NEFARIOUS: B723 SERIES BOOK THREE, page 3
Thankfully, their pride and discomfort let me do it myself, which got one of them choked halfway out when I grabbed a towel and wrapped it around one dude’s neck while I tried to kick at the other one to buy me some time getting his buddy to go unconscious.
It was a fail, and I got my head clobbered with a butt of a gun and a few punches to my ribcage for the trouble. I guess the grogginess in my head didn’t make my reflexes act as quickly as I needed them to.
Later, a maid came in who didn’t speak a lick of English attempted to force-feed me some soup that looked like chunks of dead flesh and peas. I angrily refused the food and the water because with the way it’s taking me longer to get over this so-called hangover brings me to believe that I was drugged on top of my abduction.
Information and a way out are the only fucking thing I need right now because none of this shit makes zero sense. The words test results have my mind going a million miles a minute in all different kinds of ways. Like, do they want a kidney from me? A lung? My fucking heart?
It’s called an organ donor, but they might not have enough time to spare, and how they found me and were able to get me here is still questionable. All I can think of is that they lured me into a car but even drunk me knows that stranger danger is a real fucking thing, and I’m not one to get all stupid-nice while alone and half in the bag.
The door to the bedroom clicks open, displaying a middle-aged woman in a black blouse and skin-tight red skirt. She has the figure for it and strides in her high heels with purpose, alluding that she’s mother dearest and the person I need to convince to let me go. However, the fake ass beaming smile on her face doesn’t reach her eyes much, so I’m betting on this conversation already going south pretty quickly.
“Mr. Mills,” she greets in a heavily sweet French accent. “I apologize for the way you’ve been handled. My daughters state that you seemed quite upset earlier, and I want to assure you that you are in no way in any danger.”
“Why wouldn’t I be upset? I’m only here against my will with no explanation.”
“I understand why you would be,” she says slowly as if she’s never had to explain herself a day in her life, and the words are actually painful to get out.
“Color me curious then,” I emit through narrowed eyes. “Why the fuck am I here? And make it quick because I have family to go see. So wrapping this up—whatever this is—would be great.”
“Well, let me start with how you’ll be paid handsomely for your help.” She steps forward but not close enough for me to make any sort of move to take her down. I mess with the ends of my zip ties, pulling them as tightly as I can, but the angle of my wrists makes it a pain in the ass. “My husband has been diagnosed with hemophilia, and he requires a blood donor.”
I nod, still not getting it. “Okay, well...I’m sorry to hear that, but there are places for sick people. They’re called hospitals.“
“You don’t quite understand,” she counters sternly, her stiff features hardening, but she tries her best to keep her expression light. “You see, your blood is rare. As well as his. They call it Golden Blood. You are one of only two people in the United States that has been reported to have it.”
I blink a few times because—um, okay? This is news to me, however, I’m not the type of person who knows all about those things. In fact, Lucien, my doctor, bitches at me all the time to take better care of myself, eat more vegetables, stop snacking on chips all the time—the normal doctor shit that they plague you with to say they did it so, when you die from clogged arteries, you can’t say they didn’t warn you.
Usually, he’s called in to pull a bullet out of my arm or to sew me back up, but I never sat there and asked him; hey, what kind of blood do I have? I could give a shit, to be honest.
When the French broad doesn’t speak anymore and leaves me on a cliffhanger of epic proportions, I lift a brow and press with, “You want to drain me dry or some shit?”
“No, no.” She shakes her head violently like she’s demanding I buy this boneheaded story. “Absolutely not.”
Call me impatient or knowledgable that this could turn worse at any given second, but I’m not about to fuck around and wait for the truth to come hunt me down.
“You gonna get to the point today because you’ve lost any potential of asking me for a favor with the shitty accommodations.” I’ve never heard of this Golden blood before, and with all the crap I’ve seen being dealt, bargained, and traded illegally for, you’d think I would have.
No, there has to be something else for why I’m being held against my will than what flows through my veins. If this existed, it’d be a goldmine for people everywhere involved in the Black Market.
“I have dinner ready for—“
“Lady,” I seize out, my patience finally snapping in half by her inability to fucking listen to me. “I’ve had one hell of a night. I’ve been tied up to this damn chair all damn day. My head is a damn mess, and the last thing I want to do is have dinner with you. No offense.”
“When the test results come back—“
“You obviously know where to find me.” Which is freaky as shit, but whatever, I can handle myself sober.
The woman steps forward, losing that kind persona about her and strapping on the entitled bitch face that suits her just fine. I mean, just one look around this room—the expensive furniture and crown molding, the bed frame that looks like it was custom made and never slept in, and the ugly ass carpeting with brown and red designs that I guess rich folks find awesome—and you can tell she’s never wanted or cares to work a hard day in her life.
“This is way too important to have you go off the radar or call the police,” she protests as if she has any right to tell me what to and not to do. “My husband is a very important man to his country and our family.”
I mentally pocket that little tidbit of information. An important man, more than likely, means a politician. And I'm tired of important people nudging their way into my life or someone I love.
“And what makes me the lucky one out of these two alleged donors to get picked for this lovely adventure?”
“The other is on life support…dying.”
“So, how long are we talking here?”
“A few days.”
Returning to the snug-fitting of my ties, I pull at the excess plastic once more, feeling the plastic dig deeper into my flesh and cutting off more of my circulation.
It’s now or never.
With the tension, I pull up to no avail with all my strength, then try again. On the third try, I hear the snapping sound of my restraints busting free.
