he didn't need to rush to secure me at all.
I let a strangled sound out on that thought, which was drowned out by the music blaring from the speakers. I straightened my back, lifted my head and forced myself to look at Gen - knowing she was still watching me with that strange contemplative expression on her face. I smiled. I think it was a little sad. It was certainly an acknowledgement that I'd been found out and it was time to go.
I lifted my hand and waved good-bye. Watched as Gen frowned and cocked her head to the side. Then before she could do something that would make me cause more of a mess than I had already managed, I swung for the door and pushed past some customers walking in. The lunch rush was about to start, even if Gen wanted to hound me with questions, demand an explanation, she'd be too busy now.
And a bus would be arriving soon on Quay Street in order to leave at once, direct to Hamilton. It was time to bring Chrystal back, even if she was going to be a hashed up version of the Chrystal I'd been this morning.
I didn't bother to glance across the street at Pennyworth's. If I did, I'd want to go inside and see Angela one last time too. And it was obvious what a bad move that would prove to be. Sweet Seduction had proven my downfall, I would remain strong from here on in.
I took a detour onto Queen Street, going straight for the Pharmacy there. A quick purchase of essentials and I was on my way to the public toilets I'd used earlier. Chrystal was going to be a brunette, with green eyes and shoulder length hair. I'd miss the long locks, and even though I wasn't yet attached to the red hair, I was already attached to Abi. So seeing that colour disappear at all, was a significant hit.
Just as well I had over an hour before the bus was due, because the dye job took thirty minutes, the haircut another ten, and the threading of beads another fifteen. The woman who stared back at me in the mirror of the public loo was a stranger. She had Abi Merchant's green eyes and face, but little else. I wasted a precious five minutes taking her all in. Letting myself see her, accept her, be her.
As I purchased my bus ticket with cash and waited with the other passengers for the bus to be ready to board, I decided Chrystal Kerr wasn't going to be an entirely lost cause after all. Just because Auckland was too hot to handle right now, didn't mean I couldn't return in three days time to pick up her fake papers. I could make a day trip of it. Hamilton was less than two hours away. I could hide out there for the next three days, then return to Auckland to uplift my new ID.
It was a risk. One I wouldn't have taken in the past. But these papers were border ready. They were going to be the best papers I had ever purchased and replacing them was damn near impossible. It was a risk, but it was a risk I was prepared to take. I'd lay low in Hamilton, a forced break of sorts, and then I'd face the enormous risk of travelling across the border.
It would be so easy to give in now. To run away with my tail between my legs. To let Roan McLaren win this round. But this round was too important. I needed to dig deep now, to reap the reward later. As I settled into my seat on board the bus and considered what a life outside of New Zealand could entail, I resolved to make this work. To play Roan, just as he was playing me. He expected me to run. He wouldn't expect me to return to the city where he had finally found me.
The bus pulled out of the terminal and I watched all the newly familiar sights of downtown Auckland move slowly past. This departure felt different for so many reasons. One, I didn't want to leave. Two, I knew I would return, even if for one day. And that had never happened in my travels before. No two places ever visited again. And finally, if I was truly honest with myself, the third reason this departure felt different was because of him. Part of me was impressed he'd found me at all. Five years hiding gives you a sense of worth. I was good at hiding, yet Ben, Gen's Tiki tattoo wearing friend, had found me.
That intrigued me. That and the fact I couldn't help feeling Ben hid in plain sight too. Just like me. He hid in order to track someone; to watch them from the shadows, but not be seen. How many times had my eyes skimmed over his hiding spot this morning? How many times had I seen him and not perceived? He was undoubtedly my enemy, but for the first time in my life I felt a connection to another human being that made me feel alive.
Because you can't deny you're alive when your heart continues to beat itself right out of your chest. Even now, thinking of him, my heart rate was climbing and my breathing was starting to saw out of my mouth. I chided myself mentally and worked on lowering my blood pressure and just enjoying the sensation of being on the move again. I managed to lower the BP, but the moving again part no longer held any interest for me.
That's why I had to risk a return to Auckland in three days time. That's why I had to push the boundaries of the rules my father had given me, in order to stay safe. Because I couldn't keep going like this. I just couldn't. And that scary thought was enough to make me have to work on my blood pressure all over again.
By the time we reached Pukekohe, just South of Auckland, and the bus stopped for one last pick up, I was feeling better prepared for what lay ahead. I had a plan. An ID in the making. A destination in my mind. An escape route mapped out. This was familiar territory. This was what my father had taught me to do.
I watched as two male passengers boarded the bus and sat down by the driver. Both dressed in leathers more appropriate to riding bikes. I searched for any visible club patches or markings, but if they wore art it was hidden from sight. One had a goatee and dark straggly hair, the other was clean shaven and bald. They paid no notice to anyone around them, just hunkered down and flicked through car magazines in their laps.
Satisfied they offered no potential problem, I let my mind wander as I stared blankly out at the scenery flashing past. As it usually does, when I'm fleeing a location because I've felt my cover was blown, my mind went back to my father. To a scene near the end of the three years he'd taken to prepare me for this exact moment.
