Hey guys! Thank ya'll, so much for reading and responding to this story.
It was pointed out to me by a reviewer that Damon being a drug lord seems to romanticize the drug trade and due to personal reasons, they no longer feel comfortable reading.
Everyone is entitled to their opinion, and I apologize to anyone who is offended by anything written. Keep in mind though that stories are evolving and characters will develop and change.
However, things will get worse before they get better, so I wanted to add a TRIGGER WARNING to the rest of the story.
There will be a lot of dark chapters ahead, and the characters will do horrible things. If that is something you are not comfortable with, please do not continue reading!
Again, I appreciate all of you who have interacted so far and respect all opinions!
For those who plan to continue on, enjoy the chapter! :)
This is either the best idea we've ever had, or the worst, Elena kept thinking over and over, as she skirted around yet another Maxfield Manor security camera.
On one hand, if she got busted, she was so dead; on the other, if she pulled this off, the outcome would be more than worth it.
After all, Julian paid well for intel, but he paid even better for retrievals.
The plan was simple really, and had been thought up rather quickly, once she and Katherine had had time to sit down and weigh all of their options.
They needed quick money, which meant no time for waiting around, hoping a job would land on their lap.
The obvious conclusion to this dilemma was to create a job themselves, for themselves.
Julian was the safer bet.
He had deep pockets and report with "Katalena".
His tension with Damon Salvatore, topped with the information Elena already knew about the man, offered an opportunity for the perfect storm.
A few days ago, Julian had been flaunting that expensive bejeweled necklace around, and Elena doubted she was the only person he had mentioned it to.
Julian was clearly fond of the thing but, if she was lucky, had probably not yet had time to transfer it to his vault in Manhattan.
Which means it should be locked up nice and tight in the safe he kept at home.
A home that Elena had visited upon few occasions and could maneuver in and out of without much difficulty, and without alerting any security measures.
His system wasn't cheap, but it certainly wasn't the best she had seen, nor the most difficult she had ever had to disarm.
The task shouldn't be too difficult.
Breaking in certainly hadn't been.
Still, she worked carefully, taking her time as she met each security obstacle, because no doubt if she slipped up and was discovered, Julian would have her taken out.
But that was true for most of the clients she stole from or spied on, so her body handled that anxiety with a familiar ease that left her hand steady and her heartbeat calm.
A temporary shutdown of the alarm system took only moments, once she reached the computer in Julian's study, but getting into his safe proved to be more difficult.
She had brought the full expansion of her tool belt to break through the locking mechanism, but upon further inspection of the keypad, she feared that triggering the wrong wire might signal an internal alarm and bring Julian home in a rush.
It was a Friday night, and he always met up with "the boys" at the country club on Friday nights, but no doubt such an alert would quickly persuade him to drop his socializing agenda and be on the fast track back to the Manor, which wouldn't give Elena much time to complete her task.
She weighed her options.
The keypad was numerically based, and there were enough slots for a six digit code.
If she could reduce the variables, maybe she could guess the code.
She would have at least two tries, but probably not more than three, to get it right.
With a quick reach down to her belt, Elena lifted the flap that contained her lightening powder, then very carefully worked to brush some evenly over the keypad of the safe.
When that was done, she grabbed her mini flashlight with the black-light setting.
Luckily the UV did it's job, and clearly discernible finger oils appeared on six of the numbers.
0, 1, 2, 6, 8, 9
Unfortunately that still left over 136,080 possible combinations to try, assuming none of the numbers were repeated, which seemed unlikely since the visible prints were on six of the digits, instead of five.
"Okay, okay, think," Elena whispered to herself.
Statistically, most six digit passwords were dates; usually birthdays or anniversaries.
Julian wasn't married, and as far as she knew he never had been, so maybe his birthday?
She did not know it.
However, she did know his age, and a quick count backwards told her that the numbers didn't fit.
He was born in the seventies, and there wasn't a seven in the code.
There was a nine though.
