Page 23 of Doxed

The search is finally getting somewhere, but I'm not exaggerating when I say I've been staring at these screens all day and I haven't eaten, and I've barely slept. I need to take a fucking break. The answers aren't going anywhere. At least I hope not.

I lay my head in my hands and rub at my eyes. Do I take a nap or continue working?

Soft taps at my office door jar me out of my thoughts and I lift my head, thinking I imagined them, but then another soft knock lets me know I didn’t.

It can only be Briar. There wasn't any motion detected at the gates, so I push back my chair and walk to the door. Pulling it open—only enough so I can see out and blocking her view of the room—I glare down at the woman who ruined my life.

“What?” I snap.

She's stopped flinching when I snap and growl at her, which is unfortunate, but I can't say I don't enjoy her small bite of attitude. I can't wait to watch the fight drain out of her. For her to realize that she willingly walked into her own demise.

“I brought you dinner; you’ve been in here all day.

” She holds out a bowl of garlic and oil pasta with red pepper flakes.

“I wasn't sure what you liked, but I know you like pasta since you have a ton in your pantry.” She's not wrong, and I glare even harder because of it.

How dare she pay such close attention to my likes, I don't want her to know things about me.

But I've been watching her too. I know she likes night time showers, that she's had a hard time adjusting to a daytime schedule, that she likes to sleep with the blankets pulled up to her chin and she loves ice cream before bed.

Taking the bowl from her, I grunt a “thank you” and slam the door.

I'm mad at her for paying attention to me.

For trying to make something that I'd like.

But more than that, I'm mad that I watch her more than I need to.

I'm mad that I stare at her plump lips when she talks and her sexy legs when she walks away from me.

I don't want to be stuck between lust and rage. And what I saw the other night? I can’t get it out of my fucking head.

I can't forget the way her tights straddled my waist, or the feel of her lips wrapped around my cock.

Fuck!

Maybe I just need to get her out of my system. Fuck her and get it over with. Maybe that’s why she’s stuck in my mind, because I haven’t fucked her. Yeah, that makes sense. That's what it is. I just need to fuck her to get her out of my head.

I scarf down the pasta—it's alright—and continue on my search, this time with the new email that I found on that job posting bulletin.

How does this secret society connect to Carlos and the guy from Briar’s apartment? I figure the first place to look is through the emails in the account, so I, of course, start at the top. And the first subject of the first one makes the pasta in my stomach harden like concrete.

Briar Anderson. Is all it reads.

I hurriedly click on it and scroll to the top of the email thread. It’s a man responding to another job listing, so I go back to the dark web and look for this posting.

I find it almost immediately—this guy needs a lesson on internet criminality because he’s leaving trails left and right.

Needed: An individual to track down and deliver a woman. Will pay generously. Please, no unnecessary injuries to the cargo.

The post was dated a few days after the attack at La Lujuria.

Okay, makes sense. They found out she was missing and wanted her back, but why would they go to such extremes to find one missing girl?

Were they afraid she’d talk about what happened?

Was Carlos trying to get rid of her specifically and since she didn't end up in the shipment of women, now it’s on the secret society to look for her?

I originally thought Carlos sold these women to traffickers, but could he have actually sold them to a secret society? That shady fucker.

Anyway, back to the emails. Whoever took the job to look for Briar has no idea where she is, no shit, but he’s looking hard.

I continue going through the emails until I find another email with the subject line Martin’s Shipment.

This one says that the shipment from Martin Island is on its way. La Lujuria was on Martin Island.

I search the inbox for that same email address and found exactly what I was looking for.

A correspondence between the secret society and the man that placed the camera in Briar’s apartment.

There are details from the day he placed it, confirming he did it.

But the secret society hired him. They were behind this from the very beginning. And Briar was their primary target.

What did my little prisoner get herself into?