Page 24 of One
“Yeah.”
“Serena and I will gather the information within the day. In the meantime, tell me how your boy toy likes to…”
“Knock it off! And stop calling him that,” I hiss, running a hand through my hair.
“Told you!” I hear Rami exclaim.
“What the fuck?” Rague’s gruff voice reaches my ears. “Are you with Meg’s Friday guy?”
“That sounds kinky.” Rami scoffs at him.
“His name is Michael.” If they don’t stop giving him stupid nicknames, I’ll break something. Preferably Michael’s ugly clothes. Tearing them into shreds is a good image.
“We took pictures of him and Meg at the diner, and after they left, you said you were going home,” Rague grumbles.
“I got thirsty.”
“Thirsty,” he repeats.
“We are not buying that,” Rami unhelpfully says. “By the way, Thank God I tamper with the video from the convenience store at the time of the attempted robbery, because the way you were all over Michael… Were you trying to put Alien inside him?”
I growl at Rami’s stupid taunt. I already get enough attention from the media because I'm part of a rich family, on top of being the face of a multimillion-dollar research lab. I don't want more.
My appearances at clubs and high-profile events—as I supposedly like to party and hook up—don’t help. It’s all a façade. The socializing, not the fucking part, since I do play around with one-nighters. It’s not hard work to pretend to be “socially acceptable.” Camouflaging can be such a fun game to play. Being able to get away with a fake persona—deceiving everybody around me by mirroring their emotions—can also be enjoyable.
But the scanning of other people’s feelings? That can turn exhausting for a psychopath with a small emotional range. Because they feel so much, and their responses to certain situations don’t really make sense to me. That’s why Uri is the one who befriends powerful people, enters their circles, becomes one of them; I just go along for the ride. Being all rich and a sociopath it’s easier for him since he actually likes being around people.
But I have to follow him. It’s expected of me, for my family’s social class, and so I can create work connections. Plus, our side business might need a discreet helping hand in the future. As Rague always says, ‘you never know.’ But I just found Michael, and I don’t want him mixed up in all that. Not yet anyway.
“Fuck you,” I swear at Rami.
“Are you this charming with your friends in high places as well?” he teases.
“Why did you lie to me and go solo? I could have helped you with… the doc,” Rague mutters.
“I don’t think Raph would accept your help with his…” I growl menacingly. “Michael. Geeze Louise, calm down.” Rami sniffs.
“Why not? I’m good at making people talk.” I hear Rague’s knuckles cracking through the line. Yes, he is very good at extracting information from donors—with a knife and a hammer. But the only screams I want Michael to utter are the pleasurable ones I’ll cause.
“Your Mata Hari methods will take too long. And I want to know if there’s something more going on with Meg now. Let me work on him.”
I snarl. “Stay away from him, Rague. Do you hear me?” My tone is filled with murderous threats.
“Fuck, you were right,” Rague whispers.
“Why do you sound so surprised, Hulky? I’m always right,” Rami counters.
“Seventy percent of the time,” Sari’s voice suddenly chips in. “Hey, Raph.”
“Hey, Sari.”
“The blood samples look promising this time.” Sari is working on lab-grown blood cells, which should perform better than a similar transfusion of standard donated red cells, at the same time eliminating the risk of contracting any decease from donated blood.
Although I have a business degree from Harvard, I do have a small knowledge of medicine; being the president of a medical research company means I need to have a broad knowledge base. And it also helps to learn how the human body works when Itake careof the donors.
“Good. Keep me posted.”
“Also, I processed the DNA from the attempted robbery. Rami found no match in the police database, or any other database,” Sari efficiently tells me.
