Page 35 of Deviant

I roll my eyes, knowing those words are meant for me.

“Get the girl to medical.” I snap, ignoring the jibe, wondering why my guards are still fucking around with all of this.

Did we not plan this out? Did I not make myself more than abundantly clear?

Guthrie steps forward, blocking the path and hollers again before yanking his own phone from his pocket, and within seconds, my own is ringing.

“We had a deal.” I say as soon as I pick up.

“I’ve changed my mind.”

“So quickly?” I taunt.

He growls into my ear, “I want more.”

“More what?”

“Money.”

For fuck’s sake, I’ve already paid more than the whore is worth.

“You know what she did, you know what she is to me…”

“And you’ve had more than enough time to get your revenge.”

“She killed…”

“Guthrie.” I bark, silencing those words, killing them off before he can speak them. There are too many ears here, too many loose mouths as well.

“Five,” he says, coming to his senses. “Five million.”

“That’s enough?”

“And another girl. I want two now. Two toys.”

“Fine,” I sigh, losing my patience. Does he really think I’ve got all day to play silly buggers with him?

His family may have been the big hitters but not anymore, now all that power is gone, and Guthrie himself is responsible for it, all that drinking, all that gambling had to have repercussions.

“Fine,” he shouts up at the cameras, hanging up on me at the same time.

The guards look between themselves then finally come to their damned senses. But as Paitlyn is hauled from the room, the entire screen in front of me flickers and then goes blank like someone cut the electrics.

“What the fuck?” I mutter, but I’m up, out of my chair, and already out the door before my brother even looks around at me.

I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but I’ve had more than enough. If you want a job done properly, apparently you really do have to do it yourself.

I storm down the corridor,pushing past the few guards who haven’t noticed my presence. This entire section where my office is, is blocked off, private, as far removed from the carnage beyond as it possibly can be.

The lift chimes merrily as it opens and I step in, folding my arms, wondering how much bullshit one man really is expected to put up with.

The doors close silently and I stand there, staring at my reflection on the polished chrome walls. I look tired, I look overworked. It’s not the kind of impression I’m used to presenting and already I’m contemplating how best to work off the stress of today’s proceedings, how I can meek out every inconvenience, every annoyance, on the flesh of my plaything. My hands itch as if she’s already here, already on her knees, waiting for it.

She’s going to have the beating of a lifetime today, despite what my previous plans were.

The lift comes to a stop. The doors slide open, and smoke comes billowing into the space.

I’m quick to pull my sleeve up, and I step out, gun in hand, already prepared for whatever the fuck is going down.

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