WAHSHEN'S POV
For half an hour, I stood in the hallway, completely silent; my back against the makeshift green painted walls. Glasglow's words playing on a loop in my head. I steadied my breathing, but it was doing nothing to calm the pensive feeling growing inside me.
'Sell off the Empire at Bronze Estate to me. And I will destroy the video.'
My lips let out heavy sighs. I was a bit frustrated, running a hand through my hair and steering forward. I stopped in front of Sierra's room. Shut my eyes for a moment and took a deep breath.
'How the hell did I get myself into this?'
My fingers tightened on the door knob.
'Glasgow, that animal.' I clenched my teeth. The girl is no better. She wasn't a virgin, which means this is obviously not her first rodeo.
Glasglow was smart, I will give him that, but there are some lines you don't cross in the game of power. Sierra was mine. I pushed the door open. My gaze met a terrified boy cramped under his reading desk; George was standing beside him, holding several snapshots.
"Sir Gravestone."
He turned to me.
"I found these under that old dusty drawer beside his bed."
I took the snapshots from him and scanned through. Every single one of them were Sierra's pictures, all taken in the girl's bathroom.
The light expression on my face grew dark. My eyes trailed off to find him. The boy cringed away, shivering like a wet rat. I sighed, shaking y head. 'You brought this upon yourself, kid'.
George thrust a hand under the desk immediately. He grabbed the boy and yanked him out, effortlessly holding him up. The boy was like a mouse in comparison to George's bulky build.
"I… I… I.. I.. I'm sorry. I swear. I just liked her. I will destroy everything and I won't do it again. Please don't hurt me. Please." He rubbed his hands together, pleading desperately. George looked at me. I heaved, massaging my temple in exhaustion. I didn't have time for this fool.
"George, drop him."
He let the boy go. The kid hit the floor so hard his hip cracked; the sound of the fall pierced the air, followed by his scream.
"Shushhh"
I put a finger over my lips. He covered his mouth; tears had wet his face already, his features twisted by the excruciating pain of a fractured hip.
"Is this everything?" I waved the pictures at him. He nodded. I took a long look at him, and then I scoffed, clicking my tongue. 'Even at this time, you still dare to lie.' I waved my head in pity. I actually thought of sparing him.
"George," I slipped the snapshots into my suit pocket. "I don't want him to be able to see girls again."
"Yes Sir."
I turned away, taking a step, the boy frantically scurried to my feet, grabbing my leg; he struggled to go on his knees.
"No, please. No. I'll get rid of everything I promise. I'm just a spoiled brat. I will change, please." he begged.
"Get off him, you son of a …" George grabbed his collar.
"Hold on." George let go. I bent over, a little, took out my handkerchief and wiped his tears.
"Don't worry," I whispered softly. "I'm not cruel. You will use your dainty grey eyes again." I folded the handkerchief and slipped it into my pocket. "But- it will take a miracle."
His face paled in horror, his soul sank inside him before my eyes. It was hopeless, he realized. I left the room, George and the boy needed their privacy after all. I decided to wait in the car. George joined me moments later, all tucked in and looking like he had not plucked a boy's eyes out a while ago.
"Where to, Sir."
"Go to Amante Del Ali's."
George glanced at me from the rear mirror, a brow raised. My gaze went to the window, watching SUVs and Mercedes zoom past, gathering dust behind them; the afternoon sun, baking the earth.
"Sir, we have other options. De Ali is a demon; he is really a bad idea."
"Drive George."
The car fell into a disquiet silence save for the ignition and the screeching sound of tires as the car wheeled onto the highway.
*******
A large Safari painting hung on pristine white walls greeted me as I waltzed in, my guide offering me to sit on a bean-mosaic couch, and to rest my feet on a lion-skin rug. Someone was by the corner; average height, athletic, muscular but small build, he was dressed in a tennis outfit pouring himself a jug of beer. The room was enveloped by the almost toxic scent of AX body spray.
"I didn't think I would see you again." His Italian descent marred his English seductively.
"Me neither."
He chuckled, turning to face me. I held his gaze, he beamed, displaying the nasty scar that slit his right eye.
"I wonder what could be the problem."
"I need someone thrown off a building."
"Uhhh, spooky." He said, amusingly. "Who exactly?"
"Glasgow."
His smile turned upside down. He made a small grin. "It explains a lot now." He gulped down the beer.
"What?"
"Glasgow — I can't touch him, sorry." He hunched his shoulders in defeat.
"What the hell does that mean?"
"Dude's been nourishing my accounts for months. Making sure I am not paid enough to kill him, it seems."
My brows furrowed. That bloody smart ass. "How much? I will double it."
He made a half smile and drew letters in the air. I raised a brow, instinctively covering the shocking surprise I just felt. I couldn't pay higher than that. Even if I had the money, I wasn't going to spend it on a dirty devil like him.
"You are not talking, Gravestone."
I left the couch, eyes still on him. "You can retrieve things right or did he pay you to be useless too?"
"Don't mock me, Wahshen."
I laughed, mockingly. "He has a video. I'm in it and a girl. Get me every copy."
He cocked up a mischievous smile on his lips.
"Sounds like someone has been in a *cunt* of trouble." He chuckled at his own sick joke as he got up from his seat.
"What do you need?"
He pursed his lips, finding his way back to the tempered round glass dining table, pouring himself another drink.
"I'm having problems transporting some of my… medicines overseas. I hope you don't mind if I use one of your cargo ships."
I wore a disgusted look on my face. He found my sincere display of emotion amusing.
"Suit yourself."
He beamed.
"It was nice doing business with you. Beer?" He pointed at the jug of ale he had been drinking from, something was floating in it. My stomach lurched immediately. There were five red-polished fingers inside the ale.
"You're sick."
He burst into laughter.