Rex fished his mobile out of his jeans pocket and checked something then looked up. “He’s already here. And if you’re keen, I can hook you up.”
He sounded too eager and for just a moment, I hesitated. “Um...”
Ishara laughed. “You want a blind date or prefer to see what he looks like first?”
“Blind date,” I replied, knowing if I saw the guy, I might change my mind.
“Perfect.” Rex began texting.
“Can I see what he looks like?” Ishara asked and he nodded.
She stood, walked over, and crouched next to him. Her eyes grew round when he showed her the phone screen. “That’s him?” Looking up at me, she scrunched her nose, screwed her eyes, and shook her head. I balked, my brow creasing in a frown. Rex noticed her face and shoved her arm. She fell to the floor, laughing. “He’s not bad, babe,” she blurted between giggles.
“Not bad?” Rex rolled his eyes then laughed. “So, Friday sound good, Ria?”
I arched a brow at Ishara. She worked shifts as a nurse at the hospital which meant I needed her to be at home to get me ready for the date. “It’s my night off,” she replied.
“Great.” He texted again then put his phone away. “All set. He can’t wait to meet you.”
I cupped my cheeks that had grown warm at the mention of losing my virginity. They were hotter than normal. Sure it was the right thing to do, I followed Ishara into the living room.
6
Zayne aka Gabriel(29 years)
A week later, I downed my second bourbon, enjoying the burn of the amber liquid sliding down my throat and glanced around the sparsely furnished room wondering why I’d agreed to this shit. Declan knew my work spoke for itself and I needed to prove nothing to no one. On Sam’s insistence, I agreed, only because the case depended on it.
I flexed my fingers, raw from a little too much action with the punching bag. Heading down to the basement, I checked my gun before tucking it into the waistline at the back of my pants. The pungent odor of dampness crept through the air as the wooden staircase creaked under my shoes. At the bottom, I flicked the light switch which hardly made much difference in a space that had no windows and dust for miles. If that wasn’t enough to give someone an allergic reaction then the puddles of water I crossed over was a lung hazard waiting to be born.
I stopped in the center of the room, empty except for its sole occupant. Bound to a chair by his hands and feet, my punching bag in the form of one, Peter Fineman, squinted at me through his good eye. Despite the other eye twitching beneath a swollen lid, the broken nose, and fat lip, he still retained most of his courage. For now. “Who the fuck are you,” he hissed, his voice raspy from the futile screaming.
“I’d say your worst nightmare but that would be a cliched response.” Crossing my arms over my chest, I raked a slow gaze over his white shirt dotted with splotches of blood from him twisting against his binds. “Are you ready to talk?”
“Fuck you,” he sneered.
“We’ll get to that in a second,” I replied, my tone even, calm. It confused the people I...questioned, especially when they were bound and gagged and staring at me like I’d just lost my mind. Or, they couldn’t understand what I was after.