Her mind jumped immediately to Caroline, who was only a few years younger than herself.
Late nineties was an accurate assessment, which, judging on the numbers she had, Elena would guess was '98.
And if that was the case, that left her with 0,1, 2, and 6.
January, June, or October.
She didn't know what month the girl had been born in...couldn't ever remember Juilian mentioning a birthday or a party or anything.
Katherine was supposed to be getting ready for her part of the night's plan, but maybe she had her phone on her.
Elena sent a quick text.
Look up Caroline Maxfield on social media. See if there is a birthday.
-E
She would look it up herself, but didn't want to risk Julian's home server picking up on any internet transference, if he was smart enough to check for it later.
It was enough of a risk to send a message out, though that may just be her paranoia talking.
Thankfully it didn't matter, because less than two minutes later, Katherine messaged back.
It's Oct. 26th, 1998. Seriously, I don't think this girl has ever heard of a privacy filter.
Almost to location now. Call me when you're done. -K
Elena could have jumped in relief, but managed to contain her excitement as the numbers aligned perfectly and she typed in the code.
A short beep and the lock unclicked, letting the door swing open.
There was another lock behind the mainframe, but it wasn't a wired mechanism, so she was easily able to pop it open.
And as luck seemed to be blessing her that night, she saw a familiar jewelry case, tucked away with a few heavy stacks of cash.
She was tempted to pocket some of the money for herself, but that wasn't the goal for tonight.
Stick to the plan, and the money would come.
She grabbed the jewelry box and checked inside.
The rubied necklace gleamed up at her with a bright sparkle, as if grateful for some aeration.
With a smirk, she placed the thing in the small bag on her back and cleaned up her mess, relocking the safe and resetting the alarm, before working her way back out of the Manor completely undetected.
It was no time to celebrate though.
Getting in and out of Julian's home had been the easy part of the night.
And something told her he was far less a threat than Damon Salvatore.
He knows this broken record by heart at this point, but Damon can't help but try to drown himself in the begging grey eyes of yet another nameless face.
She is warm and handsy, and he hates her for no reason other than the fact that all she wants is the pretty shell that he's trapped in.
After letting her climb into his lap in the monitor room upstairs, she kisses his neck with breathy moans, and he is tempted to pin her against the door, rip off that pathetic excuse for a skirt, and pound their bodies together until he feels something.
The club is alive tonight, the crowds below them filling in as tight as rounded up cattle, and no doubt the scent of sweat and sex and depravity would soon flood out everything else.
This was his half-assed contribution.
Damon let the woman kiss him, and he trailed his teeth over her lips, her jaw, her neck.
He didn't feel anything but boredom.
There were hours to go before he had to run a report on the night's distribution though, and all things had surprisingly gone well the day prior with Julian and the shipment...so really...what else was there to do for now but risk contracting an STD all for a hollow orgasm?
Maybe this would be it; the fuck that finally drove him so far to the edge of self disgust that he would never return.
Most likely it would just lead to a night of heavy drinking and a bitch of a hangover, but still...it was nice to dream.
And in his dream, nothing mattered; nothing existed.
Not this place, not the regretful past, or the uncertain future, not his money or his men, or the security screens surrounding him now...not all those people beneath the camera, streaming in and out, trying to feel alive if only for a short while, and like him, failing miserably.
He was so detached...so over it all.
The drowning feeling that part of his brain registered as anxiety began to flare, and stole his breath.
Damon didn't care. He didn't react. Not as his heart raced and the woman crawling all over him shoved his jacket off of his shoulders.
The aching of his chest was a strange relief, as if his body was relishing the pain, and he nearly gave himself up to it.
Redemption came for him by random chance.
His eyes fell to the right monitor at the right time, and like some flashing beacon, she captured his attention.
At the entrance, dressed all in black and a shining smile, was his intruder.
Damon was on his feet, denying his cock for a second time that week, for the chance of something more entertaining.
"Out," he muttered to the woman that had all but slipped to the floor at his motions.
