“Be a good boy,” I urge. “I know you wouldn’t want to be cut out of mummy’s will. You know how that saying goes. Old money is much more respectable than new.”
“Fuck you, cunt,” he slurs again, his binds chafing against his wrists as he struggles to get free. It’s no use. They ought to know that.
“You don’t owe them anything,” I assure him. “I know how you boys like to play. So, tell me what goes down in the metaphorical locker room. Something they wouldn’t want the world to know.”
His eyes flutter shut, and he almost drifts off into oblivion again, so I give him a hard slap to wake the fuck up.
“You’re going to be sorry,” he grunts.
“That’s what they tell me,” I reply. “But I never am. Clock’s ticking, my friend. And I’m only going to warn you once, I’m rather short on patience.”
Teddy is quiet, but the gears turning in his pea sized brain are loud. He’s trying to conjure up a lie. Again, it’s downright formulaic the way they react to this scenario.
I sigh and lean back in my chair, crossing my legs. He looks at them and doesn’t hide it. He’s wondering what it’d be like to choke me and then fuck me. Show me who’s boss. If his eyes didn’t tell me so, his dick is talking plenty on its own.
I decide to raise.
“Fine, we’ll take it slow. That’s what you tell the girls, isn’t it? Before you tie them up and rail on them? I bet mummy wouldn’t be so fond of that little detail either.”
“Who the fuck are you?” he snarls.
“The only thing you need to be concerned with right now is your old Yale chums and their dirty laundry. You’ve got exactly five minutes to tell me what I want to know. And then you can skip along on your merry way, photos in hand.”
A lie, of course. What fun would that be for me?
“Come to think of it…” he says, and my heart beats a little faster. I want it so bad I can taste it, but I’ve got a good poker face, and Teddy here doesn’t know that yet.
“A few of them do look familiar,” the piece of shit says.
I grit my teeth together and stuff down the vile disappointment in my throat.
“They should, since they’re like a bad case of Syphilis on all of your social media accounts.”
His cheeks turn a little rosy at the trap he’s found himself in.
Lord, what fools these mortals be.
“A name, if you would be so kind.”
My voice is all sugar, and it honestly scares me how good I’ve become at the game. Sensei Scarlett is about to school the little grasshopper if he doesn’t catch a clue soon.
“I don’t know,” the moron continues on with his charade. His acting skills certainly leave something to be desired. “We met at a party in college. I was drunk. But I’m almost certain one of them works at The Hancock.”
“Don’t you mean Clarendon?” I correct.
“Yeah, that’s the one,” he agrees.
He’s cool as a cucumber as he says it, but beneath that staged expression, his hands are itching with the urge to pummel my face bloody. He would too if he could get loose.
“Gee, that’s super helpful,” I tell him with all the false excitement I can muster. “There are only like a bajillion stories in that building, right?”
His pleasantness slips back into the void in which it came from.
“Look, bitch, I don’t know what the fuck you want from me. I don’t know them.”
A resigned sigh ushers up from the cavity of my chest as I hang my head in my hands and cry crocodile tears.
“You’re right,” I whine. “I just feel so bad that I have to fuck you up anyway.”
