The rotten people looked posh, elegant, and had all the right connections and money to hide their nefarious tendencies. They used their power to prey on the vulnerable and feed their fucked up animalistic urges.
Which is why I made it my mission to make them pay any chance I got. The press and everyone in the law circuit says I’m picky, but they don’t know the actual reason behind that.
I refuse to represent a person if I doubt they’re rotten.
They have a stench—the rotten ones—and I can smell it from a mile apart. It’s a sixth sense that I’ve had ever since I was a child.
Don’t get me wrong. That doesn’t mean I give a fuck a fuck about justice. At least not in the traditional sense.
If a woman comes to me because she murdered her abusive husband, good for her. I’ll get her out of prison in a heartbeat.
If a man killed his gold digging, emotionally abusive wife, good for him, too. I’ll give him a new page so he can start over.
Yes, I get murderers out of prison, but not any murderers.
Not any abusers.
Just the ones I don’t smell that rotten stench on them.
When the lift is about to close, I spot a very petite and very familiar woman walking at a brisk pace in the opposite direction.
I don’t even think about it as I hit the button that opens the doors before it closes. This is not the IT department, so what’s she doing here?
That girl is shady as fuck, and today, I won’t let it go.
I follow after her, keeping a safe distance. She doesn’t notice me, though, since she has that nerdy way of being so focused either on her computer, or on her feet, like right now.
She’s carrying her laptop case and lowering her head as she cuts the distance in record time. She’s fast, but not forceful, almost like a breeze passing through.
Her destination is, apparently, a staff supply room that’s rarely used. She stops in front of it and checks her surroundings like a thief before breaking and entering. I hide around the corner until she goes inside.
I wonder what the little daredevil is doing on a floor that shouldn’t concern her and in a supply room. I doubt it’s because a tech was needed here.
Instead of following right after, I wait five minutes. I need her to be engrossed in whatever her task is so she doesn’t get the chance to hide.
I’m patient like that. Hunting doesn’t happen with only speed. Stalking before the attack is the best way to leave the prey with no way out.
Once the five minutes are up, I stride to the door and slowly open it. Sure enough, she’s sitting cross-legged on the floor in the midst of stacks of papers and typing away at her computer.
The blue light reflects in her glasses as her fingers move at lightning speed. She’s facing me, so I can’t see what she’s working on, but she doesn’t notice me, even when I close the door, trapping us both inside.
Click.
The sound echoes in the air and she lifts her head, her lips forming an O.
With the door closed, the only light in the pitch-black supply room comes from beneath the door and her laptop. There’s light, but I don’t use it.
For me, darkness is familiar. Light is not.
Due to the blue glow, I can make out the parting of her full lips. Lips that should’ve never left my dick since that first time.
“W-what are you doing here?”
“That should be my question.” I stalk toward her. “What are you plotting now? Another identity? Another name?”
She tracks my movements as if I’m indeed the predator that’s coming after her. I lean forward to peek at the computer. “What do you have there, Anastasia? Why do you need to come here to do it?”
As if just realizing what I’m after, she slams the laptop shut, filling our surroundings with dark shadows.
“Do you think that will stop me?” I reach for it and she tries to curl up around it.
I slip my hand onto her stomach and she’s forced to get on her back, keeping the laptop overhead so I can’t reach it.
So I climb on top of her, my chest glued to hers, and that stops her from wiggling about. She strains, her fingers clutching the laptop in a death-grip.
“What are you doing?” She pants, half-mortified, half-strained.
“I told you, I’ll uncover you, and now is as good a time as any.”
“There’s nothing to uncover, let me go.”
“Hmm. I would’ve believed that if you weren’t going through so much trouble to protect your crime weapon.”
“Laptops are personal, asshole.”
“Not if they’re at the crime scene.”