Once You’re Mine: Chapter 14

I blink against the afternoon sun streaming through the windshield of my car and sip my coffee.

Unfortunately, this caffeinated beverage didn’t come from the Sugar Cube. It took all of my remaining self-control not to go in there. It’s because of my fierce desire to see Calista that I avoided the coffee shop.

She’s already fucked with my psyche more than I care to admit.

Besides, I’ve decided to give her time to see that she needs my help. She’s an intelligent woman and will come to the same conclusion eventually, although it might take some more convincing from me.

In the form of nightly visits.

I scan the surrounding area, my vigilance high. Unfortunately, the T&A is an establishment that’s meant for night entertainment, which forces me to conduct this meeting with the manager during the daylight hours. I prefer the cloak of darkness, but I have no problem meting out justice whenever karma calls for it.

Jim unlocks the front door. From this distance I can make out the wrinkles in his shirt and the stains on his jeans. This man contributes nothing to society. It will not miss him.

After waiting several minutes, I exit my vehicle and make my way to the rear entrance. I quickly pick the lock, not wanting to be seen lingering outside this place, and turn the knob. Once indoors, I secure the lock once again. The room is nothing like it was the night before, now void of its degenerate customers, loud music, and bustling waitresses.

Technically, Calista would be considered one, even though she only worked there for a mere fifteen minutes. Maybe ten. It would’ve been less than five if my court case hadn’t gone over the allotted time. Fucking day job.

It doesn’t matter. She’ll never step foot in this place again. If everything goes according to plan, no one will.

I walk up to the bar and retrieve a glass and a nearly empty bottle of cheap whiskey. It’s not usually my drink of choice, but when digging in the garbage, one shouldn’t be surprised to find trash. After pouring a decent amount on the countertop, I fill the tumbler and sip the contents, waiting for my target to come out of the back office.

Jim shows up and stops in his tracks the moment his eyes lands on me. When I flick my gaze to his, he pales.

“Hey, you can’t be here,” he says. “How did you get inside?”

“Join me.” I lift my now half-full glass. “Although you’ll have to find yourself a different drink since I finished this one off.”

He eyes me warily, unable to hide his suspicion from leaking onto his features. “Yeah, sure.”

I finger my glass, tracing the rim, keeping my movements unhurried, restrained. He pours himself a shot of vodka and taps it on the counter before downing the contents. I salute him with my drink and take a long swallow.

“Ask me why I’m here,” I say.

“Come on, man. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I click my tongue in admonishment and he flinches at the staccato sound. “Jim,” I say, drawing out the name. “Ask me why I’m here.”

“Why are you here?” he asks, his voice thin. Like he’s having a hard time breathing.

“You know why,” I say. “Now tell me. I want to hear you say it.”

“If I do, will you leave?”

I nod. “You have my word.”

“Okay.” He gulps, causing his Adam’s apple to bob. “Well, the thing is, I didn’t actually hire the girl. Once you left, I realized that I didn’t have a phone number on file to reach her so I couldn’t contact her and tell her not to show up for work. Mack didn’t know about our… agreement,” he says, stumbling over the word. “So he let her start her shift. It wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“I see.”

He meets my gaze. The hope inside almost makes me smile. “I’m glad you get it,” he says.

“First of all, it wasn’t an agreement. That would’ve meant that I needed your cooperation. Which I certainly don’t. Our prior conversation was an understanding between two parties with consequences attached. However, given your actions, I believe you think they weren’t real.”

I take a sip of my drink. “Even with your inferior intellect, I assumed you’d be smart enough to heed my warning. That was my mistake. Or perhaps I didn’t make myself clear?”

“No, not at all.” Jim holds out his hands, his shoulders lifting. “I got what you were saying. It’s just that things got mixed up. Look at this.”

He ducks behind the counter. Automatically, my hand grips my pistol, lifting it so the barrel is properly aimed. When he reappears with Calista’s backpack in his arm, I quickly stow away the firearm.

