“Cause your family’s richer than God and you’re the eldest.” That’s not strictly speaking the truth. My client requested him by name. They made it clear no one else in the family would do, but there’s no way I’m about to tell him anything about my client.
“Are you planning on killing me?”
“What part of ransom don’t you understand? If you’re dead, we don’t get paid.” Again, not strictly speaking true, we were paid thirty percent up front and will receive the rest when the ransom is paid and he’s back home with his family. Receipt of the full amount is dependent on him being returned in one, unscathed, pretty piece.
“Believe it or not, Asshole, this is my first time being kidnapped so forgive me if I don’t know every little thing about how it all works.” His mouth is pulled into a sneer but when he stops talking, he sucks a piece of his bottom lip into his mouth. He’s trying to be tough, but I can tell he’s nervous.
Scared victims are harder work in the long run, so I say, “You’re a job, okay? It’s not personal, it’s just a simple exchange. An order came through. You were looked into and an assessment was made; you were deemed a suitable candidate. You’ve been under surveillance for a while. I know who you are. I know your habits. I know your likes and dislikes. I’m able to predict your actions with a high level of accuracy. Last night we took you. It went off without a hitch. You were exactly where you were supposed to be when you were supposed to be there.” I raise my coffee mug to my lips and take a sip. “We’ve already made contact with your family. They’re being closely watched. They know not to contact the police. We’ve told them the amount we want. They’ve agreed to pay. In about a week, we’ll tell them the time and place for the drop-off. They don’t strike me as the type of people who’d do anything stupid. They know what’s at stake. They’ll pay and it will be done.” The way he’s looking at me inflames me. Even though I’m several inches taller and am sitting up straight, I can feel he’s looking down at me, so I add, “The only significant risk flagged in the whole job is the risk of you doing something stupid. That’s why I’m here. I’ll be with you the whole time. I won’t let you out of my sight.”
If I thought he was seething before, boy, was I wrong. He is cooking now. I can almost see steam coming out of his ears. His eyes are cold, and he’s gone very, very still.
“You don’t know the first thing about who I am.”
His voice is cutting. Cold. So superior and snobby it seems to ricochet off the walls. I almost laugh. It’s so incredible it’s almost funny. I’ve just given him a barrage of information that would have floored most people, and yet the only thing he latched onto was the fact I said I know him.
“I know you better than any human alive.” I admit, I might be trying to provoke him.
He draws himself up, puffing his chest out. His left nipple peeks out of his tank. I try not to look. I look at his face instead. His jaw is clenched. He’s breathing through his teeth. He opens his mouth to speak. He almost starts but stops himself. I know exactly what happened. The little fucker just weighed up his options. He had a perfect come-back or cutting remark lined up. He was about to speak. I saw it. I literally saw the thought flashing across his beautiful face –he’s not worth it.
I feel a quick rush of anger.
Watch yourself, bro. Don’t let this guy get to you.
He tosses his knife and fork onto his plate as soon as he’s finished eating. I notice with satisfaction that he ate his whole portion. I’m pleased. Something tells me the last thing I want is this little prick feeling hangry.
“I need a shower.”
Noplease. Noif it’s not too much trouble. God, he’s just as much of a dick as I thought he’d be.
“Sure,” I say.
I show him to the bathroom. It’s a small, rudimentary room. Nothing like the vast, onyx clad bathrooms he’s used to.
“God,” he says, when he sees the shower over the bath and the dated olive-green matching toilet and handbasin set.
I lean back against the tile near the doorway. He looks at me as if I’m the single biggest idiot he’s ever encountered.
“Do you mind?” he says, blinking pointedly at me.
“No, not at all. Go ahead.” I pull my phone out and look down to give him some privacy.
“Are you going to fucking stand there and watch?”
“Yep.”
He’s almost vibrating with anger. A twisted little part of me enjoys seeing him like this. If ever there’s a guy who deserves to be taken down a peg or two, it’s this guy. He hesitates for a second and then pulls off his boots and his tank. He seems to think about things for a bit before he drops his weird pant-skirt thing on the floor as well.
“What?” he hisses accusingly, as he stands in the small, dingy bathroom in nothing but a shit ton of jewelry and a skimpy pair of black boxer briefs.
I ignore him, pretending to be engrossed in whatever’s on my screen as he slides his underwear down. I might be an asshole, but I’m not the kind of asshole he thinks I am. He showers quickly and I don’t give him the satisfaction of catching me looking. When he gets out, I hold a towel out for him.
“Jesus!” he exclaims when he sees the state of his bedraggled face in the mirror over the handbasin. He turns and glowers at me accusingly. “Where are the products?”
“You can use what’s in the cabinet.” My face wash and toothpaste are in there and I’ve bought a toothbrush for him.
He opens the cabinet and looks horrified. “Where’s the rest of it? Where are the actives? Where’s the eye cream? Dear God,” he slams the cabinet door shut and wails, “where’s the fucking moisturizer?”
He turns to face me. He’s not happy and that’s putting it mildly.
