His to Steal

Ch. 4: Dazed

Sutton

I've asked my dad so many times to tell me what the hell happened Saturday night, and he keeps telling me he doesn't know. I know he's lying; there is no way in hell he doesn't have any intel with all the connections he has in this town.

But once he's decided, he is an immovable object. The next logical person to ask is Jason, his second in command, who's been around most of my life.

Jason is normally easy to crack, seeing as he views me as a little sister, and I sort of have him wrapped around my little finger. But he's been out of the penthouse since Sunday, and I have no idea where he is.

Pulling out my phone, I send him a text, asking if we could talk when he gets back.

Jason: Sure, princess. I don't know what time it'll be though. Got a lot going on around the office as I'm sure you're aware.

Yeah, I'm aware.

Sutton: Yeah, I know, that's kinda what I wanted to talk to you about.

Jason: I figured. I don't know much, but I will tell you what I can. Right now your dad is yelling for me so I gotta go. Okay?

Sutton: Okay. Talk later.

I lay back on my bed, staring at the ceiling. I know I have work on the books I need to be doing for my dad, but all I can think about is the stranger on the motorcycle who protected me during the ambush.

I need to know if it was Nicolai. I can't just sit here and come up with these assumptions. I'll never let it go, and it will drive me mad.

I snatch my phone back off the bed and pull up my Notes app where I hastily stored the motorcycle's license plate number. HFD437. Hopping off my bed, I pull on a pair of leggings and an off the shoulder sweatshirt before going downstairs to my dad's office.

I know he has ways of tracking people down. I just have to find the right website.

He can never remember how to get to any websites on his own, so I know for a fact he'll have it bookmarked...as foolish as that seems. And since I'm a good little daughter for the Ring, I know all the passwords for his technology.

Sitting in front of his computer, I type in his password and am greeted immediately with his desktop. The background is a photo of him, me, and Jason at Christmas last year, and I can't help but smile a little at that.

Jason is my dad's best friend, and even though he's quite a bit younger than him, they're very close. I think he views Jason like the son he never had, which doesn't bother me at all. Honestly. It takes some of the pressure off me to constantly be everything my father expects me to be.

Having Jason around has certainly been an excellent buffer all these years. Jason and I are closer in age than he and my father, so Jason often agrees with me and is able to help talk my dad into some things.

I open the web browser and scroll through his hundreds of bookmarks until I find what I'm looking for. It takes me to a page that I'm pretty sure is on what Dominique calls "the dark web," and after a few minutes, I find the place to type in the license plate number.

Drumming my fingernails on the glass desktop, I wait for the page to load. Finally, it does, and there is a match.

My heart stutters in my chest and I lean forward to read the result.

There's an address. No name associated, but this is a start.

895 Garrison Ave, Bronx, NY 10474

Jesus...that's all the way across town. I'll never get there and back without someone figuring out I'm gone. Namely Dominique.

I mean, she is my best friend, but she still answers to my father at the end of the day. And that ambush the other night scared the shit out of her. She hardly let me out of her sight all weekend. There's no way in hell she'd take me out anywhere today, least of all to the Bronx, which is essentially enemy territory.