“Hi, Orion!” Elena leaned halfway out of the SUV window and waved at him from across the farm.
She had sounded cheerful from a distance, but after the vehicle stopped and she actually stood in front of Orion’s towering frame, some of that confidence disappeared.
Elena straightened her clothes almost unconsciously, pulled an elegant invitation from her purse, and held it toward him with slightly flushed cheeks.
“My father wants to thank you properly, so he’d like you to come to dinner tonight.
A driver will pick you up at seven.” Before Orion could give much of an answer, Elena turned and hurried back toward the SUV like she suddenly had somewhere extremely important to be.
Two bodyguards followed her, and within moments the vehicle was heading back down the driveway, leaving Orion standing there with the expensive invitation in his hand.
He looked down at it for several seconds with a faintly strange expression before returning inside.
Greenfield Biotech maintained major operations around Monroe, so Peters had purchased a private estate outside the city to use whenever business brought him to northern Louisiana.
At exactly seven that evening, one of Peters’s drivers collected Orion from the farm and brought him to the estate, where a butler escorted him through the enormous house.
It was there that Orion finally met the billionaire Elena had spoken about so often.
Peters had not been born into extraordinary wealth.
Years earlier, he had married the beloved daughter of one of Monroe’s most successful industrial families, giving him access to capital and connections most young businessmen could only dream about.
Instead of simply living comfortably on his wife’s family money, however, Peters used those resources to build Greenfield Biotech from the ground up until the company became worth billions.
“Orion Locke, I’m Elena’s father, Peters.” The slightly overweight middle-aged man rose with the help of his cane and offered his hand.
Age had softened his appearance, but Orion could still see traces of the handsome man Peters must have been when he was younger.
Orion shook his hand firmly and replied, “Mr.
Peters.
Good to meet you.” Dinner itself was surprisingly relaxed.
Peters didn’t behave like the arrogant billionaire Orion might have expected, while Elena spent most of the meal talking far more than usual and repeatedly pulling Orion into the conversation.
Once dessert was finished, however, she seemed to realize that her father wanted to discuss something privately and reluctantly returned upstairs.
Sitting across from Orion at a small table in the estate garden, Peters became more serious.
“Orion, I sincerely appreciate what you did for my daughter.
I know you were being paid to participate in the rescue, but that doesn’t change the fact that you brought Elena home alive.” Orion shook his head slightly and answered, “You already paid the team.
I did the job I agreed to do.” Peters glanced toward the second-floor balcony, where Elena was very obviously pretending not to watch them.
After a brief hesitation, he asked, “What do you think of my daughter?” Orion could feel Elena’s attention even without looking up, and after considering his answer, he said, “She’s beautiful, kind, and tougher than people probably give her credit for.
But I’m not planning to stop being single anytime soon.” Peters looked directly at him and immediately understood that Orion wasn’t playing games or attempting to increase Elena’s interest by pretending to be unavailable.
His answer was calm and final, leaving the older man with nothing to argue about.
Peters sighed quietly, then collected himself and lit a cigar before waving toward one of the suited men waiting nearby.
The man approached and placed a check on the table.
Orion glanced down.
$200,000.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“Since Elena apparently doesn’t have that kind of luck, I’ll thank you another way,” Peters replied with a faint smile.
Orion pushed the check back almost immediately.
“I already received my two-hundred-thousand-dollar share from the rescue.
You don’t owe me anything else.” “Don’t refuse so quickly.” Peters took a slow puff from his cigar and pushed the check back across the table.
“Lucello has an excellent eye for people, and he has an unusually high opinion of you.
Greenfield Biotech has plenty of scientists, accountants, attorneys, and executives.
What we don’t have enough of are people who can deal with problems that can’t always be solved through paperwork.” Orion gave a quiet laugh.
“I didn’t even go to college.
I spent most of my adult life learning how to fight and kill.
That’s not exactly the résumé most biotech companies are looking for.” Peters waved the objection aside.
“Once a company becomes large enough, protecting its people and assets sometimes requires skills that don’t come with a university degree.” Elena’s kidnapping had made that weakness painfully clear to Peters.
