Page 34 of He Hate Me

“Not really. I’m trying to stay focused on the job.”

“Is that right? Then why did I have to scrub video of you carrying an unconscious girl through the foyer from the security system?” His stare is withering. I want to climb under a rock.

“I, uh, forgot there was a camera there.”

“You cannot afford to forget things like that! You jeopardize everything for what? Some pussy? I can get you ten girls just like her. You do something that careless again, and the deal is off. You can move your mother to whatever nursing home Medicaid will pay for, you understand me?”

I nod, keeping my expression blank even as anger begins to simmer inside me. Of course Anton doesn't care about my mom. I'm just a tool he can use, a means to an end.

“You have been in that house now for nearly two months with nothing to show for it. Our deal is you find the item and I pay for your mother’s medical care. Right now I’m the only one holding up my end.”

But Anton's right. I've been living in Devin’s house for weeks now and I'm no closer to finding the evidence he’s been using to blackmail Anton. I don’t know the details, but whatever it is it’s bad enough to have Anton scared. Devin has promised that if he’s not paid, or if any harm comes to him or his family, the evidence will zip its way to the police.

When Anton approached me months ago, I wasn’t sure who he was. Online he’s depicted as an entrepreneur, and you can find a few pictures of him attending events with model-looking chicks on his arm. But I have enough experience with criminals to know when I’m dealing with one. The minute Anton walked into the meeting with my coach at my old soccer club, I knew he was some kind of reptile. He pitched the Briarwood scholarship and only when he had me alone later did he explain what he actually wanted me to do.

He was searching for any kind of leverage on Devin when he located an old guardianship agreement Devin signed when my mother worked for him. Seeing the unique opportunity I presented to get inside Devin’s house, Anton arranged my scholarship to Briarwood and my spot on the soccer team, and now that my mom’s in a facility where she’s receiving proper care, he knows I’ll do anything to keep her there.

"I'm trying," I say. "It's just...not as easy as I thought it would be. The house is enormous. There are so many places something could be hidden."

Anton leans forward, his eyes boring into me. "Then I suggest you search more thoroughly. Every inch of that house if you have to."

“I'll keep looking."

I still haven't thoroughly searched the basement. Too many boxes and pieces of junk piled up over the years. There's also the small wall safe in Devin’s office that I haven't been able to get into. If what we’re looking for is hidden anywhere in the house, those are the most likely spots.

I want to see Devin go down nearly as much as Anton does. He deserves to burn in hell. After he fired my mother without notice or explanation, I’m convinced he’s the one who circulated rumors that she was a thief. My mother was blackballed from working in Twin Oaks, and since she was live-in, we instantly lost the roof over our heads. We’d lived in shelters and my mom’s car for months. Eventually she found a decent job that allowed us to get an apartment, but we’ve been homeless more than once and it’s been a struggle to stay above water. My mother’s deteriorating health has only made it more challenging as time goes on. I’m also pissed at my dad for abandoning us, but he’s not the one I have the opportunity to take down.

I also know that once I find the evidence Anton will likely find some other task for me and another. I feel his claws burying themselves in my skin and I’m filled with impotent rage. Reprimanded and controlled by this piece of shit, and there’s nothing I can do about it. My state of mind edges towards despair when I think that I was likely destined to end up here. Between my mother’s illness and my father’s abandonment, this feels like fate.

"Thanks," I say through gritted teeth. "And I'll keep looking."

"See that you do," Anton says. "And try not to let your little head lead you astray again. I’m not going to be so understanding next time."

My blood boils at his condescending tone. As if he has any right to judge me, when he's the one holding my mom's safety over my head like a carrot on a stick. But I force myself to nod.

"Don't worry about me. I'll get it done."

"Good man," Anton says with an oily smile.

He dismisses me with a wave of his hand. As I make my way back to the street, I fantasize about putting my fist through his smug face. I need a drink or a spliff or something to calm me down. I feel like I could beat the shit out of the next person I see. My mind turns to Deja, and I imagine a more pleasurable way of working off my frustrations, wrapping my hands around her neck and fucking her till she bleeds. Goddamnit, no! I have to get control of myself.

Hunching my shoulders, I prepare to trek to the nearest bus stop. I’ll take the bus as close to Briarwood as I can get, then grab a rideshare the rest of the way. That should give me some time to center myself before I pop off and do something I’ll regret.

As I’m strolling down the sidewalk approaching the gates of Briarwood, a red Tesla Model S makes a Uey and drives next to me, matching my pace. I peer inside to see Rourke van der Hoff behind the wheel.

“You need a ride?” he calls out.

“Sure.” I don’t know Rourke well. He’s a junior, but one of the stars of the soccer team. He’s as tall as I am, with dark blond hair cut long on the top and an unnerving pair of moss green eyes.

“I didn’t see you at practice today,” he says conversationally. I don’t know how long Rourke has lived here, but he has a vaguely British accent, one that sounds upper class, and he dresses in expensive tracksuits and sportswear. And when I say expensive, I mean outfits that cost thousands of dollars. I’ve seen him get muddy in them, so I don’t think he really cares about them. I guess that’s what happens when daddy’s money is unlimited.

“I had an appointment,” I explain. Coach doesn’t give a fuck because I’m on the team as a favor to Anton. Apparently, our Coach has a little gambling habit.

“You just made it onto A squad,” he says, shaking his head. “I’d think you’d prioritize practice.”

“Couldn’t be avoided,” I say, getting a little irritated, but trying to hide it. Just by sheer dint of dough, Rourke isn’t someone you wanted to piss off.

“Why not?”