She made an indignant sound, but he paid her no mind and offered her no explanation.
He was too captivated by the screen, watching Katalena enter his club and stride over to one of the bars.
His head crooked curiously.
Why would she come back here? Surely she wasn't so foolish to think that her failed plan might work the second time around.
Had Julian hired her?
After their meeting, Damon was convinced the man would not move against him, so that did not add up.
But she was here, nonetheless.
By the time Damon had called Lorenzo up to monitor the screens in his absence, his previous female guest had disappeared, and he was able to completely focus on Katalena.
She took two shots before moving to the dance floor, falling in with the other dancing bodies.
The moment Enzo showed up in the doorway, Damon took off, bounding out of the hall and down to the club floor in a handful of seconds.
He did not want her to get away this time.
People seemed to move out of his way as he stepped out on the floor, or perhaps he was simply plowing through them and hadn't noticed, but either way, it only took a moment to find her.
Katalena was dancing, her head tilted up so a million technicolors played off her face, and he could tell even in the dimness that her eyes were closed.
She looked good, having traded her dress for a pair of blue jeans that hugged her long legs.
Sinful heels accented her curve, and the lacy, low cut blouse gave off a vibe that he could certainly get in tune with.
And that hair...those dark curls were tighter tonight, falling in waves around her shoulders, to the middle of her back, as she jumped and swayed to the song playing.
Knowing he had to move carefully, as not to end up with another shoe lodged into his chest, Damon swayed with the crowd until he was close enough to touch her.
Everyone was pressed close together, this deep into the dancefloor, so it was fairly easy to sidle up behind his intruder and lean in close to her ear, "I'm surprised to see you here again."
In a graceful flow that never broke her dance, Katalena turned around to face him.
Something flickered across her expression, but a smirk broke across her lips before he could register what it was, "Damon."
He saw his name leave her mouth more than he heard it, given the loud bass surrounding them.
Taking a chance, he placed a hand on her hip and drew her forward; she followed easily.
"Let's talk," he suggested, tugging her slightly in indication that they should leave the dancefloor.
Again, Katalena did not fight him, which suggested that maybe she had come for this exact reason.
Or maybe that was his ego talking.
But why else would she be here? And worse, why didn't he want her to leave?
Damon led her out of the crowd, to the edge of the main floor, close to where they had first danced together earlier that week.
It was there, away from the sensory overload, that he realized Katalena was watching him, and gaging from her expression, she liked what she was seeing.
"You came back," he began, pulling her into his arms so they could once again pretend to dance as they interrogated each other.
She stepped with him easily, her body moving to his with little provocation.
"I guess I did," she answered coyly, with another smirk.
Damon studied her.
She looked as she had a few nights ago, but something felt...off.
Maybe it was that she seemed too comfortable being here, this close to him, after their last encounter.
He had expected her to be a little more careful.
Or maybe because tonight, her makeup was dark and flawless, accenting those big brown eyes.
Or maybe it was the eyes themselves that seemed different.
"Why?" he pressed, while trying to figure out what was bothering him.
Katalena shrugged, "Because I wanted to?"
"After stabbing me with your shoe, I'm surprised you'd risk it," he taunted, gaging her reaction.
A light giggle left her mouth, "I think we both know that if you wanted me dead, I'd be dead. I'm not. Therefore, there must be something you want. Or maybe you just enjoy my company?"
Her brow arched in a suggestive way, and Damon realized she was flirting with him.
The revelation left him unsettled.
Something was not right.
Damon drew Katalena close, pressing their bodies together.
Her hips cushioned his, and her breast strained against his chest.
She flashed another taunting smile at the obvious feel up and her eyes sparked as they met his, "Or perhaps it's something a little more than my company that you enjoy?"
Now his own brow lifted, but he retorted with, "It's hard to deny that you are beautiful."
"So are you," she fired back, "But I was keeping a respectful distance."
No blush. No averted gaze.
Damon's mind came to an impossible conclusion, and he knew he had to get to the bottom of this.