"You must always be vigilant, Sarah. Even when you're sure you are safe, don't lower your guard."
"But how do I do that, Dad? How can anyone stay so focused all of the time?" I asked, genuinely bemused at his insistence it can be done.
"Because the alternative is capture. Do you want Roan to capture you, baby girl? Just because you forgot to check your surroundings and lowered your guard?"
"No, of course not. But surely he'll give up on me after a while. Surely I can live a normal life eventually."
My father walked across the room we were in and grabbed hold of both my upper arms. He gave me a little shake. Not too roughly, but enough to get my attention.
"Don't you get it, Sarah. He owns you. Fuck it! He owns me, so he owns you too. Roan McLaren is not like normal men. He values his possessions only so much as to ensure they remain his. To lose either of us would be a hit to his pride, one he wouldn't suffer lightly. To lose you..." he trailed off there, a look of disgust crossing his face. I knew it wasn't disgust at me. My father had never looked at me like that, but seeing it on his face, when so close to mine, left me chilled to the bone.
"Dad," I pleaded. "I don't know if I can do this." I really didn't. Not just the scary part of it all, but the constant looking over your shoulder. The idea that I could never trust anyone ever again. It was a lot to ask an eighteen year old.
"Sarah," he said, his voice cracking as he wrapped me up in his arms and gave me a gentle squeeze. He pulled back and looked down at me. Sad blue eyes staring out of a tired and worn face, laced with fear. "The only way I
will be able to go on, is if I know you are doing everything in your power to prevent Roan finding you. If I doubt your ability to do that, then I might as well hand Roan a loaded gun right now and tell him to shoot me in the heart with it."
I stared up at my father and felt fury wash through my veins.
"Don't put this on me," I begged. "I'm not strong enough to bear the burden of your life as well."
I watched as my father's face hardened into something I had never thought I'd see directed at me. I knew he needed to be tough when called on to do Roan's dirty work, but he'd shielded that side of himself from me over the years. He let me see it now.
"You are stronger than you think. You are a Monaghan, raised in the shadow of a drug lord's world. Your playground growing up was the Compound Roan McLaren ruled from. You have steel in your bones and sweet honey in your veins. Learn to use both well. Or you are no daughter of mine."
I wrenched my arms out of his grip and stumbled back from him.
"What the hell, Dad?" I demanded, probably showing a little of that steel and none of the sweet honey he'd just mentioned.
"Do you love me, baby girl?" he asked, a complete 180 from the hardened man I'd just met for the first time.
"Of course," I said immediately. My need to reassure him part of my heart and soul.
"Then make me believe this isn't all in vain. Give me a reason to go on living, to breathe the same air that man does, in order to keep you safe."
"Dad," I said on a whisper.
"I need to believe it, Sarah. Otherwise, why go on?"
I think I hated him a little in that moment. Forcing me to commit to a promise that would mean so much. Didn’t he understand what he was asking of me? Didn't he care that my life would never be free and easy ever again? If he gave me hope that I could just see the next few years out and it would all be over, I knew I could manage it then. But indefinitely? To forever look over my shoulder, to never lower my guard?
It was too much and I couldn't make that promise. So I turned on my heel and ran from the rooms we shared. Already moving in the shadows of the Compound. Already blending in, being seen but not perceived. For three days I avoided my father, then on the fourth, reality came crashing back in.
I was sitting in my favourite hiding spot. On top of the roof at the rear building, overlooking fields that backed onto the perimeter fence. It was night out, so lights bathed the carpark on the far side, and in the stillness I could hear the electricity humming in the fence several metres away. The odd security guard with his leashed Doberman dog walked past, doing the perimeter check. But none thought to look up here.
I spent many hours sitting under the stars hoping to spot a falling one on which I could wish. None came that night. But Roan McLaren did. Into the back field, the other side of the electrified fence. He had four of his bodyguards with him. Two of the big burly men dragging an unconscious figure between them. The other two containing a weeping woman as she pleaded for them to let her and her husband go.
I knew I needed to leave. Seeing this would be wrong for so many reasons. To not see, I could never be asked and have to lie. But that was the pathetic excuse. The real excuse? I knew what was coming, and it would haunt me for the rest of my life if I stayed to watch.
"You both chose the path you are on," Roan said in his nasal voice. I withdrew into the shadows a little further. "And it is a path that directly opposes mine. What did you think I would do when I found out you betrayed me? Nothing? Pat you on the back and say, good job!"
"Please don't kill us," the woman whispered. "Please don't kill us," she repeated on a whimper of defeat. Because she knew too. You don't play ball with Roan McLaren without knowing he breaks all of the rules.
"Oh, I'm not killing both of you, Marie," Roan said calmly, rocking back on his booted feet.
The woman's head jerked up to see the veracity in Roan's statement. Whatever she saw there, she didn't like.
"You were the one to betray me, Marie," he pointed out softly, reaching forward and cupping her face as though she was a favoured child.
"I know, I know," she whispered. "And I'm so sorry, so sorry. Please," she begged. "I know you have to kill me, but let Rick go. Please."
