Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 69836 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69836 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
When both men disappear inside, I stand with my back to the door and listen. I know Sullivan well enough to realize I shouldn’t give him too much time to think things through, so I only enter once I hear the splash of water. The two pairs of eyes stab my chest, but I ignore the sharpness of their gazes, remaining calm even when Lyle’s hand gravitates to the gun holstered at his side. Nothing good would come from a scuffle right now.
A part of me is pleased when Sullivan stiffens. It means that no matter how long he’s been ignoring me, he sees me as dangerous. Worth a degree of respect. So I give him a curt nod.
“Why are you here, Cesar?” he asks, shaking water off his hands. “You were meant to be on standby tonight.”
Like any other day in recent times. It did give me plenty of reading time, but each passing week feels like confirmation that I’m no longer needed, and that Sullivan wants to punish me for getting injured in the first place. As if I haven’t taken that stab in the eye for him.
A part of me knows his life should not be more important than my own health, but like every well-trained dog in existence, I can’t resist the compulsion to fight for my master.
“May I have a word, sir?” I ask, hoping Lyle takes the hint and leaves the two of us alone, but he remains in the restroom, watching me as if I’m an outsider.
Sullivan exhales, making me feel like even more of a burden. “It’s fine, Lyle, you can leave us, just stay outside and don’t let anyone in. This won’t take long.”
Another slap in the face.
Lyle gives me a dirty look I couldn’t give less of a shit about, and I’m finally alone with the man who pretty much owns me. I should hate him, and sometimes disdain weaves its way into my heart, but it never stays long. He’s the closest thing to a parent I’ve ever had. It’s because of him that I have a life, plenty of money in my bank account, and the possibility of a future.
“So? What is it, Cesar?”
I clear my throat, ready to recite the few sentences I’ve memorized over the past few days. But when my mouth opens, it’s as if something’s wiped my memory clean. With sweaty hands, I nod, struggling to speak, even though I know exactly what I came here to say.
I’m a grown man. A pot-bellied seventy-year old with skin sunburned after his most recent skiing trip shouldn’t make me so flustered, and yet here I am, embarrassed like a child who’s broken his parents’ antique vase. He’s shorter than me, weaker, but something inside me still sees him as the towering figure who greeted me at his home so many years ago.
“I—I wanted to speak to you, sir. It’s been a long time, and another year’s gone by. I understand I’m not owed anything for the previous one, because of my injury, but I was active and ready in the past twelve months. I’d like to ask if you picked my tattoo yet.”
The last one, and we both know it. The only Christmas presents I ever got, etched into my skin from the year of my first kill at fifteen.
“And do you feel you’ve earned one this year, Cesar?”
It’s so condescending I want to grab his gray head and smash it into the sink, sending teeth and brains flying into every corner of this restroom. How’s that for Christmas decorations?
But I won’t. The power this man holds over me is greater than the strength of his muscles could ever be. I won’t be free of him until he takes off my leash.
“I’m ready each day with the exception of Fridays. My loyalty is flawless,” I say without thinking, because it is not my fault he chooses not to use me for any job of note.
“My Dobermans don’t need days off.” He chuckles, but his eyes remain cold. He’s comparing me to dogs. Is it a slight? Or is he telling me to do better? Despite the compulsion to keep him happy, I won’t give up on the one evening when I can roam free and bury myself in handsome bodies, so I stay silent. “The holidays are a busy time. I will see about it in the new year.”
Bile rises in my throat. That means another year in his service. Twelve more months of wasted time. Have I not done enough? Don’t I deserve to finally start living for myself and breathe air rather than the smoke of my master’s cigars? I’ve got this planned out. A house off the Alaskan coast, freedom to see people or not. I could fuck someone every day if I felt like it, and even hunt, if my instincts need to be sated.