Greenfield maintained corporate security, but most of those guards were useful only for keeping trespassers away from laboratories or escorting executives.
Against something like the Collector, they had been slaughtered within minutes, and Peters had no intention of being that helpless again.
That was why Orion and the Bison team interested him so much.
Peters had already investigated Orion through his own channels and found a former Navy SEAL with twelve years of service, no criminal history, few personal attachments, and an extraordinary combat reputation.
Orion had also saved John’s life during the Hotel Argento operation, making Peters suspect that he might eventually become one of the most influential members of the Bison team.
“So consider the check payment for a part-time position,” Peters said.
“I have money, business connections, and access to information.
When I encounter something that requires your particular abilities, you help me deal with it.
You remain independent the rest of the time.” “Part-time?” Orion repeated thoughtfully.
The arrangement was more attractive than Peters realized.
Orion wanted access to unusual incidents, missing-person reports, corporate information, and rumors that might lead him toward Aberrations or anomalous artifacts, while Peters needed someone capable of handling threats that ordinary security couldn’t.
If the jobs remained optional, both sides could benefit considerably.
“Yes.” Peters leaned back in his chair.
“And I already have something you might be interested in.
Elena’s late grandfather built his fortune in textiles before the family expanded into other businesses, and one of their oldest properties is Bachman Mill.” The name meant nothing to Orion yet, but the way Peters emphasized the next words immediately caught his attention.
“The mill is having a very special problem.” Bachman Mill was one of the largest textile operations connected to Elena’s maternal family and employed thousands of people across its associated facilities.
The main mill itself was an aging industrial property that had recently undergone renewed production and cleanup work under the management of Elena’s uncle, Warwick.
For a business that size to quietly ask Peters for help rather than simply calling local authorities suggested the situation was already serious.
“What happened?” Orion asked.
He wasn’t going to accept blindly; if the trouble involved federal agencies, military secrets, or something that could place him directly against the U.S.
government, he would walk away.
Even with Level 2 physical abilities and the Mask of the Faceless, Orion had no delusions about personally fighting an entire modern state.
Peters motioned toward the suited man who had delivered the check.
“Backman, explain it.” The man stepped forward and handed Orion a business card.
Backman was around forty, tall and thin, with gold-rimmed glasses and a scholarly appearance that did little to hide the efficiency in his movements.
“Mr.
Locke, I’m Mr.
Peters’s executive secretary.
If you ever require information or logistical assistance while handling work for us, you can contact me directly.” Backman adjusted his glasses before continuing.
“Bachman Mill is currently being managed by Miss Peters’s maternal uncle, Warwick.
He oversees day-to-day operations at the main textile facility—” “That bastard Warwick,” Peters interrupted irritably.
“If my late wife hadn’t made me promise to look after her brother, I’d let him deal with his own problems.” His expression darkened for a moment as he glanced toward his injured leg.
Peters’s wife had died years earlier in a car accident, and despite his obvious dislike of Warwick, he continued helping the man because of the promise he had made to her.
Backman wisely waited until his employer had finished before resuming.
“Yesterday afternoon, Warwick contacted us asking for immediate assistance.
Several employees at Bachman Mill have disappeared recently, most of them while working late shifts or entering the lower levels of the building.
The night before last, eight workers assigned to clean the basement disappeared at the same time.” Orion’s expression sharpened slightly.
Backman continued, “There have also been reports of an unusually severe rat infestation, strange noises beneath the mill, and workers claiming they saw some kind of large creature moving in the basement.
Warwick doesn’t know what it is, but enough people are frightened that rumors are beginning to spread through the workforce.” The pattern closely resembled the deadly infestation beneath Bachman Mill in Graveyard Shift, where workers disappear while a giant mutant bat-like creature occupies the tunnels below the textile factory.
“To keep the employees calm and prevent the situation from damaging the business, Warwick hasn’t contacted the police yet,” Backman finished.
“Instead, he called Mr.
Peters and asked him to quietly send someone capable of going into the basement and finding out what happened.” Orion leaned back in his chair.
Missing workers.
A basement.
And some kind of monster.
The faintest hint of interest appeared in his eyes.
(End of Chapter) [Reader Support Milestones]