Chapter 15
Tommy
“Wake up, shit for brains, you’re on your way out.”
I’m awake and sitting up before the officer can touch me, but I can tell by the disappointed look on his face that he was hoping for the chance to drag me off the steel bench I was sleeping on. He backs up toward the cell door of the county jail, and I stare at him, groggy and confused.
“You coming? Or am I locking you back up, princess?” he demands, grabbing the door like he’s about to slam it shut.
My eyes narrow suspiciously but I stand up and follow him to the door.
The cell next to mine has a couple guys in it and they watch me angrily, maybe jealously, as I get to leave.
I follow the cop down the hall, past processing, and toward the front lobby.
We get buzzed through a security door and he turns to wave me through.
I slip past him and he shoves me hard, sending me stumbling out into the lobby, arms pinwheeling, and I spin on my heel with a fist ready because fuck him–
“Yeah? You want another night?” he jeers. I unclench my fist and shake my hand out, trying to get rid of the urge to punch him, and give him a sneer of my own.
“Tommy.” I whirl, heart pounding, to see Yosef, Young-gi’s giant bodyguard, waiting there in all black like a corporate ninja.
I blink at him, not expecting him at all.
Not expecting anyone, really. I’d figured the officer was tossing me to make room for a big group or something, I don’t know, but not because someone actually came to get me out.
No one’s ever come to get me out of anything before.
“Um, what are you doing here?” Such a stupid question. He must think so too because he just sighs at me.
“What?” I ask him, scowling. “I didn’t ask you to be here, I didn’t ask anyone to come get me.”
“Yes, he’s aware,” Yosef drawls, his accent heavy but not too difficult to understand as he leads me toward the exit. “He expected a phone call. Didn’t get one. Did you think you’d just stay in jail alone? Not contact anyone? Let Kira handle it?”
“I figured you guys would ditch me,” I say honestly. “Why bother with me? It doesn’t seem worth it.”
“He won’t like that.” Yosef’s tone is a warning but I think he might be smiling. He holds the door open for me and I step outside, surprised that it’s still dark out.
“What time is it?”
“About three in the morning,” Yosef says, showing me to a–you guessed it–black car. “You’ve had everyone worried.”
“I never asked anybody to worry about me,” I say defensively, when what I really want to do is process how it feels to think that someone out there might care about me enough to worry.
“You’re a little prickly, huh?” Yosef asks, and I hop into the passenger seat instead of the back.
“You’re chatty today,” I snipe back once he’s in the driver’s seat.
“You’re not very grateful,” he chortles. That stings my pride, because it’s true, and I sit in silence for the first half of the drive.
“Thanks,” I finally mutter begrudgingly. “But I don’t owe you anything.”
He sighs again, loud like he’s an old man, even though he can’t be older than Young-gi. “You know I’m not the person to thank. He sent me.”
I gulp. Even though Young-gi isn’t in the car, just thinking about him is enough to send tingles down my spine like he’s sitting right beside me, and I fidget in my chair, twisting the ring on my finger. “Uh, so, on a scale of one to ten, how fucked am I?”
“Eh?”
“Like how mad is he?”
“Ah, yeah, you’re fucked.”
Shit. And now I’m the one sighing like an old man. “Yeah, I always seem to do that to myself. Can’t keep my shit together.”
Yosef hums in acknowledgment but doesn’t offer any sage life advice, so he’s less helpful than I’d like. He doesn’t take me to Kira’s apartment, though, and as soon as I realize that, I jolt in my seat and look at him.
“Where are we going?”
“Mr. Sokolov’s home.”
“He wants me to go to his house?” I ask, my voice tight.
“It’s three in the morning, Tommy, and he just got back from his travels less than five hours ago. He’s not going to meet you anywhere else.”
“Okay, god, no need to get up on my ass about it,” I gripe, turning back to look out the window, my heart pounding because I knew he was mad at me but I had no idea Young-gi was going to make me go face his wrath this very moment.
Yosef chuckles again, a smokey sound, and the car falls silent. I stew in my nerves until I’m just a soup of worry and excitement.
Young-gi’s angry with me. I’ve been bad.
And holy fuck, I can’t decide how I feel about that.
I kind of want to vomit. My palms are sweating, I think my heart might explode from how fast it’s going.
But the way my blood is rushing is kind of thrilling, and my breathing is fast and eager.
I’m ready for a fight, maybe even hoping for one.
One of two things will happen when I face Young-gi.
