Chapter 3 Florian
Florian
After I left Arabelle sleeping comfortably in her apartment, I decided that once I returned to New York, I would have a much-needed conversation with Samuel Foster.
I’ve been at the theater waiting for him to arrive so we can get a few things straight.
Now, I’m sitting in his office, which is the last room at the end of a long dark corridor nestled at the back of the theater, not too far from the dancers’ dressing rooms.
The seclusion will come in handy just in case the theater isn’t empty like I think it is.
Alrick disagreed with me doing this right now once I contacted him to get eyes on Samuel until I returned.
He argues that this wouldn’t be the best use of our time since Olan is gaining some momentum in his war against me.
But I can’t see any other way around it.
He’s putting not only every dancer who works at the theater in danger by letting handsy patrons accost them, but also Arabelle.
And that’s something I cannot and will not let happen.
His cheap cologne mixed with the scent of even cheaper cigars lingers in the air, filling the small, cramped office.
Sitting behind his small oak desk, the eerie glow of a desk lamp casting the only light in the dark room, I casually sip the scotch he has stashed in his desk drawer.
It might not be top-shelf scotch, but it’s better than nothing.
The family photographs he proudly displays on his desk capture my attention. He’s standing beside what I assume is his wife and two young daughters, the girls standing in front of them with huge smiles on their faces.
I’m not a family man. I don’t see myself having children in the future, but I am curious about the type of man who preys on women despite having a family.
What kind of man would put women in such a vulnerable position, especially when he knows that his own wife and daughters could become prey for men with the same intentions?
Samuel needs to be taught a lesson he will never forget. I prefer that he doesn’t live because once a threat, always a threat, so we’ll just have to see how things progress before I decide which way this goes.
When I first met Arabelle, I couldn’t help but notice the fiery jealousy and anger burning in his eyes and resonating in his voice, especially when he caught sight of the vases full of flowers I gave her.
Of course, neither had known the flowers were from me, but it showed his utter disdain for anyone who shows her any attention.
I also couldn’t help but notice the deliberate distance she kept, as if trying to create a barrier between them while he persistently tried to invade her personal space.
It pissed me off then, but I had to maintain my composure.
At that time, I had been just a wealthy donor and a fan of hers. Now, it’s time he pays for his actions.
The doorknob rattles, and his hushed whispers echo through the wood panel door of his office. He’s not alone, but that won’t change the course of what I need to do.
When the door opens, Samuel steps in, tightly gripping the hand of a woman who looks like this is the last place she wants to be. She looks like she’s being forced to come in here with him.
She reminds me a lot of Arabelle, with beautiful ebony skin, a dancer’s body, and dark hair in a neat bun at the nape of her neck.
At this point, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that he’s meeting up with someone who looks like her.
With the appearance of this Arabelle lookalike, it means he’s fixated on Arabelle, which means I cannot let him live.
Neither have noticed me yet because I’m shrouded in darkness. He closes the door behind them, the sound of the lock clicking into place echoing through the room.
“I’m not sure about this,” the woman says.
Irritation crosses Samuel’s face. Either her refusal isn’t something he’s used to, or he’s pissed she’s not going along with whatever he has planned.
“I think I need to leave,” she continues.
She tries to pull her hand out of his grasp, but he grips it tighter.
“Arabelle, this is what you have to do if you want to dance at my theater. I want to see how well that mouth works, and if you’re unwilling, there’s the door. I can fill the spot with someone else tonight.”
“That’s not my name.”
When he finally lets her hand go, he walks to a long brown leather couch in front of a bookshelf, unbuttons his pants, pulls them down along with his briefs, and then sits on the down, palming his erection.
“It doesn’t matter what your name is, darling.” He moves his hand up and down his dick. “What matters is that you are here to get on your knees to show me that you really want this opportunity.”
The woman looks completely mortified, and I have no doubt she’s not the first one he’s done this to. Did he try this same thing with Arabelle?
The anger surging through me at the thought makes me see red. I hate a fucking predator, especially one that’s preying on my beauty. It’s time to put an end to this.
“Sweetheart, whoever you are, I need you to leave,” I say from the shadows. “Now!”
