Locking down his emotions, the rage at himself for being taken and everything that went with it. He stuffed everything into the mental box in his brain. He didn’t need stupid stuff like his temper fucking with his ability to think right now. He needed to figure out what the hell was going on. Was this connected to his mission? He was sure the asshole sitting there like a mob boss on one of those TV shows his buddy Elijah liked didn’t see jack shit in his expression or body language, no matter what he would like him to think.
“I can see by your face that you didn’t expect me to say that.”
If you say so dude.
“What do you want from me?” Rick scanned the room. He knew he was up a couple of floors. The people who had captured him and brought him here had dragged him up at least three flights of stairs before they removed his blindfold. He felt every damn bruise on his knees from hitting each step. All fifty fucking four of them. The tie wraps they left on his hands kept them confined behind his back. Not that it would stop him. He could get free of those. The gun one of the men held to the back of his neck meant he wasn’t in a position to try it… yet.
“Information.”
“I know nothin’ about anything you might want to ask me.” Was this dude for real? Who the hell made him God? Rick didn’t have to tell him a damn thing. He wasn’t in the habit of helping out dickheads, unless they were further up his chain of command. This prick… he wasn’t even in the same ocean, never mind on the same fucking ship. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see three other men in the room. Plus the one holding the gun to his head, that made a total of five against one… not so decent odds. But doable, even with his shoulder hurting like fuck from being grazed by the bullet that had put his ass on the ground, allowing them to grab him. It wasn’t the first time he’d been injured, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. He knew he could push through the ache and get the job done if he had to.
“We shall see.” The man frowned at him, as if he had expected Rick to just obey his orders and give him what he wanted.
Rick shrugged his shoulders. Pain streaked through his right one. Damn assholes could have killed him or some innocent bystander when they’d opened fire. “Shooting on the streets was stupid.” he told the dickwad he faced. There was nothing else this man could be but a dickwad.
“We don’t put our people in danger.” A frown crossed the man’s face and he glanced at the men who surrounded Rick and raised an eyebrow. “There should have been no shooting.”
Really, a dickwad with morals?
Right!
“Might want to tell that to your… um… staff.” Rick jerked his chin toward the blood on his shirt. “Your assholes shot me.” Should he play it up? Pretend it was worse than it was? Or play it down and let them know he was just watching and waiting for an opportunity to escape?Decisions, decisions.
“Shut it.”
Rick grunted at the sharp elbow the man on his right sent into his ribs. “Might want to ask them,” he told the asshole again. “Shots were fired on the streets. Where do ya think I got the bullet burn on my shoulder?” Despite the gun to his neck, he sidestepped when the man next to him gave him another sharp elbow to the ribs.
Don’t like that I am tattling to your boss? My bad.
“Gianni, enough.” the asshole behind the desk growled at his man. “Have a seat, Mr. Jones. Would you like some tea?”
Why the fuck is he being polite? Is this a fucking meeting with the pope?
“Why?”
“Because despite the circumstances of our meeting, I would like for us to be business partners.”
Someone was pranking him. They had to be. This had to be some kind of sick joke. “If someone told you I could be bought…” In his head, Rick frantically went through everyone who knew he was in Italy. Which of those people had betrayed him? Fuck, maybe the NATO task force he was reporting some intelligence to? His boss was going to have a shit fit for sure. “… they lied.”
“Either way, I want to talk to you about purchasing drones from the United States.”
Drones? This shit wasn’t about him? What the actual fuck? It was about his family’s business. “I have no drones, try Amazon, they deliver for free if you go with Prime.”
“Funny guy.” The man sat in his chair and leaned back, studying Rick. “Your family has connections and I need an introduction.”
“I haven’t seen or talked to my family in fifteen years.” There was no way in hell was he introducing this man to anyone, not even the fuckwads who disowned him when they figured out he was gay. “They won’t even answer the phone if I call them.”
“They will pay a ransom to get you back.” Did this dude not do any research? His family may be in the spotlight, but it was also well documented that he was disowned and dead to them. Every couple of years some newspaper or gossip magazine did a piece on the epic falling out on the White House Lawn which had resulted in him being kicked out of the family.
“Are you having a laugh? My family hates my guts.” Asking for an introduction wasn’t information. The man had contradicted himself at least once in the ten minutes Rick had been in the room. None of this made any freaking sense. There had to be more going on that he didn’t see or wasn’t being told.
“Then you are going to have a big problem.”
Ain’t that the story of my life. I swear it’s going to be written on my gravestone, ‘Here lies Rick Jones. A big problem for everyone who knew him.’
The man gestured to the men behind Rick, “Lock him up.”
“Sure thing, boss.” The one called Gianni grabbed Rick by the arm and pulled him toward the door.