The first is the most likely thing; he’ll toss me out, shout at me, maybe hurt me.
Tell me I’ve ruined everything, take back whatever money he gave me, and get rid of me.
That’s what I expect, that’s what I’ve expected all this time.
Some kind of rational reaction to my behavior.
Or…
Less likely but somehow... the option I’m… not hoping for, definitely not. But…
He might not do those things at all.
I don’t let myself think seriously about what else he might do.
I can’t handle real shit, vulnerable shit, so I keep it light.
Maybe he fucks me, takes his anger out on me, makes me pay him for the trouble I caused that way–yeah, that’s something I know how to do, and I’d love to take his dick.
I wouldn’t even care about coming, he’s just hot as fuck.
And that’s all it has to be. Nothing serious. Nothing permanent. Nothing I rely on.
Nothing I need.
****************
Tommy
Young-gi’s place is a two story loft-style penthouse not far from his office.
I almost give myself whiplash looking around in the lobby; it was made to inspire awe in anyone who walks in, and it basically asks me what the hell I think I’m doing, bringing my poor ass in here.
I squirm uncomfortably in the elevator because holy shit I’m almost there, and then I’m inside his penthouse and Yosef pats me once on the back with a solemn nod, and leaves, locking the door behind him.
Was that his version of wishing me good luck?
Somehow, that makes me even more nervous.
I creep deeper inside the house, breathing shallowly like Young-gi is about to jump-scare me.
It’s dimly lit in here, mostly just the ambient city lighting outside the large windows casting the place in a pale moon-like hue, so I can’t see details but I can tell this place is nice.
Different from Kira’s apartment, though.
More industrial in style, with masculine architecture and exposed cement walls.
I swallow hard and peer around corners, my stomach watery, but soon enough I see a light spilling from an open door down the hallway, guiding me to my destination.
“Uh–” I choke and clear my throat before trying again, this time without the quaver. “Young-gi? Uh…” I call down the dark hall.
“Come here, Tommy.” His voice emanates from the lit room and I gulp. He isn’t shouting or running out here to beat the shit out of me, but he sounded scary as fuuuuck.
But I’m not scared of him, because he doesn’t fucking matter to me, none of this matters.
So I straighten my spine and storm inside like a hurricane.
He’s sitting in a huge chair near a writing desk, but not behind it, choosing instead to have his chair be in the center of the room, clearly waiting for me.
This seems to be a study or office, but he’s not dressed for work.
He’s wearing a plain white shirt, loose and comfortable, and soft-looking navy blue pants, like he’d been asleep when all this went down and is still in pajamas.
He’s even got soft, loafer-style house shoes on, and let me tell you, seeing him in slippers is like seeing something I’m not supposed to.
Bookshelves line one wall, and a fireplace hologram built into a false brick fireplace gives the illusion of old-timey charm despite the bright lights and modern-day fixtures.
“What do you want?” I demand, aggressive right out the gate.
He runs his eyes down my body and I instinctively follow his gaze, wincing when I see the dirt and blood on the neon pink tank top I’m still wearing, and the scrapes on my arms and knuckles, the tear near the ankle of my pants.
I look like I’ve been pulled here straight from a bar brawl, which is pretty much what happened.
I can feel a bruise on my jaw from one of Oscar’s flailing lucky hits.
I probably look like the gutter trash I am.
He doesn’t answer me right away, choosing instead to focus on his thorough inspection. I can barely hold still under the weight of it.
“Talk,” he finally demands, and I flinch. His face is as impassive as ever, but his body language is coiled and waiting, leaning back like he’s relaxed, but I can tell it’s an act.
I wet my lips, trying to get rid of my nerves. “Got in a fight. It’s nothing.”
We both stare at each other. As soon as I realize he’s waiting me out again, I stiffen up and scowl, but he’s always had more patience than me. It’s fucking annoying how fast I’m getting used to it, and how fast I cave.
“A friend of mine was getting assaulted,” I defend myself against the rising ire I can sense in him. “I put a stop to it. Oscar got what he deserved.”
“Oscar’s in the hospital and is considering pressing charges,” Young-gi informs me coldly.
How does he–never mind, I’m not surprised he already knows everything.
“He started it!”
“Don’t.” He stops me before I can keep arguing, and I grit my teeth, wondering why I’m listening to him. But maybe it’s because he hasn’t tossed me out yet, and if he hasn’t done that…
Don’t bother hoping for anything. Experience has taught me it’s better not to hope.