Kings of Chaos (Dirty Broken Savages #1)(70)

It’s just… weird. I’m not used to pursuing men. Usually, if they want me, they just come to me, and I can choose to accept or reject them however I please. I don’t like this shit with Ash, where I’m the one who keeps feeling rejected every time.

But I shake that off. In the grand scheme of things, it’s not important. I’m not here to get Ash to fuck me, or even like me. I’m here to kill Ivan, and after the first attempt got fucked up, I need a new angle.

Ash was right about that.

He might also have had a point about finding a way in if I can figure out where Ivan gets his sex. It does kind of seem like it could work. It’s a vulnerable point for a man, since it’s probably not something he keeps his bodyguards around for. Especially if he’s fucking around on his wife. He’s not bringing them along for that.

So it could be a time when he’ll be alone and vulnerable. With his pants down—literally and figuratively. His guard will be lowered, and he’ll be focused on getting his dick wet, not keeping himself alive.

It’s a good lead.

Once my nails are dry, I head downstairs.

The dog is waiting at the foot of the stairs, staring up at me with those big brown eyes like he’s been waiting for a thousand years. His tail starts wagging as soon as he sees me looking at him, thumping against the side of the wall.

“Alright, alright,” I grumble under my breath. “I’m coming. Keep your fucking tail on, Mick Jagger.”

He trots ahead of me into the kitchen, and I fill his bowl up with the dry food. It doesn’t look appetizing at all, but he gobbles it up eagerly, licking his chops and slobbering all over the place.

I don’t give a shit if he gets kibble drool all over the guys’ floor. It’s not my problem.

After his breakfast, Dog starts jumping around in the kitchen, which I take to mean he wants to go outside to run around and play, so I let him out into the backyard.

While he runs around at breakneck pace, I sit on the back step, watching him. Every so often, he comes back, stands in front of me until I pet him, and then dashes back off to roll in the grass like a weirdo.

He really seems to be getting attached to me, and he already looks healthier and more well fed than he did before. Not hard to do, I guess, considering he lived in an alley before and ate whatever scraps he could get from the trash or whatever I gave him.

“Don’t get used to this shit,” I call to him, and he turns at the sound of my voice and gives a joyful bark, clearly not taking in any of my words.

“You either,” I mutter to myself. “Don’t get used to this shit.”

Whatever the fuck this is, living at the guys’ house, fucking with them and getting fucked by them, none of it is going to last. I have to remember that. When I kill Ivan, it’ll be all over, and I’ll go back to my life. They’ll go back to theirs, and that’ll be the end of it.

“And you’ll go back to your alley,” I tell the dog when he runs back over. “So you’d better be ready for that.”

I take him back inside where he curls up under the kitchen table and decides to take a nap.

His doggy snores provide the soundtrack while I make myself some lunch, throwing shit in a pan that I can use to make stir fry. It’s easy and quick, one of those things I used to make all the time back at my place when I was low on either food, funds, or fucks to give.

It’s good enough, and I even clean up after myself before heading back up to my room for the rest of the afternoon.

Later in the evening, I get dressed and head out, driving to the red light district to follow up on Ash’s idea.

It’s possible Ivan is hiring more expensive call girls, and fuck knows he could afford it, but I figure I’ll start here and see what dirt I can dig up. Working girls always know what’s going on around them, and at least I can probably get a few leads to work off if I pay attention and ask the right questions.

There are always girls on the street, hanging out at cross walks or walking up and down in front of the shady businesses, trying to attract customers. I spot a couple of them sharing a cigarette and head over.

“Hi,” they greet me, eyeing me up. I can tell they’re trying to see if I’m going to be a customer or if I’m competition.

“Hey. I just wanted to ask you a couple of questions.”

That makes them relax, which is funny, because asking questions is usually a bad idea around here. But I can tell they know I’m not a cop or someone trying to get them in trouble.

“Whatcha wanna know?” one of them asks, blowing smoke away from me and her friend.

“You see a lot of what goes on around here, right? Who gets hired, who’s hiring who?”

“Sure,” she says. “People like to think they’re slick and being sneaky and all that, but we see shit. And we talk, so we know what’s going on. If one of your friends goes missing, it helps to know who she went with last so you can find her, you know?”

I nod, because that does make a lot of sense. It’s fucking gross that there are people out there making it necessary, but it makes a lot of sense.

“You looking for someone in particular?” the other girl asks. “A friend of yours or something?”

“Something like that,” I say.

“Hey!”

Before either of us can say anything else, someone shouts from farther down the street. I turn and see an angry guy marching over to us. Their pimp, probably, judging from his tacky jewelry and the way he swaggers over like he owns the place.