"I will pay for Selene's today as well, Tyler." Henry says with a smile my way. Look at that, all these asshole predators are so fucking predictable.
"Oh no!" I throw my hand to my exposed cleavage, watching as his eyes follow. "You don't have to do that, Sir."
His eyes shine with appreciation at my calling him Sir and I feel the bile scorching up my fucking throat.
"It's the least I can do for nearly mowing you down last week," he winks.
I giggle, making sure my tits bounce, and watching as his eyes latch on to their movements. He hands a credit card to Tyler and leans his hip on the counter. He looks sharp for a man in his late fifties, a tailored suit, expensive leather shoes, and what looks to be an authentic gold tie clip.
His salt and pepper hair is combed back over his head to hide his balding crown and his face is clean shaven. He's handsome and to the unsuspecting woman, I would assume he's alluring, but to me he's a bag of shit and I can hardly stand the fucking stench.
"Are you bringing that back to your office to eat?" He asks as he takes the receipt and thanks Tyler.
"Oh, I don't have an office," I look up at him through my dramatic false lashes. "My job is a bit...well...unconventional."
We step out onto the street and he gives me a slow once over, his eyes devouring me from my feet up. He knows exactly what I mean by unconventional.
He reaches into his inside blazer pocket and hands me a business card. Henry Walton. C.C.R.E. Import and Export services.
"Call me to discuss business sometime." His fingers brush along my arm and I plaster a smile on my face. Don't kill the cunt on the street, I pray to myself.
"I will, Henry." I watch as he steps to a black Rolls Royce and gives me a final look over his shoulder.
Henry doesn't have a single fucking clue what he just got himself into.
f
I lift the hood of my ankle length black trench and stand across the street from Henry's mansion. Tonight, there's a drop off from the piece of shit human trafficker and I need to be here to watch as much as I can.
I hear heavy metal music blare as a sleek black Dodge Challenger comes veering from up the street. I hide further behind the large oak and watch as the wrought iron gates open. The car stops just inside and two guys step out. I can't really distinguish their features but they look like fucking thugs.
Both have black bandanas on their heads and dressed in big baggy jeans, with leather jackets covering their frames. They lean against the car and one sparks a joint, taking a deep toke before handing it to the other.
This is who Henry associates with? A bunch of fucking gang bangers? They are a direct contrast to the businessman image he is trying to portray and the only thing I can think of is that he hired some goons for the exchange that's about to go down.
They smoke their joint with minimal interaction and a few minutes later I see a large cargo van pull up to the gates. It's black with blacked out windows and the license plates are missing. Not fucking suspicious at all.
The gangsters straighten up when the van rolls through the gates and they follow behind it on foot, reaching for their pieces tucked into the backs of their jeans.
They get further away and out of my line of sight, and I huff against the tree in frustration. If I want to know more, I will have to get closer, and to get closer means I have to fuck the old man.
Guess it’s time to set up a business meeting with the fucker.
f
I flip the thick, expensive looking business card between my fingers and sigh, it’s so fucking hard keeping up with a charade, but I took on this line of work so I will see it to the end.
I dial the number for his cell phone and gag when he picks up.
“Walton here.”
“Henry?” I make myself sound innocent and confused, “Sorry, may I speak with Henry?”
“Selene?” His voice lowers and I can hear the fucking undercurrents of satisfaction in it.
“Yes, it’s me.” I giggle.
“I’m happy you called. What can I do for you?” Why does he make that sound so fucking slimy?