Chapitre 107: 26. YMCA.
I went on to Spain. Same thing. Find an institution, observe, and then look for helpers. From Brutus, I had gotten the idea of gangs. Often in Europe, werewolves had their own gangs, werewolves didn't have it easy near these facilities and there seemed to be a few everywhere.
There were tough people who weren't afraid to get their hands dirty and had a code. They would be reliable, as long as I always got their attention. The way it worked was, first I picked which gang. I'd usually walk the streets, sniff around, look for werewolves.
I started guessing what the gang was doing and pretty quickly; I learned to find the ones that had some use. I watched my time, including the boss. You had to have a good alpha in the pack.
A really powerful alpha and not just one who liked his status because of his appearance or was the boss because he threatened and humiliated others, not when the good alpha got the respect of his pack with no problems.
Once I had found a suitable pack, I approached them. Sometimes I had found similar evidence of werewolves in the facility but I didn't take it as automatic talk when I didn't know if their pack members were missing, then only when I had made contact was I able to take it up.
I usually insisted on going to the boss. Then I had to fight and, like Brutus, I was underestimated and badly. They had that bad habit of just looking at the appearance, but they learned. I always beat whoever I liked.
I learned at that point that my looks are a big fucking advantage when everyone always underestimates and can't prepare, so I always have surprise on my side, albeit only that one time, but that's all it took.
This 160 cm 50 kg little skinny flea wasn't a terribly street-credible fighter until I had my victim under me. They respected me quite fast and saw me as who I was, too. I made friends with the packs, and a lot of them didn't want to deal with Bran because of the Marrok laws.
They always had their own way of doing things and there was never one big leader who decided everything and who got paid for it. Werewolves were not the same saviors as in America, where fame was not earned by the press but by deeds.
I had a lot of respect for their way of doing things and I saw how fucking hard it was for them to live and when werewolves were being hunted and chased. They had to be hidden and even on a full moon, there were few places to run. My desire to help grew, and I wanted to have a life for them where they didn't have to hide and feel persecuted.
I was doing gigs with them, not alone because I wanted to show the power of group work and also that we could fight back, I got some secure storage space where they could put the drugs and the information if they didn't use it themselves.
I taught them a few things here and there, and I learned so much new stuff. They were always ready to teach, to talk, to plan, and my role got stronger. I had now a clearer part of my mind focused on this.
I also gave those who wanted the opportunity to contact Reddington. He had been willing to do it himself, and having contacts in Europe was a bonus for him. I made like a passing network for myself. I set up warehouses and agreed on what supplies would go where so that we had our warehouses, and that brought my pride back into the mix.
When we weren't so reliant on Reddington equipment. I could gain bulletproof vests and stuff, looted from facilities that we destroyed. There could be up to 50 of us and we would rescue, loot, and frame. We made a difference, and it spread. It gave others the idea to fight back, to rescue victims. Not just be in hiding and try to escape.
They had been in gangs as it had given them a fierce enough reputation from the past, but as these evil facilities had gotten more foothold, everyone was in their sights. My little idea woke them up, not letting them hide in shadows anymore, but starting to do something about things. It would not be easy, but so many of them were willing to die for the cause, more or less.
I put everyone's contacts in secret hiding places that Bran couldn't get into. Like my mind. Some of it was on a phone I'd gotten from Magnum and it had strong security. It wouldn't be easy to hack and I could get it to destroy just the contact information by tapping one code.
It was very important to them that Bran didn't get their data because Marrok's power was strong and it was known that Bran could use it to force the packs to work under him and then if anyone resisted too much, he would send Charles. They had no desire to have Bran's power extend into Europe, and I understood perfectly well. Even Bran had complained that he was busy enough. Power had corrupted him at some point.
Bran was a politician, and he didn't care so much about the pharmaceutical industry as he did about pack sizes and female heat. And for these, again, the heat was no big deal. They were what they were and didn't need to be watched or managed.
Spain, France, Italy and Germany. In each country, I made several blasts with the help of new friends. We learned to find medical facilities, even ones that weren't on Reddington's lists, and we could tell if a facility was rotten, pretty fucking quickly. We were getting pretty good at this.
Damon called me after he'd just finished Portugal and we chatted for a while, he said, " Baby, I went to get the phone and you weren't there, you'd gone to Europe for gigs, me too, baby I'm actually in Europe, text me where you're going so if I catch you myself in between we can have some free time and maybe buy a house and consecrate it again."
There were women's voices and music in the background, so I didn't think it was even realistic to expect.
I said, "Yeah, when your fuck party is over, maybe then. I'm at gigs and I don't mind what you're doing, so go fuck since you obviously miss it and I wasn't the object yet."
My voice was quite damn snappy. I was in no mood to listen to any lies.
Damon was silent and then said, " Fine, baby, I'm caught, I can't help it when it's like this cycle of trying to forget what I did to you and I didn't think you wanted me to even touch you."