"That's not how it works and you know it," Roan answered, pulling back, but not before giving the woman a hard shove that had her face-planting into the dirt. She scrambled to her feet, then tried to reach her husband. One of Roan's guards simply lifted her off the ground and pulled her away by her hair.
"No, Marie. You took something of mine, so I'm taking something of yours," Roan remarked calmly, so at odds with the emotions running rampant on the air.
I heard her scream of denial and my body froze of its own accord. I wanted to slip from my hiding place and run from the roof. I didn't want to witness the silenced gunshot that took the life of her husband from her. Her sobs were enough to slice right through my heart. But my body simply froze.
And I watched Marie's husband topple over with a bullet hole in his forehead. Dead.
I must have made sound. I don't know. My entire body was in shock. I'd seen some truly horrific things in the past, things I didn't want to remember. But for some reason this was worse than all those things combined. Roan held the gun that took Rick's life, and although Marie was sobbing, his eyes flicked up to my hiding place on the roof. As though he knew I was there watching. As though he heard my slight intake of breath, even over Marie's continued weeping.
I didn't know them. I hadn't seen either Rick or Marie around the Compound before. But it didn't matter. I'd seen and I wasn't sure if Roan knew I had, but the cruel, twisted smile on his face when he looked up at the shadows on the roof that I hid in, was enough to scare the crap out of me.
Whether Roan knew he'd had a witness or not, the message was clear. As long as I stayed far away from Roan McLaren, he would keep my father alive, so that when I returned he could shoot him in front of me, over the back fence of the Compound.
I found my father pacing in our rooms shortly afterwards and I made the promise that changed the rest of my life.
The sounds of the other passenger voices came back to me, as the bus pulled into its first scheduled stop, forcing me to face this reality instead of a past that hurt almost too much to bear. I knew what kind of man Roan McLaren was - I'd had front row seats - even before he appeared in my bedroom at the age of fifteen. But even though the evidence of my memories was painful, it was worth it to be reminded of why I had to keep going. Why I could never give in or lower my guard. For my father's life, for the sacrifice he had given me, I had to keep looking over my shoulder and stay hidden in plain sight.
I let a long breath out releasing the memories, not scrubbing them from my mind entirely, but banishing them for now. Three days of hiding in Hamilton, then one quick visit back to Auckland to claim Chrystal's ID. Even knowing what could happen if I failed, didn't change my plans. Steel strengthened my resolve, the steel that my father told me lay within my bones. Yes, it was a risk. But if I took precautions, it would be worth it. Because how much safer would my father be if I was overseas?
My eyes lifted up to the front of the bus, not really planning on making a scan of my environment as we hadn't stopped since Pukekohe. But because of those revisited memories, my guard was once again fully up. A quick flick of my gaze across those passengers around me and then a search of the front seats down by the driver and front door.
It took a second, maybe two, to realise what I was seeing. So unexpected, despite my guard being up. One of the Pukekohe passengers, the one with the bald head and clean shaven face, was staring right at me.
As if a nest of fire ants had suddenly attacked, that itch between my shoulder blades ignited and I could have sworn the bastard at the front of the bus was staring down the barrel of a gun, sighting the huge-ass bullseye on my back.
Oh shit.
Chapter 5
What Will I Call You Now?
My blood thundered through my veins as I watche
d Baldy and Goatee step off the bus with some of the other passengers. We had ten minutes before the bus would head out again, on course for Hamilton. Most of those exiting the bus were heading towards the toilets or the café across the parking lot. But Baldy and Goatee were just rolling ciggies and standing around at the front door to the vehicle.
What the hell did I do now? I wasn't wrong. The bald headed guy had been staring at me. Even when my eyes met his, he didn't hide his interest at all. Just kept on ogling me like I was a piece of steak and he was starved. I bit my thumbnail and crushed my satchel to my chest. What the hell did I do now?
He'd see me if I stepped off the bus at the rear door. He could corner me if he finished that ciggie and climbed back on board. I was down the rear of the bus, past the back exit. I didn't want to be trapped, but I also didn't want to leave the safety of the bus just yet. I stood up, crouched over and made my way to a seat across the aisle from the rear door. I could still see their heads out of the window up ahead. If they boarded the bus up front, I could escape through the door opposite. If they split up, one to the front door, one heading to the back, I could make a quick dash and get out the back before they cornered me.
Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. This was unexpected and really bad. These guys looked like the kind of men Roan would hire, but as yet they hadn't done anything. The prime time would be now. There were only three other people who remained on the bus with me. Two of them were sleeping, the third had earphones on and eyes closed, head nodding away to music. Prime opportunity for the leather clad men outside to approach.
But they just talked and smoked their ciggies. Neither looking in any particular direction, just shooting the breeze while they waited for something to happen. Me? Or the bus?
I hated this so much. This fear and anxiety and... paranoia.
I couldn't blame my Dad for the way I am now. He gave me the skills I needed to survive, but the person who put me in this treacherous, emotional roller coaster of a position to start with, was Roan Fucking McLaren and no one else. So, I most definitely blamed him. But that didn't solve my current emotionally heightened moment. Did the bald headed leather clad dude look at me because he was tracking me for Roan? Or not?
Sweet Seduction Shadow Page 5