Torn

"You're sure this time?" I questioned Stan, the club's investigator. 'Stan-the-Man' was very good at his job, I knew that. But I'd been given false leads before. She's gotten very good at disappearing over the last couple of decades. With the advancements in technology, she shouldn't be able to hide like she has, leaving no trace of herself, on the big world wide web and with only the barest of glimpses over the years on the dark net, she is extremely good at hiding her details from the world.

Stan hands me his photographic proof, with hands quaking with anger and desire, I study the face before me. She looks like her mother, her slender form transfigured in that chubby but not ugly shape of her mother. But it's her nose that tells me it's her alright, it's not long or bent like her mother's, no this is her father's nose, and it is her for sure.

My heart skipping, I switch to the second photo I held, pictured here, her grandchildren, and my weapon of choice for obedience. "Found you!" I whispered to myself. "She's been good at this for far too long, you're sure she's no idea you've tracked her?"

"Our brothers in South Carolina, assure me she has no idea these were taken. And thanks to the in-law connection we have everything you need."

Flipping back to the first photo, I stare into her face, memorizing the new details of that witch's face. "Leave the contact number on the desk." I was all too aware of the break in my voice, the emotions coursing through my veins, a power filled roller coaster of desire, pain and devilish joy at the conversation to follow.

A deal had been made and she'd ultimately broken the deal with her disappearance