One more interruption and you’ll find yourself with a bullet in your head!”
He stares at me and his face loses all of its color, but he remains quiet for once.
“It doesn’t matter what your intentions were. The mob doesn’t trust people just because they don’t openly pose a threat,” I say. “It is hard to earn their trust, especially when you’re an outsider to them. You and I, we both were such outsiders. I was hired by them, and you were used by them. You should be just as happy as I am that they are gone.”
He frowns at me and pours himself another drink.
“So, you really did it,” he whispers, sounding disgusted. “You really killed all of them.”
I don’t give him a reply, but raise the glass to my lips again, taking another sip that barely reaches my throat and mostly moistens my lips.
“What’s important now is the future, Christian,” I say. “You can live in peace now—if you let things go.”
“If I let things go,” he repeats, his voice low and full of terror. “Are you threatening me?”
I turn around to him, catching his small and light gray eyes on me.
“Maybe,” I say. “If I deem it necessary, yes Christian, I am threatening you to stay quiet.”
“Or else?” He asks. “Or else I’ll end up like the others?”
I shake my head. “It doesn’t have to be that way.”
He flinches when I suddenly jump up from my barstool.
I’m done.
“Everything that needs to be said has been said,” I tell him. “It’s up to you now, buddy.”
He looks at me, his face in an unreadable expression. There is a hint of fear, but not enough for my taste. I will have to watch this guy.
“Goodbye, Christian,” I say, and turn around to leave.
I close the door behind me without hearing another word from him.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Nike
“Ugh, sickening,” Amanda says when she sees me trying on a new outfit. She winks at me.
I am standing in front of my full body mirror, turning and stretching to see if the dress I bought with the help of her recommendations suits me as well as it did in the store where I bought it. It's a dark red flare dress with lace around its Bardot neckline—nothing I would usually dare to wear, but Amanda convinced me to go for this one and I trust her judgment.
“Sickening, huh?” I ask, smiling at her.
“Yeah, you’re like a teenage girl,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Head over heels for that guy—and all I told you was to get some fling action!”
I chuckle, straightening my dress for the umpteenth time.
“That was all I was going for,” I assure her. “How could I have known that he would turn out to be more than just a fling?”
She raises her eyebrows.
“I’m happy for you, you know that,” she says. “Just be careful, okay? Some of the things you told me about him sound fishy to me.”
I want to object, but I know she is right. I told her about his behavior in the beginning, about his accusation of me playing some sort of game with him. He was so certain that we had met before and that I was hiding something from him. And the way he looked at me…
It also struck me as weird how intrusive he was on our first date, not even physically, but emotionally. There was more than one time when I suspected him of being a police officer or some sort of detective, even though those thoughts were soon cast aside after we had sex. That was a whole other kind of weird, because the intimacy we shared in those moments was out of this world as well. It was something that could not be faked, something real and deep. As wonderful as it was, it also scared me—and still does.
It was as if he knew. As if he knew what had happened just a short while before we met. That horrific incident on the roof. Too much time has passed for me to go to the police now, so all I’m left to do is to try to forget about all of it. I want to cast the memory aside and bury it as deep as possible, overshadowed by positive memories and thoughts.
He is
He stares at me and his face loses all of its color, but he remains quiet for once.
“It doesn’t matter what your intentions were. The mob doesn’t trust people just because they don’t openly pose a threat,” I say. “It is hard to earn their trust, especially when you’re an outsider to them. You and I, we both were such outsiders. I was hired by them, and you were used by them. You should be just as happy as I am that they are gone.”
He frowns at me and pours himself another drink.
“So, you really did it,” he whispers, sounding disgusted. “You really killed all of them.”
I don’t give him a reply, but raise the glass to my lips again, taking another sip that barely reaches my throat and mostly moistens my lips.
“What’s important now is the future, Christian,” I say. “You can live in peace now—if you let things go.”
“If I let things go,” he repeats, his voice low and full of terror. “Are you threatening me?”
I turn around to him, catching his small and light gray eyes on me.
“Maybe,” I say. “If I deem it necessary, yes Christian, I am threatening you to stay quiet.”
“Or else?” He asks. “Or else I’ll end up like the others?”
I shake my head. “It doesn’t have to be that way.”
He flinches when I suddenly jump up from my barstool.
I’m done.
“Everything that needs to be said has been said,” I tell him. “It’s up to you now, buddy.”
He looks at me, his face in an unreadable expression. There is a hint of fear, but not enough for my taste. I will have to watch this guy.
“Goodbye, Christian,” I say, and turn around to leave.
I close the door behind me without hearing another word from him.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Nike
“Ugh, sickening,” Amanda says when she sees me trying on a new outfit. She winks at me.
I am standing in front of my full body mirror, turning and stretching to see if the dress I bought with the help of her recommendations suits me as well as it did in the store where I bought it. It's a dark red flare dress with lace around its Bardot neckline—nothing I would usually dare to wear, but Amanda convinced me to go for this one and I trust her judgment.
“Sickening, huh?” I ask, smiling at her.
“Yeah, you’re like a teenage girl,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Head over heels for that guy—and all I told you was to get some fling action!”
I chuckle, straightening my dress for the umpteenth time.
“That was all I was going for,” I assure her. “How could I have known that he would turn out to be more than just a fling?”
She raises her eyebrows.
“I’m happy for you, you know that,” she says. “Just be careful, okay? Some of the things you told me about him sound fishy to me.”
I want to object, but I know she is right. I told her about his behavior in the beginning, about his accusation of me playing some sort of game with him. He was so certain that we had met before and that I was hiding something from him. And the way he looked at me…
It also struck me as weird how intrusive he was on our first date, not even physically, but emotionally. There was more than one time when I suspected him of being a police officer or some sort of detective, even though those thoughts were soon cast aside after we had sex. That was a whole other kind of weird, because the intimacy we shared in those moments was out of this world as well. It was something that could not be faked, something real and deep. As wonderful as it was, it also scared me—and still does.
It was as if he knew. As if he knew what had happened just a short while before we met. That horrific incident on the roof. Too much time has passed for me to go to the police now, so all I’m left to do is to try to forget about all of it. I want to cast the memory aside and bury it as deep as possible, overshadowed by positive memories and thoughts.
He is
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