"I don't want to hurt you," he assured her, "But I know you were working for Julian Maxfield," he tightened his hold on her waist, "How about we go upstairs and discuss that?"
Her eyes flickered to the stairs and open balcony, before she nodded slowly, "Yeah...okay."
As they climbed the stairs, Damon kept himself positioned behind Katalena, waiting for any indication she was about to take off, but none came and she entered the upstairs hallway willingly.
Too willingly.
He shook his head, then took the lead upstairs to direct her back to the office.
Once they were inside, he closed the door.
"Katalena?"
"Yes?" she perched herself on his desk, looking perfectly at ease.
He felt anything but.
As crazy as it sounded, he couldn't stop the words from leaving his lips.
"Who are you?"
A perfect reflection of confusion answered him, "Katalena. I've just told you."
He took her in, every single inch of her.
She looked the same, really, but….
"You are Katalena," he drawled, moving closer to her and studying the eyes that had yet to leave his, "But you are not my Katalena."
For the first time, something broke in that practiced mask, a hint of fear pricked in the woman's eyes.
"What do you mean?" she frowned and he reached forward and grabbed her chin.
The fear doubled, but she froze, still staring at him.
Her reaction only furthered his resolve that this was not his intruder.
His Katalena had shied away from compliments; she had broken, sad eyes and only snapped out of her interrogation mode when he had all but dragged a smile from those reluctant lips with dance moves that had surprised her.
She had been unsteady on her feet, uncomfortable in his arms, but met his wit punch for punch.
She had been feisty and mysterious and her memory had not let him have a decent night sleep since she had disappeared into the darkness.
"Who are you?" he demanded again of this imposter, because she wasn't her.
She wasn't his Katalena.
Before she could answer, however, Damon's phone rang, and he cursed.
It was his private number, which very few people could access, so it was mostly likely important.
He checked the screen, but stayed positioned between this woman and the door.
Stefan's name flashed up at him.
"Make this quick," he said by way of answer, and his cousin did not disappoint.
"Someone's on the property at the estate," Stefan told him, "Motion detectors sent a signal."
"Are you there now?"
A few clicks of noise, "No, I was heading back to SINC. Got the notification and pulled over to check it. Trying to pull up an image. Easier to do with a laptop."
Damon's jaw set and he stared at the woman in front of him.
She was uncomfortable, her arms crossing and uncrossing as the seconds passed.
"Odd," Stefan paused, "The system is down."
Damon's brows furrowed, "Impossible. It can only be shut off internally, with my code."
"It doesn't say it's turned off," Stefan's voice was strained, and some clicks could be heard from his laptop, "The screens are just showing...hold on."
A few more clicks.
"Got something," Stefan rushed, after a moment, "I rewound the footage. Nothing from the house, but there was a flash of something on the grounds. I'm enhancing it now."
Damon grit his teeth and pulled his phone away to send both Alaric and Enzo a message, just in case he was about to have to take off.
Stefan's voice pulled him back to the phone.
"Repeat that," he instructed.
"I said you aren't going to believe this," his cousin laughed dryly, "I think it's her...the woman that was working for Julian. It's less than a quarter second freeze frame...but it looks like the same girl."
Damon frowned, "You're right. That is hard to believe...since I'm looking at her right now, in my office at SINC."
"I...I don't know what to say to that," Stefan's voice sounded confused, "But you have to see this. I'm sending you the frame."
It took only seconds for the image to come in, and he pulled the cell away from his ear to check it.
Small and unfocused, he had to zoom in to really comprehend the image.
The camera only caught a piece of her.
Half a face, blurred with motion and nearly hidden by shadows...but the features were undeniable.
Damon felt an odd wave of relief overcome him.
He glanced back up at the woman sitting on his desk and had another revelation.
An answer.
And this time, it made so much sense he was pissed at himself for not putting it together sooner.
"Twins," he let out a long sigh, "You're her fucking twin."
Bowowwow.