She wastes no time rushing to the door, quickly unlocks it, and slams it behind her.
“What the fuck!” Samuel shouts, jumping up from the couch with his hardened length still on full display. “Who are you? You can’t be in here!”
“Put your shit back in your pants, asshole,” I sneer.
His eyes widen in disbelief as he realizes he has been caught with his hard dick out in the open.
“I don’t know who you are, but you’re not supposed to be in here,” he says as he tries his best to stuff his shit back inside his pants, then zips them up. “I’m calling the cops.”
“Are you sure you want to do that? I can just tell them everything I just saw. Sounds like you were trying to force that young woman to perform sex acts to be considered for a job. I’m sure she’s not the only one you’ve coerced, and I’m sure she and others will confirm it once the cops start asking questions. ”
“I have no fucking idea what you think you heard, but if you don’t—”
“Have a seat,” I say, cutting off his lie.
He stops what he’s doing and then looks at the door like he’s thinking about making a run for it. It’s probably the best thing for him because his death will be quick, but what fun will that be for me?
“You’ll be dead before you make it, Mr. Foster. Have a seat.”
I lean forward so I’m no longer hidden in the shadows. I need him to see who he’s dealing with.
“Mr. Larsson?”
“Sit, Foster. Now!”
Flinching, he races to the chair placed in front of his desk. “What are you doing here, sir?”
I can hear the confusion and fear in his voice.
He knows that I donate a healthy amount of money to this theater, and I have enough pull in this city to cause a hell of a lot of problems for him if I ever speak about what I just witnessed.
However, he doesn’t have to worry about everyone discovering what he’s been up to.
“I’m here to have a little chat with you, Foster, so we can get some things straight when it comes to Arabelle. Imagine my surprise to see this little interaction between you and the young lady.”
“Oh, that was nothing. That was definitely not what it looked like. We just had a few things to discuss.”
“With your dick hanging out?” I ask, my brow arched. “The same things you tried to discuss with Arabelle?”
I can’t be certain if he’s attempted the same thing with Arabelle, but if he did it once, chances are he has done it before and would repeat it.
His eyes widen before he quickly conceals his shock. “I’ve done nothing wrong and have no idea what you’re talking about, Mr. Larsson.” He jumps to his feet. “I don’t think this line of questioning is appropriate. I think it’s time for me to leave.”
I rise from behind his desk, circle it, and approach him. Standing just inches in front of him, I see pure fear in his eyes. He’s so scared that his body visibly shakes with terror, and I absolutely love it.
“You’re not going anywhere.”
“Please, I’ve done nothing wrong. No matter what the bitch has told you.”
Without warning, I punch him in the throat. His eyes brim with tears as he hunches over, his shoulders shaking. He struggles to scream, clawing at his throat, but all that comes out is a faint, muffled noise.
“Watch your fucking mouth!”
He raises a hand. “Please…I…”
I yank his head back using his hair, forcing him to look at me. “When I first came here, I wanted to talk to you about how the patrons were treating the dancers. Then I saw firsthand how you treat them. I saw firsthand your fixation on Arabelle. Now, my decision has changed.”
“Please. I can just quit and leave. You’ll never see me again.”
I force him to his knees, never releasing my grip on his hair.
“Please, I’ll do anything you want me to,” he begs. “Just don’t hurt me.”
I stand behind him and remove my knife from its holster with my other hand. I lean over near his ear. “No amount of begging will save you,” I whisper. “She’s mine. No one else can have her.”
As the sharp blade glides across his neck, a metallic smell fills the air. It’s a familiar smell, one that I’ve come to love, but I don’t have time to relish it. The theater will be open in a few hours.
Pushing his body to the floor, I watch as he desperately clutches at the wound to no avail. It will only take a few seconds for him to bleed out. With a deep sigh, I watch as his body goes limp, and then I reach for my phone to dial Alrick.
“It’s done,” I say as soon as he answers the phone. “I need the body removed and this place cleaned up.”
His deep sigh reverberates through the phone line. “On the way.”
I ignore Alrick’s aggravated sigh, end the call, and stuff my phone in my pocket. I will never regret what I have to do to keep her safe. If it comes down to it, I will not hesitate to kill anyone who’s a threat to her.