The MILFs Club: Special Delivery for my Aunt

Chapter 249: Chapter 249: The Ruined Sanctuary

Alexander had no idea what was truly going on, but he knew he had to start gathering clues on his own. He decided to head toward Jessica’s old house. Before he had relocated her to the new apartment, they had been living in a nearly dilapidated house in one of the roughest corners of the city. It was the only other property he knew they were tied to.

He drove his Tahoe through the streets, pulling up to the curb a short distance away from the familiar, broken-down structure. Looking through his windshield, the house appeared even more ruined than he remembered, its front yard overgrown and covered in shadows. Alexander cut the engine and checked his reflection in the rearview mirror. He pulled his tactical pistol from the car compartment, tucking it into the waistband of his jeans, then untucked his button-down shirt so the fabric draped over the grip concealing the weapon.

He got out of the truck and walked up the cracked concrete path. The moment his shoes hit the porch, his eyes narrowed.

The front door was slightly ajar, the wooden frame splintered and forced open by a crowbar or a kick. He pushed it open, stepping onto the dusty floorboards. The entire interior was in chaos, torn apart as if a team of professionals had broken in to search for something specific.

The day he had rescued them, they had only taken a few essential identity documents to get Jessica admitted into the hospital, leaving all their physical belongings behind. Alexander walked deeper into the dark house, navigating through the shattered furniture. He pushed open the door to Ashley’s old bedroom, his boots crunching against scattered items. Her entire wardrobe had been violently ripped from the closet, clothes scattered across every square inch of the floor.

He looked down, spotting pairs of lacy, sexy thongs and colorful bras kicked into a corner. Alexander paused, his sharp mind analyzing the scene. If a random pack of junkies or perverts had broken in, those items would have been targeted, stolen, or defiled. The fact that they were ignored meant the intruders weren’t after cheap thrills, and they might not have even been men.

He turned around and walked over to Jessica’s bedroom, pushing the door open. To his surprise, this room was significantly less trashed. There were clothes and items scattered around, but the chaos here looked different; it was as if someone had packed a suitcase in a hurry, leaving the dresser drawers pulled wide open and the hangers empty.

Suddenly, a sharp crack echoed through the silent house—the distinct sound of a boot stepping on broken glass.

Alexander’s instincts kicked in. His hand blurred beneath his shirt, drawing his pistol and raising it as he spun toward the hallway.

"Who’s there?!" shouted Alexander, his voice cutting through the damp air like a blade. "Come out slowly with your hands where I can see them!"

Holding his gun steady, Alexander pressed his back against the wall, stepping carefully as he moved toward the kitchen where the sound had originated.

A scruffy-looking junkie stumbled backward into the dim light of the kitchen, his hands trembling in the air as he stared down the barrel of Alexander’s gun.

"What the hell are you doing here?" asked Alexander, his finger resting firmly against the trigger. "This house has an owner."

"Man, this place has been totally abandoned!" stammered the man, his eyes darting toward the open window. "Jessica came by yesterday to pack up her things and get out of here. I’m just looking for a dry place to crash."

"You know them?" asked Alexander, his gaze narrowing as he tracked the man’s jittery movements.

"Yeah, yeah, I know her," said the junkie, nodding frantically. "She told me I could stay here."

"I seriously doubt she would ever let a junkie like you move into her home," said Alexander, his voice dropping into a dangerous, icy register. "You’d better start telling me the truth right now, or I’m going to have to make you talk."

At the sight of his eyes, the man panicked. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, metallic object, holding it up like a shield.

"I’m not lying! I’m not lying, look!" yelled the man, dangling a set of house keys in the air. "She gave me these! She let me in, but I stepped out for a couple of hours to get a fix, and when I came back, the whole place was already a total disaster! It wasn’t me, I swear to god it wasn’t me!"

"You didn’t see anyone else lurking around the property?" asked Alexander.

"No, no, no! I didn’t see a single soul!" said the man, his chest heaving.

"Wait a second," said Alexander, analyzing the timeline. "Are you telling me that she packed up yesterday, and today the house was found in this condition?"

"Yes! Yes, exactly! That’s how it happened!" said the man, nodding rapidly.

"Then tell me this," said Alexander, stepping closer. "Was the house trashed before or after Jessica left?"

"She only cleared out her own bedroom," said the man, his voice shaking. "Everything else in the living room and the other bedroom was intact when she walked out the door. When I got back a little while ago, I found the house like this."

"I understand. I understand," said Alexander, nodding slowly as if processing the information.

Alexander slowly lowered the barrel of his gun, offering a faint, relaxed sigh.

"Thanks for the info," said Alexander, his tone turning casual. "If you happen to hear anything else about where she went, I’d really appreciate it if you..."

Without warning, Alexander’s hand snapped upward in a blinding blur, raising the weapon and firing a crisp, deafening shot into the man’s right shoulder.

Bang!

The man shrieked in agony, the impact slamming his body against the kitchen counter before he collapsed heavily onto the dirty floor, clutching his bleeding shoulder.

Alexander stepped forward, standing over him like an unshakeable giant as he pointed the smoking barrel right between the man’s eyes.

"Do you honestly think I am stupid?" asked Alexander, his face devoid of emotion. "If you are going to disguise yourself as a homeless junkie, you should at least bother to wear actual rags. What kind of homeless crackhead wears brand-new designer underwear under his jacket and has skin this clean?! Start talking, before my next shot goes between your eyes."