5. Dane
5
DANE
“ Y ou’ll bail me out if I get caught?” The thief swipes sweat from his tanned brow, which is too youthful to show any signs of age. He can’t be more than twenty, but he’s already chosen a life of crime. I found him dealing drugs to a couple of kids younger than he is.
Even if I possessed a conscience, it would be at peace; manipulating this little shit doesn’t bother me in the slightest.
“You won’t get caught,” I say, more of a threat than a reassurance. I’ve made it clear that there will be consequences if he goes blabbing to the cops. “And what I’ve already paid you is more than enough to cover any bail. You’ll get the other half after.”
His tongue darts out to lick his thin, chapped lips—a sign of nervousness or greed?
It doesn’t matter. He’s a means to an end.
“Remember,” I add coolly. “You don’t know me. You’ve never seen my face.”
He swallows hard when I flip the knife in an idle threat and deftly catch the hilt. His shaved head bobs in a frantic nod.
“I remember,” he agrees quickly, voice cracking slightly. “I just want my money.”
I close the switchblade and tuck it out of sight with a sigh before flashing the wad of cash in my Italian leather wallet. “This is yours. After you finish the job.”
His brown eyes are huge, and I swear he’s salivating at the sight of the hundred-dollar bills.
“I’ll see you in the market at noon. Wait for my signal.”
He nods again. “You got it, boss.”
My lip curls in contempt at his obsequious reply. I command respect, but I’ve had enough bowing and scraping to last a lifetime.
I turn from the pathetic excuse for a man and stroll out of the alley between the two derelict brick buildings on Cooper Street. Despite my eagerness to get to Abigail, I keep a leisurely pace as I make my way across town to the market. With each step, anticipation coils my muscles, until my entire body thrums with the thrill of the hunt.
In a matter of hours, Abigail will be mine.
Then I can punish her for shutting me out last night. She’s never been scared off by my perverse messages as GentAnon before; she thrives on the dark thrill of the fantasies we share online.
But she logged off last night and refused to respond to my demands for a reply.
An echo of the frustration that’d clawed at me all night rakes my insides with an aggravating sting.
She refused a date with me when I asked her out at the café yesterday, and she denied me as GentAnon last night. We’ve been messaging for months, and I can’t bear the wait to claim her in every way.
It’s time for me to escalate my plans to possess Abigail.