29
Kool-Aid
Justin Blake
My secretary gets up from the floor as I zip my pants up.
“Fix your makeup,” I cringe at the clown effect of her red lipstick smeared everywhere.
She gives me a smirk and sashays out as if she’s won something for swallowing my load.
My cell rings, and I glance at the caller ID.
Janette. It’s Sunday. She should have called me yesterday with an update. The petty piece of shit that did the drive-by threat didn’t get a good look at Amanda before he drove away. He’s a fucking drug dealer. You’d think he would have more balls.
“About time,” I answer angrily.
“Fuck. You.”
I blink at her enraged tone. What’s up her ass today?
“What’s Amanda’s status.” How terrified is she now? There’s no way she can handle as much pressure as she’s getting. The theft happened on Friday. How quickly did that idiotic bravado last for her? Did they beat the shit out of her? I can’t wait to hear this!
“Are you serious?” Her voice has dropped to a whisper. “Is that all you care about? That fat cow ?”
“The cow I’m divorcing,” I remind her. She has no idea that I’m using her to keep an eye on Amanda, not for a divorce. I’m waiting for her to tell me how pathetic she is without her support.
“Well,” her tone turns bitterly sly. “She showed up yesterday, all right.”
“With him?” I ask and hold my breath.
“Alone,” she snaps.
“Was she beat up?” I can’t hide my excitement. I clear my throat to restore my tone.
“What? No!” She sounds shocked at the question.
I’m too busy being disappointed to care. He should have hit her at least once . I made sure he was the target for the phone call with the IT tech. Anyone could see the guy has anger issues.
“She found out about us.”
“So?” I ask with a smirk.
“She has pictures!”
My heart drops.
“What did you say?” I grit out, leaning forward with intensity.
“And not just of me, apparently. Why is that, Justin? Beth and Jessie want to know, too.”
Fuck. Fuck!
I hang up, my hands shaking violently.
“You fucking bitch! ”
My yell echoes around me before I reach out and knock everything off my desk. The lamp breaks, glass shatters. The useless prop of a photo taken at our tiny wedding drops. When I sneer at it, I’m pissed even more. It didn’t break, and Amanda’s smile seems mocking with knowledge.
Whatever that guard or Matthias put her through isn’t going to be enough. I need her fucking suffering for this. I want her begging on her knees in front of me. I look down at the phone still clutched in my hand and call the only person who can get it done.