Then he hung up the phone. Oh, that time. It's not my place to convince him that everything's fine when he clearly isn't. Besides, Damon had sounded so drunk that the booze was flowing.
The evil one was happy. The good one was in a clutch that was difficult to get out of, and he had manipulated it. He whispered how Mimi didn't want him to touch her. He reminded him of her photographic memory and what nightmares she must have had. He manipulated Good into thinking that Mimi was at the gigs just so she wouldn't have nightmares.
He got the good side to take out its self-hatred by fucking and drinking, and then he manipulated the good side to call the invincible, to reveal itself and felt the good side weakened again by Mimi's sentence, oh how he enjoyed it. It went exactly as planned, and now it was easier for him to come to the surface, to do his own thing. To be cruel to the women who came to the good side to be fucked. He pinched and squeezed, hurt them, and yet they still let him do his thing.
He called the invincible himself, was a manic hanger-on, and told her how much he loved her and how hard and thick his problem was, but he always made sure the women's voices were heard, the music was heard. He weakened them both.
Every time the good one fucked a stranger, he suffered as he knew he was doing wrong, but he just couldn't stop. And when the evil one called Mimi, let her see how the fucking party went on and on, the bond between them weakened considerably.
The manic version of the hanger-on was just on and called me all over Europe, making up excuses. I always heard women's voices.
I said when I was in Germany, "Damon. Now go fuck yourself and leave me the fuck alone. If you can't get out of the pussy sea, it's fine then. But I'm in the middle of a mission, and I don't want to hear what Adrianna is saying in your ear."
I hung up right away. I didn't understand that behavior at all, as if he wanted to tell me repeatedly how he was fucking strangers. I didn't understand the logic at all. And I didn't have to, as I was now interested in other things, and the idea of buying a house, and consecrating it, didn't even occur to me.
I was doing other things besides blowing up; I was earning money in safe deposit boxes and I was emptying them. But Damon was not part of this job, not to begin with. I was all the time growing up in my role of leader and there was no room for a fucking machine and his problems.
I was now in work mode, and that fucking drunken idiot was distracting me. Adam hadn't contacted me and Samuel was supposedly off in India again, helping with some wolf problem.
Charles met me by chance in Germany and he was very surprised at what I was doing. I had just gotten our plan ready, and I was on my way to get more supplies. He was off work and wanted to come along on the job as he knew the local wolves. Fine. it just so happened that Charles coldly sent me on a couple of sniper hunts and wouldn't let me go on that one. Overprotective much.
Then when Damon called again and heard how Charles had met me, jealousy reared its head again. He called me a whore and a lecherous bitch again, and he was even more inventive with his names.
Magnum said that when I come back to America, Colin wants to check me out. He said he would send the information to Samuel. I agreed. I had my network, my organization. It was still very few and only five countries, but it was a start. It would be good to continue from here. This was taking shape scarily fast almost but then again, I felt I was doing what I was supposed to be doing. And then it hit me. The prophecy about my army. Maybe I was just building just that.
You can do gigs on your own, but you can do a lot more if you have helping hands. When I told them and they themselves always saw all the experiments, the torture, the victims, the network was ready.
I was the flea, and I had fleas. I didn't declare myself the leader. Not in any way. I tried to cooperate, but everybody thought I was more or less the leader. So I tried to be more of an organizer than a boss when I did not know how to lead. I just went with the flow and shared my ideas, learned something new and we got something done.
I was happy but exhausted when I flew back to America. I went to a house in Chicago for a while to recuperate and eat. I would have liked to tell someone about my fleas, but when Magnum went to the women or something.
Mimosa was dryly amused by Damon's attempts to convince us he was really coming to see us. I went to the sauna by myself. I don't know where Adam was. He was off doing some Bran thing.
I was baking, cooking, resting, wondering what the fuck I had accomplished, and knowing that I had done something that would be useful for a long time. I so wanted to share my memories and my plans with Adam and Samuel, but it just wasn't the right time.
A week ago, I had finished this really long and challenging killing spree that had taken me all over Europe. It had had its benefits, but I could have done with some company at some point.
Damon was supposed to meet me in America then, when he called and said he'd probably be able to come, but half an hour later he called and said," There was always some obstacle sorry baby, I'm just not going to make it now."
They filled the call with giggles and women laughing. Damon's voice was slurred. He was drunk again. He didn't say a word about how he had called me names, and I knew he was nowhere to be found. It was obvious what Damon was doing. Maybe it was because our sex life was so intermittent.
Adam was at gigs and I wasn't sure if he wanted anything to do with me again. I'd been at gigs for months now. Damon was away. I hadn't even had my first rush yet.
My gigging streak, amazingly, had lasted six months. Damon had been fucking strangers for about six months, so the lack of lust did not surprise at all me. This was just my life. We weren't meant to be a storybook romance, apparently.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone