Page 58 of If You Go
I turn my phone to airplane mode so I can use it for music before shoving it in my pocket, and aim for Seattle. I turn my headphones on, and Gethsemane of all songs pours into my ears. Perfect.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
FINALLY, FINALLY Ihave heard my Surry’s voice after so long. That little cunt better get the fuck off that island. I am ready to take the throne. I will be the head of both the Irish and the Russian Mafia. Nobody will be able to stop me.
“She’s comin’,” I say to my second. That’s what I call him—never cared to learn his name.
He grunts his acknowledgment before adding, “what must we do to prepare for her arrival?”
“Go to the port an’ wait,” I tell him, my voice low, calm. “See if she comes. I’ll wager she’ll be there in the next few hours. She’s too soft-hearted for her own good — can’t stand seein’ anyone bleed on her behalf. That’s why she kept her mouth shut until those daft bitches called the police.” I handled the issues back then, the cops and medics never returning to their families after their shift ended minus that one cop that brought her to the hospital. Never found him, unfortunately.
“Yes, sir. I’ll get men on it right away.”
“Make sure they’re the quiet ones,” I add, letting my tone sharpen. “No guns till I say. I want her scared, not dead. There’s a difference.”
The man nods quickly, eyes wide. He won’t forget that distinction — not if he values his life.
With that, he turns and leaves my office. Having her number, I am able to track her phone, so I will be able to see if she leaves the island. I’m not sure how she will do it. But I know she will. She is predictable.
I look under the desk to the slut that is down on her knees with my cock in her mouth. Tears running down her face, makeup everywhere. Just how I like it.
“Pick up the pace, bitch. I’ve someplace to be–and I won’t be kept waitin’.” Her head begins to bob faster, and I reach down and place the palm of my hand on the back of her head, then I plug her nose. Effectively, choking her on my cock. I hear her sputtering and she tries to push off to get air. I don’t let go. Her fingernails drag down my legs as she tries, and fails, to get loose. The struggle turns me on more. Watching the life leave them is like my favorite drug. Although it would be a pity if she died. She has an excellent mouth.
I push down further, her thrashing is renewed in her panic, completely helpless. This is what causes my release, I shoot mycum down her throat, and she begins to hit my thighs and try to push herself off me even more. I don’t let her go.
I hold her head there after I finish, my fingers digging into her scalp, the silky strands of her hair wound tight around my knuckles until they turn white. I count her desperate swallows, feeling each one against my sensitive flesh, before yanking her backward. She crashes to the hardwood floor, her pale body curling inward as she gasps for air, each breath a ragged symphony. Dark rivulets of mascara trace the contours of her flushed cheekbones, the black tears glistening under the dim light. Her lips, swollen and trembling, part slightly as she tries to regain composure. Beautiful. She is a masterpiece—vulnerability carved in flesh, surrender painted in tears.
“That will do,” I say to her, excusing her from my presence.
She begins to push off the floor, fixing the slutty pink bodycon dress she is wearing, brushing her blonde hair back behind her shoulders, and slipping on her pink heels. She begins to walk past me toward the door when I stop her with my words alone.
“I’ll see ye at the same time next week,” I say — not a question, an order. She’s paid well for her trouble, so I don’t want to hear any whining..
She falters by the door, her hand reaching up to steady herself on the door frame. I hear her take in a sharp breath before she continues exiting. I hear her heels clap on the tile as she leaves, and hear another pair enter my office.
“Sir, there is a man on the phone for you. He won’t give his name, and won’t take no for an answer. Would you like to take it?”
Brittney? Maybe Ashley? I have no idea what her name is. I think it starts with a B or maybe an A. Don’t matter, regardless.
“Yes, send it through. Did he have an accent—anything that stood out?”
“No sir, he didn’t.”Interesting. I wave her off so she can go put the call through to my phone. Within a moment, the phone on my desk has a red light next to the number one. I press it with my pointer finger, and use the rest of my hand to pick up the receiver. There is just something about a standard, old school office phone that makes my black, shriveled heart light up. Feels very Mad Men, and I like it.
I put the speaker piece of the telephone to my ear and grunt my acknowledgment of whoever is on the other side. “This is Gavin.” I say nothing else.
“You think you have all this figured out, don’t you?” Says the voice on the other end of the phone line.
“Well, I do tend ta only act when I know I’ll accomplish the goal.”
“You don’t, but it’s fun to watch you make all your moves thinking you know what the ultimate outcome will be.” He says back. His voice is clean—flat American, polished. Too polished. I know that sound. I know exactly who this is.
“Are ye enjoyin’ yerself with my wife, Brenden Slater—while I’m kind enough ta let her believe she’s free?”
“You will never have her back, Gavin. She is a free woman, strong and independent. She is free to spend time with whomever she wants. But I know for a fact that is not you. Why don’t you meet me like a man? We can settle this, between us.”
“Ye truly think I’ll agree ta that, do ye? As if ye wouldn’t bring backup—try an ambush, maybe? No. I’ll keep me own odds and plans, thank ye kindly. Have asplendidday, Brenden.” I move to set the receiver back down when his voice cuts through again—low, amused, and far too calm.
“Wait Gavin, I’m not done talking to you. You’ll never get what you want, you’ll never lead the Irish Mafia. You are not a real man, Gavin, you’re a child dressed as an adult.” Then the line cuts out with the dial tone blasting through the speaker.
