Chapter 4 Carter
Isat at my desk in my office, my eyes glued to the screen.
I had to watch her. I had to watch Tiffany, or ‘Agent Auble’, sitting in the uncomfortable green room where she’d been told to wait.
She’d stay right there until we got everything we needed on her.
She was unique. She was gorgeous. I wouldn’t risk losing her to my own impatience.
If one bit of information or leverage was missed, it could destroy the opportunity laid out in front of me.
Yet my instincts to taunt her couldn’t be suppressed, not entirely.
Watching her cross and uncross her thick, vitiligo-spotted thighs and checking her phone compulsively every couple of minutes filled me with some admiration but also disdain for the woman.
What was someone like her doing in such a dull, boring crusade against industrial farming?
Did she not realize all she was? How beautiful she was?
She needed a strong guiding hand, and she needed to be herded. She needed my hand. I reached out to press the light-up S button for Susan’s desk. I spoke clearly. “Are we sure she cannot leave?”
“Sir, we have four men watching the room and she doesn’t look like a fast runner,” Susan said, voice dripping with disdain.
That bothered me. I could admit to being mean to her in my thoughts, but I didn’t like the way Susan talked about Tiffany.
I didn’t like her taking such liberties.
Not with my soon-to-be prized possession.
I huffed to myself, deciding not to get into an argument.
Too much was on the line and I would not be sidetracked.
“Bring her a glass of our milk, Susan. Make sure it’s always full,” I instructed.
“Yes, sir.”
“Bring it cold and raise the AC temperature in that room by a couple of degrees. Give her good reason to want to drink it,” I added with a smirk.
“Yes, sir,” Susan acknowledged again.
I took my hand off the button and focused on Tiffany, the beauty on my screen, before the door to my office opened.
Igor walked in, stepping over my beautiful cow-hide rug, using a cloth to wipe blood from his knuckles.
He was red and sweaty. He had ditched his grey suit and now wore only his white shirt, unbuttoned and tucked into his grey slacks.
The open collar revealed a few tattoos across his chest. Those with knowledge would be able to identify them both as Russian prison gang tattoos and Spetsnaz special forces mark.
Igor was in a dead-end job in a private military company, destined to make meager pay and then die unsung on some battlefield in Eastern Europe, Africa, or return to Russia to serve the rest of his sentence.
I couldn’t tolerate that much talent being wasted.
After a stern conversation with the leader of Igor’s unit, I’d purchased the man’s freedom.
Say what you will about Russians, I thought as I looked towards my favorite enforcer, but they are cunning businessmen. They know everything has a price and don’t hesitate to name it. It makes everything go much smoother.
“How much has he told you?” I asked before Igor could speak.
“Not much, sir.”
“Normally, I prefer the organic method of getting information,” I said, opening the drawer at the top of my desk. I reached for my silver cigarette case decorated with cows grazing under the Swiss Alps. “Lead me to him.”
Igor nodded and went ahead. I walked just behind him to the large, empty warehouse at the back of the facility.
Jason, Tiffany’s partner in crime, sat in the middle of the room with his hands tied behind his back.
He had been caught trying to climb the fence in an attempt to retrieve his fallen drone, which suited me perfectly.
It saved my security team the trouble of retrieving the man from Henderson’s farm.
“You’re sweating, Mister Miller. You must be craving some hydration,” I said as I walked into the warehouse, ever the gentleman.
I gestured to one of my white-jumpsuit-clad goons and no further context was needed. In minutes, another man was entering the room carrying a tall glass of cold milk. Igor reached for it, wanting to feed it to the prisoner himself.
I would much rather do the honors. I stretched my hand to stop the security expert, then I took the glass and approached Jason.
His face was swollen and beaten, but there were no signs of missing teeth or broken bones.
Igor had been gentle so far. The man could grind bones bare-knuckled if he wished.
I stood next to Jason and gently caressed his head.
His hair was cut short, a little more than fuzz.
I ran my fingers through it; the texture wasn’t dissimilar to the fuzz on cattle.
“Drink. It will be good for you,” I said in my best fatherly tone and brought the glass to his lips.
I let him take on a few sips of the milk, tilting the glass and encouraging more until some began to dribble down his chin.
I frowned and pulled the glass back, setting it straight and handing it to one of my associates.
I couldn’t stand wasted milk. I took out a handkerchief to wipe the dripping milk from Jason’s face, making my motions slow and tender.
Pocketing it in the front pocket of my suit, I dipped my head and said, “There, doesn’t that feel much b-… ”
Before I could finish, Jason lifted his head and spat the milk across my face, splattering it all over me. Some of it dripped down, soaking my collar. I sighed, annoyed but otherwise unmoved by his display of defiance.
“What do you think about that, you sick bastard?” Jason grunted, furious.
“I think,” I began, slowly reaching back for my handkerchief in my suit’s front pocket and wiping the lenses of my glasses before putting them on again. “That you just wasted some prime quality milk.”
I licked my lips, much to his shock, cleaning them from the spat milk before wiping the rest of his chin with the same piece of cloth.
White with beautiful black cow pattern spots.
I noticed the drop of milk that had splashed off me and back onto Jason’s cheek.
I frowned. I wouldn’t tolerate waste. I grabbed his head and leaned down, holding his chin firmly.
With a long, languid lapping of my tongue, I licked it off Jason’s face.
I tasted his sweat mixing with the sweetness of the milk and felt a vague rush of arousal.
Not caused by Jason’s taste, but merely by exerting my power over him.
Jason was more than shocked. He was confused, disgusted, and terrified.
That was almost as delicious as the milk.
While I licked his face, I used his distraction to reveal the needle I’d taken from my silver cigarette case.
I injected the fluid into his neck with precise practice before he could even realize the trouble he was in.
Then, I pulled back from the chair and turned to Igor.
“That should take care of his stubbornness. Give it ten to twenty minutes to act, and he will sing whatever tune you request.” With that, I was done. I began to walk out of the warehouse.
“Sir, are you not staying for the rest of the interrogation?”
“No, I trust you, Igor. Keep using a gentle touch, and send me whatever details you learn from him.” I told him without turning back.
“Thanks to Mister Miller here, I have to get changed. I have a very important appointment with a very special person. I’ll tell Miss Thompson you sent your regards, Mister Miller. ”
I happily left him to his fate.