“Here,” Jim says, placing the item on the counter between us, careful to avoid the spilled alcohol. “She left this.”

I dip my head in acknowledgement but leave the item untouched. If this idiot thought that returning Calista’s backpack to me would lessen my wrath, he’s dumber than I thought. Another mistake on my part.

I’m discovering that I tend to make a lot of errors where Calista is concerned. She warps my thinking until it’s nothing except instinct, lacking the finesse and forethought I’m used to employing.

“Are we good?” Jim asks. He licks his lips and pours himself another shot, quickly downing the contents. “I spoke to the customer you… handled last night, and he agreed not to press charges, so everything is cool. No harm, no foul.”

I tilt my head. “Are you done lying to me?”

“What?”

“Come now, Jim. We both know you not only hired Miss Green, but you also planned on fucking her.”

The flush on his face disappears, regardless of the alcohol trying to heat his skin. Pale, his eyes wide enough to see his dilated pupils, he takes a step back. A hum of satisfaction travels through me at witnessing his terror. It’s why I’m still here and the reason he’s not dead. Yet.

I guess you could say I like to play with my victims before their demise. Like smoke does with oxygen, I siphon their fear, letting it empower me. Some have even called me the Grim Reaper. It fits. If a person sees me in this capacity, it’s definitely because I’ve come to take their life.

“That’s not true,” he says. “I have nothing but respect for women.”

“I read your texts. The game is over. Apologize.”

The man’s brow furrows as he decides whether or not to tell me the truth. The outcome is irrelevant. I’ll pull it from him, even if I have to rip his skin from his body. Perhaps he sees the dark intent in my eyes, the one I’m not bothering to conceal. It would explain his immediate acquiescence.

“I’m sorry, okay? She’s so fucking hot I couldn’t help myself.”

My simmering anger boils over, barely restrained. The need to kill this motherfucker has my muscles vibrating with the desire to move. To mete out justice, yes. But more than that, I want him to suffer. Greatly.

“Are you telling me you didn’t notice?” he asks. “I mean, that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Because you want her for yourself?”

I dip my head in acknowledgment. “Undoubtedly.”

He clenches and unclenches his fists, his adrenaline getting the best of him. In the flight-or-fight response, he’s obviously the former. Too bad for him, I excel at the latter.

“Look, man, I’m sorry about all of this.” He walks up to the counter, beseeching me with his gaze while resting his palms on the flat surface. “Why don’t you both come back tonight and have free drinks on me?”

I sip on the whiskey.

“So, what do you say?”

My gaze finds his over the rim of my glass. In a swift, downward arc I slam the tumbler against the edge of the bar. The remaining liquid splashes against the wood and drips onto the floor, immediately forgotten at the high pitch of glass breaking. Shards fall, scattering across the bar like diamond fragments, leaving behind a single jagged edge.

I ram it into his hand.

The glass slices through tendon and bone with the force of my strike, only stopping once it drives into the wood underneath his palm. Blood wells. His scream of agony echoes in the room, a delightful sound.

“What the fuck?!” he shouts.

He further showcases his stupidity by attempting to wrench back his hand. Only to find it secured to the counter by the glass. More blood spills, coating his fingers and pooling on the wooden surface.

I reach into my pocket and retrieve my lighter. He goes still at the subtle click as a single flame appears, dancing when my breath stirs it.

“I warned you,” I say. “I gave you a chance to walk away and you didn’t take it. Instead, you thought you could touch what’s mine. Fuck what’s mine. For that, there’s no devil in hell or god in heaven who can save you. Burn, motherfucker.”

With a flick of the wrist, the flame meets the spilled alcohol and sweeps over the wooden surface. Fire licks at the bar and Jim’s skin. Smoke fills the air along with his screams for help. He flings curses at me while attempting to dislodge the glass from the wood, keeping him pinned as the fire swells around him.

I stand there and watch, allowing myself a few seconds of gratification before I spin on my heel and leave.

With a smile on my face.