Where's Molly(37)

It took me two weeks to figure out how to get him a new social security card and birth certificate. I even managed to get him a job on a fishing boat.

It sparked a passion I didn't know I had. Turns out, making people disappear would be how I'd save them.

I turned eighteen and started my own business, Black Portal, an electronic store that sells TVs. But that was only my front. I sold my actual services by word of mouth in the beginning. Eventually, I got Legion's attention from one of my clients who knew him, and he liked what I could do and sent more clients my way. He helps bring me business; in return, I help him with favors.

My only rule—I don't help rapists or pedophiles, which isn't an issue since Legion makes those types disappear in a more permanent way. Murderers, I take case-by-case. I've helped bad guys get away, but they weren’t lacking the moral compass I require if they want my help. There is such a thing as a gray area, mainly when it comes to murder.

“Jesus, is that who I think it is?” Silas whispers, his question saturated in disbelief.

My heart stops beating the second I lay eyes on her.

Molly fucking Devereaux is heading toward the counter, her eyes darting in every direction. Her shoulders are curved inward, and she's picking at her nails anxiously. Dark brown curls are deliberately arranged around her face, but those sad, green eyes and the scar on the apple of her cheek… it's a dead giveaway.

She was plastered all over the news when she went missing. And then her baby sister, Layla, eight months later. Most assume their father took Layla and ran, but neither has been seen since. Both girls with strange disappearances, which still haven't been solved to this day.

It's been almost six years since she disappeared. Now, here she is, in the flesh. And she looks no less sad than she did in her missing person poster .

“I got this one handled.” I jerk my chin at Silas, signaling for him to leave us alone. Without a word, he disappears in the back.

“They say that people who have eyes like yours are destined for a tragic death.”

There's a slight pause to her gait, but she pushes forward until she's a foot away, only a counter between us.

“Sanpaku eyes,” I clarify. “When you have a gap below your irises.”

“Do you greet all your guests by telling them they're going to go out in a ball of flames?”

“That's typically why they come to find me. I'm the one who saves them from the fire.”

She hums, distracting me from counting the freckles on her nose. I only got to fifteen, but I don't mind restarting.

“I'm just here for a TV,” she lies.

My answering grin is involuntary. “Sure, what kind?” I question.

“Uh—” She glances around and then points to a fifty-inch flat screen. And if I had to guess, far out of her price range. “That one.”

“That'll be five hundred dollars.”

Her wide eyes fly to mine. “Jesus,” she mumbles. “That's literally so unnecessary.”

I point toward our cheapest TV. It's a small box from a decade ago, but it has been refurbished.

“Fifty bucks for that one.”

Her nose wrinkles in distaste. “That doesn't look worth more than a dollar.”

“It's an antique.”

“It looks better suited to host a bonfire,” she retorts without hesitation.

I' m full-on smiling like a fucking fool.

“It probably is, but be careful, my employee might hear you. That's his pride and joy.”

She raises a brow. “My condolences to his wounded ego.”

Damn. I think I love her.

She clears her throat, realizing we've been staring at each other with stupid grins on our faces.

“So, uh, do you take payment plans for putting out fires?”

I lean my arms on the counter, now looking up at her from beneath my brows. I can feel how wicked it is, but I'm unable to hide it.

“First, tell me your name. Mine is Cage Everhart.”

She narrows her eyes, seemingly suspicious.

“You’re telling me you don’t know who I am? Legion didn’t tell you I was coming?”

I grin, appreciating her observation.

“Legion actually didn’t warn me, the fucker. But while I do recognize you, I wanted to be careful in case you go by something else.”

She hums, then answers, “Molly. You can call me Molly.”

I hold out a hand for her to shake, which she grabs timidly. The second her skin touches mine, it feels like tiny electrical currents zapping between our palms.

“Nice to meet you, Molly,” I rasp.

If I had to hold her hand forever, it wouldn’t be long enough. However, she releases me and pulls out a black card from the back pocket of her dark blue jeans, appearing unsure. “Legion?”

She says it like it's a question, though the gold letters say just that.

I've seen this card a handful of times. And every time, the person handing it over is someone who desperately needs an escape.

It also means Legion is completely covering their fee. And my prices are steep.

“Do you know where you want to go?” I ask, brushing my thumb over the foil letters. Usually, I keep the card, but I slide it back to her for reasons I can't explain. Hesitantly, she grabs it and tucks it in her jeans again.