no control

• forty one •

elijah

Rain surged down from the blackened sky as thunder cracked somewhere in the distance. Each droplet sounded like a muted gunshot against the metal top of my truck.

I rubbed my brows tiredly and looked at the apartment building again.

Movement from a door on the second floor drew my attention. A flash of golden hair under the bluish fluorescents caught my breath.

Gladys moved quickly through the dimly lit apartment building until she stepped off on the ground floor.

I unlocked the car door as she approached. Within seconds, she was sliding into the passenger seat.

I looked over as I performed my usual scan of her after any extended time spent apart. I might have been exhausted but I could never miss the shadows obscuring her face.

"You reek of alcohol," I said.

She said nothing as she buckled herself in. I drove out of the parking lot with a sigh.

I was ready to be home and in bed, holding my angel while she slept. Today was an absolute cluster fuck that I never wanted to relive.

Our contact in border patrol was stationed elsewhere now. There was no one they trusted at the checkpoint we'd been using for years now either.

We halted all transportation across the border, which easily cost me hundreds of thousands of dollars.

Thank fuck Aaron was now on-site and scoping out other routes, or I'd be losing my fucking mind.

He confirmed just a few minutes ago that we established a new checkpoint with a reliable connection. One of my men at the warehouse was currently updating shipping information and adding another customs agent to our payroll. Yet another 'security consultant.'

"We had fun," Gladys murmured, her sweet voice chasing away the shadows from today.

I glanced over and noticed her face was still turned to the window. Frowning, I reached out to slide my fingers through her hair.

She turned to look at me out of instinct. My focus zeroed in on her bloodshot eyes.

"Angel," I sighed. My attention fell back on the road.

"What?" she challenged.

Fuck, I was too tired for this shit.

"You shouldn't be getting stoned and drinking," I said. "You're underage and it's illegal. Should I even remind you about the killer?"

"I wasn't in any danger," she huffed. "We were just hanging out."

"We can't take any chances."

She grumbled something incoherent before I made out, "I'm still alive, aren't I?"

My hands clenched around the steering wheel. "Now is not the time, sweetheart," I growled. "Lose the attitude."

She remained quiet but I could sense the blustering anger that hung around her like a rain cloud.

I had no idea why she was pouting when she'd been testing her luck all day. She was putting herself at unnecessary risk. And for what?