Page 92 of Protection (Mobsters + Billionaires 2)
ANTHONY
I can't believeI let him convince me to buy the stupid hat. As if I don't already stick out enough. The guy taking my card is having a problem with the reader, so I offer to pay cash.
He holds up his hand. “I only need a moment, I promise. This reader is picky,” he says.
He fucks with it a little longer and finally raises his fist in triumph. “I got it!”
He seems very excited and runs my card for five dollars’ worth of hat. Ah well, my man said it looked sexy on me, so I'm going with it.
Speaking of, where is my guy? I spin to my right and left and can't find him, remembering at the last moment that he said something about marigolds. Looking left again, it's hard to miss flowers the same color as his orange puffer jacket.
It’s a thought that makes me smile. Maybe that's why he likes his jacket so much. If it’s a color that brings him joy, I’ll make sure he’s swimming in it.
Unreasonably happy, I stride over, looking for him. He's a shorter guy in the United States, but he's damn near tall here, so I'm surprised I don't spot him right away. Walking up to the marigolds, a warning bell goes off in the back of my mind.
There’s no way he wouldn’t be standing here, inhaling all of the marigolds, buying the entire market out of them.
Unease becomes a curl of fear in my lower belly.
He should definitely be here. He likes to flaunt the security protocols, but he knows not to slip out of sight. He has to know I'd worry in a place as busy as the market. Hell, right before we left, I reminded him to not go too far from me. He was sincere when he said he wouldn't.
Attempting to keep the panic at bay, I make a slow spin, scanning every stall as far as the eye can see. He was wearing khaki shorts and a Captain America T-shirt, and he is not here. Anywhere.
The hat stand guy. I spin around because fuck subtly at this point, and the cashier is nowhere in sight.
I start shouting Mads’ name, making a scene. When he doesn't respond, I yell out, “Dr. Madhuban Laghari, where are you?”
I get no response, save for people looking at me strangely. The older lady in the stall across from the marigolds, however, is staring at her hands. I approach her indirectly, looking at her hand lotions, fully aware that time is slipping from me.
“Excuse me, did you see him?”
She shakes her head, frightened, and turns to straighten the counter area in the back. Lining up her specialty oils, she makes a quick gesture, barely anything. I’m not quite sure what I saw, but then she does it again, pointing to the empty stall just down from the marigolds.
I take note of her stall number and promise to somehow pay her back for her bravery before making my way through the crowds as quickly as I can. I push my way to the back of the stall and nearly miss the false wall.
Breaking through the flimsy exit, I find myself in an alley, signs of a struggle written in the gravel. My hands shake to the pounding of my heart as I race along the drag marks, barely in time to see an old delivery van disappear from view.
Mads’ scream rings out, and I run faster. Just as abruptly, his scream cuts off as though someone has shut his mouth for him.
Cursing the flip-flops on my feet, I round the corner right as the van turns another corner in the opposite direction. By the time I make it to the next street, the van has disappeared, and I have no idea where it’s gone. I got the last two numbers on the license plate, and that won’t fucking help anything.
If I get into trouble with the Thai authorities, I will never find him, so I stand in the middle of the street internally screaming, dying with every passing second.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spy the guy from the hat stand, hurrying down yet another shadowy side alley. With one last look in Mads’ direction, I wrangle my thoughts and decide to go after the only lead I have. Rage and adrenaline on my side, I eat up the space between us in seconds. Grabbing the back of his shirt, I throw him to the ground, unable to care about the authorities at this moment.
Let them try to arrest me.
“Where did they take him?” I scream, my spit landing in droplets on his face.
He begins babbling in Thai, and I bang his head on the sidewalk with a sickening crack.
“I know you speak English. Where. Did. They. Take. Him?” I ask, letting him see the murder in my expression.
Trembling, he holds up his hands. “I do not know. I do not know.”
“But they told you to slow me down, right?”
“They said they would kill my family if I did not help them.”
