Griffin
How in the hell did I get myself into this mess?
One minute I’m a foot away from the precious Canary—on the brink of a huge payday—the next, I’m rescuing an heiress, saving her from a fucking kidnapper.
Again, what the fuck?
There’s no way in hell I would sign up to be a knight in shining armor willingly.
That isn’t what I do. I don’t rescue people.
I take things from people. And I take such things from people like Kalista. That was the plan anyway—take the Canary—not the fucking girl.
But if I have to be a savior, I’m happy it’s for Kalista—the delicious damsel that she is.
Her charming wit and brilliant body adds to the rather bleak apartment, even if it’s only going to be for a short while.
And now that she is in my keeping—for the time being anyway—I feel oddly responsible for what happens to her.
It’s quickly becoming my only concern to return her safe and sound with no feathers ruffled—at least visibly.
To keep my sanity, I need to devise a plan for how to get her back.
I need to know what I’m getting into. I need to make sure that I’m appropriately prepared—unlike the last time when I went off half-cocked.
With Kalista bounded and gagged back at my place—which is quickly becoming one of my favorite pastimes—I head out to get some intel on the situation.
It’ll also help calm my rising desire for her. But mostly, it’ll help me to keep my hands to myself. I almost slipped when tying her hands behind her back earlier when it forced her tits to lift so deliciously.
The kimono had only added to my growing lust.
Honestly, I never knew I could be this strong-willed when it came to a woman. I’m horribly impressed. As I come up on the hotel, I dial Ritz’s number.
It’s not his real name—nor do I care to know his real name—but he came recommended from one of my colleagues. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t have known anything about that ten-million dollar Canary ring—or Kalista.
I would love to blame all of this on him—it’s always easier to blame an outside source—but I can’t.
I was the one who made the choice to rescue Kalista and get involved when I didn’t have to. I made the decision—foolishly I might add—to take her back my place.
But the sooner I can figure out what’s going on in the hotel, the sooner I can return her without any hassle. And then I can peacefully go on with my life.
“Ritz,” he answers.
Hopefully, he’ll have the information I need.
“Ritz, it’s Gryphon. What’s going on at the hotel?”
“What do you mean? With the girl?”
“Yes, the girl. Kalista.”
“It’s a mad house. Everyone’s scrambling, trying to figure out what to do next. Her parents have called everyone to search for her.”
“Go on.”
“All they know now is that she’s gone, and she left all her stuff behind. They have local cops, some private investigators, and some guys in suits asking some weird questions. The local authorities have the place on lock down right now, so only guests can come and go right now.”
Fuck, this might be a tad more difficult than I had intended.
But for me to truly understand what’s going on, I’ll have to go myself. I trust Ritz—as much as someone in my profession can—but I trust myself more.
“So, they are treating this like a kidnapping then.”
“Kidnapping? Fuck, no. They think she ran away. Why would they think it was a kidnapping?”
Ritz sounds one part confused and one part curious. Obviously, I know something he doesn’t, and he wants to know.
Too bad for him, I’m not in the mood for sharing.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Alright. Well, I’ll keep my ears and eyes open all the same. And I’ll keep you updated.”
“I think I’ll stop by and assess the situation myself, Ritz.”
“Let me know when. I can give you a heads up and look out.”
“I’d appreciate that. I’ll probably be there sooner rather than later.”
“Just call me,” he says and hangs up.
Upon reaching the front of the hotel, I make sure to covertly disguise myself behind a few large pieces of shrubbery decorating the front lawn.
The authorities swarm the perfectly groomed grounds. Some stand in circles talking—occasionally writing something down on a clipboard to look busy—while others are stuffing their faces or joking around.
No one looks like they’re really trying to find Kalista—not if they’re here.
If they were serious about finding her, they’d all be out looking around the town.
But I can’t complain. Their lack of diligence will make it easier to get in and look over everything.
And make it easier to return her.
Taking advantage of their incompetence, I survey the hotel and spot an open window on the third floor. There’s no one patrolling it, and it looks manageable to climb through.
I make my way through the yard and quickly hide behind the bushes. The exterior of the hotel is luckily brick, so just like rock-climbing, I assess the walls and scale the building.
I reach the third floor window seamlessly and without being noticed. Fortunately, there was no one in the room when I entered.
Having my career come to an end because I was caught by some scared woman with high-pitched screams would have been rather embarrassing.
I make my way through the emergency exits and head up to the floor of Kalista’s room. I take a peek from the door and witness a similar kind of commotion crowding the hallway as the outside, except the people here are all in casual attire with no symbols dictating their affiliation.
Something about this seems...unnerving.
But I refrain from thinking too much about it. It’s more than likely that they’re some private investigation firm her parents hired.
Ritz did mention that her parents had brought in some private people.
Ducking back into the stairwell, I call Ritz to let him know I’m here before I make my way to the lobby to greet him.
The once opulent and over-the-top extravagant lobby is now littered with authorities—all buzzing about Kalista.
Fuck, now this will make it harder to maneuver.
I find a spot at the bar, remaining as inconspicuous as possible and avoiding eye contact. I spot Ritz on the other side of the room—all five foot five of the blonde-haired man—and he nods to acknowledge me.
He side-eyes a group of men to the corner. They’re all in the same white fitted button-down shirts and blue jeans—like those outside of Kalista’s room. There are about four of them whispering to each other and looking oddly suspicious.
Maybe I’m just being paranoid.
I’m way out of my depth here.
Taking a sip of the Manhattan I ordered, I feel them out. All of them look the same—brown hair, brown eyes, with the same broad build.
It’s like they came from some Goons R’ Us store.
Getting by them is going to be difficult. It’s going to require some kind of diversion.
Just my luck, the Fates have heard me and answered my call.
A waiter drops a tray of wine glasses by the bar, and the men turn to look.
With them distracted, I move away from the bar and toward a rear exit.
As I slip by, I notice several men in black suits standing near the entrance. One in particular stands out. Along his neck is a long red scratch mark—a fresh one at that—and he seems to be favoring his right leg.
There’s something about him that feels vaguely familiar, though I can’t quite place it. Whoever and whatever he is, something is off.
This whole scene, from the incompetent police outside to the crowd of white-button down investigators, doesn’t feel right.
Once I’m outside, I send Ritz a text to let him know I’ve left and to make sure he tells me if anything changes.
In the meantime, I have a gagged heiress to return to and prepare.