Bad Boy by Night

♱ Chapter 46 ♱

𝓟𝓸𝓻𝓽𝓮𝓻
𝟺𝟼: 𝚆𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝙳𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚜

"Where are you going?"

Turning around sharply, I found my mom gazing curiously at me with a hint of sadness swimming in her eyes. She was donning her pyjamas considering I had tactfully waited until my parents had retired to their bedroom before endeavouring to sneak out, though I presumed they would be sleeping. It wasn't late by any means, but my parents were habitual early risers so they fall asleep earlier too.

"I'm meeting friends," I told her truthfully, though we did have a job to do.

A man had contacted us to declare his growing concerns that his boyfriend was allegedly squandering away monumental amounts of money. The boyfriend worked night shifts sometimes too which was why this job was so late. He was out of the house so that left us free to assess their online banking records, though we'd have to use the personal laptop at the house rather than removing the hard drive and plugging it into the dedicated laptops to triage and examine. Illicit affairs meant nothing complex like online banking, for instance, which would usually be a cause for surveying and instead it would consist of messages, images and videos.

Mom was frowning at me and I knew innumerable doubts were swirling inside her mind. "At this time?"

"It's not that late, Mom. We've been doing this since I've been in my apartment."

Her head bowed at the reference to my life after I had been exiled by her and Dad. One part of me wanted to claim it as a dark point in my life considering it was attributed to NAMELESS and I had no family support, but I had Adelaide and she was enough to act as the stars in my darkness. She illuminated the tunnel I had become lost in so I could see the path I had to take. Without her now, I hadn't escaped the tunnel, but the lights flickered repeatedly on and off, disorientating me and causing me to needlessly backtrack.

"Okay. Just don't wake us up when you get back please." Mom even outdid herself by managing to offer a smile, albeit it was a tentative one and it waned eventually.

"I'll try not to."

Just as I was about to move, Mom stopped me verbally with a question she had bombarded me with when I was initially arrested, though I refused to answer back then. Did she honestly believe I would provide her with the truth now?

"Why did you assault Samuel Bennett?" she asked. "What did he ever do to you?"

I held her gaze almost defiantly. Samuel, after discovering his girlfriend suspected he was cheating on her and she contacted us so we could provide proof, had threatened to call the cops on our illegal business. That, however, would have implicated Marvin considering he was our supplier of our dedicated laptops (Undercover didn't stock such extravagant and complex systems). That day I caught the bus because my BMW was in the shop for a service and I didn't possess my Ducati back then (it was also less suspicious by varying the transport from my friends and I, though the bus was not my brightest idea) and assaulted Samuel to intimidate him and threaten him back.

"If you go to the cops, you'll have much worse done to you," I'd hissed at him. "Our friend won't take pity on you."

"Our friend" was a reference to Marvin who would set his employees on Samuel. We knew from experience with dealings we mercifully never had to entangle ourselves in that they leave the offender beaten to an inch of their life. They call the ambulance but flee before the sirens are even heard.

Then I stamped on Samuel's hand.

And I was the reason why he required hand tendon repair—the surgery that ultimately resulted in his demise because NAMELESS switched general anaesthesia with potassium chloride.