My ankles and chest—that’s a different story.
Reaching out and forward, I catch the French woman’s blouse and yank her in my direction before my chair, and I crash forward to the floor. She gasps in surprise as I twirl her around and place her in my lap with my forearm around her neck and my palm on the side of her head.
“Gun,” I growl out as the man in the room who was supposed to watch me stares back at me with expanded eyes and begins to grapple for his gun. “Or I’ll practice on your neck to see if I can get it to make the same noise.”
“Mr. Mills, don’t do anything rash. We don’t want you hurt.”
“And I don’t want to be here.”
“What do you need?”
“I already told you,” I sneer in her ear, putting more pressure on her neck. I could always use her as a shield after I snap her neck and the man in front of me starts popping bullets off. “I want his gun, and you and I are going to go for a walk.”
“We just need your blood.”
“Then you should’ve asked. Now I don’t want to perform my good deed for the day.”
“Give him the gun,” she says, motion with her hand for the guard to come towards us. “And no one will get hurt.”
“Smartest thing you’ve done all day, I’m sure.”
The man keeps his gaze on me before reaching out his arm and handing me over his weapon. The hard plastic slides along my fingers before his right hand rips the stupid bitch out of my lap, and I got a hold of my new prized possession.
I flirt with the trigger and pull at the same moment his fist slams into the side of my head. My vision rocks on its axis as I hear no damn thud, alluding that I got him square in the chest somewhere. Shoving the wooden chair against the floor to gain some space, he quickly erases it as I fire three more shots into the place I wanted to hit in the first place. It doesn’t stop him as the asshole falls on top of me, flipping my chair over with his two hundred pounds of muscle and steroids. His mouth practically foams in a smirk as he stares down at me like he’s about to rape me, and he caught his prey.
It actually creeps me out for a second because it’s demented and crazed.
“Bulletproof vest, motherfucker,” he gloats proudly, his hot breath grazing on my face, and I wish my mouth wasn’t so dry because it’d spit in his.
I still allow my lips to quirk because if I see this prick again, I’m gonna make sure he gets double in the chest. “You’re still gonna remember me tonight, though, with those bruises. Bet it makes your dick hard.”
He growls and lifts his weight to probably punch me in the side when the French bitch chimes in with her orders.
“Get him up. I need him together, not in broken pieces.”
Asshole gets to his feet and seizes my shirt, hurling me upward and my chair back in place. “Are you going to behave, Mr. Mills? I really don’t have time to do this again.”
“I can’t make any promises since you can’t give me a timeline of how long I’m gonna be here,” I reply to the Sprinfield XD in my face, then I slice my eyes to her. “We’ll see.”
“My offer still stands on dinner tomorrow if you want to be civil.”
I clench my hands behind me into fists but keep my calm composure glued onto my face. "Then I guess I'm coming to dinner."
The lady gives me a curt nod and grin, but it doesn't reach her dark brown eyes again. "My daughters will be thrilled."
Oh, so am I.
With dinner comes sharp utensils and a path to a door to get the fuck out of here from these nutjobs.
Shouldn't be too hard, right?
After an hour of unpacking all the suitcases that were in my car—that my sisters didn’t help me with but waited in my room for—we’re all done, and I’m starving. Odette bitched the whole time, surprisingly not about being asked to help but about her on-again, off-again boyfriend, Cyrus. Apparently, he isn’t giving her enough of his precious time nor the wedding ring she’s been wanting so badly. Maybe if she wasn’t such an insufferable human being who cared about someone other than herself and the wrinkles that at any time could be forming under her eyes, he would.
I’ve never asked my sister if she’s in love with him, doubt it, and she’s never mentioned it before. Still, I know that the main reason for her strong fondness towards him is because of all the zeros overflowing into his bank account. I’m not sure what his family does, what kind of business they operate in, but I know he’s loaded. And along with being that, Anthony’s a decent guy, can hold a conversation, and does what Odette doesn’t; asks me about school.
He deserves better—there I said it.
I snuck out of dinner with Mom and my sisters since it was just going to be the four of us tonight, and that made it an automatic hard no for me. Anthony thankfully pretends like he didn’t see me as I carefully closed the front door and sprint to my car, hopping in before taking off like a bat out of hell out of the driveway. The thought of having to sit there while they complain about gossip, the first-world problems they have to face every day, and how they can make themselves look immortal isn’t how I’m spending my first night back. And if they’re all back on their bullshit diets again, dinner is going to consist of spinach leaves, chickpeas, and things I’ve never seen or heard of in my life.
Fully aware that tonight’s festivities were going to suck ahead of time since Dad’s not home, I head to a local hotspot to meet up with one of my ex-boyfriends, Dillion, to grab drinks. He and I ended on mutual terms, the only guy I’ve ever stayed in contact with after seeing his dick. We’ve been really good friends ever since that can go months without speaking and go on like we had. I never leave without seeing him before going back to New York for school.
The music playing is some indie-pop stuff that I’ve never heard before in my life. Too new and slow for my tastes as the crowd of upper-class millennials with perfectly pressed suits, Prada bags, and Mercedes Benzes, all valet parked out front line up the bar and fill up the small tables inside.
“How are good ‘ole mom and the evil sisters doing?” Dillion asks me, plucking the appetizer he ordered of seared ahi tuna and shoving it in his mouth.
My gag reflex is literally on stand-by right now.
One, because he would order something like that, the rich little prick. His food choices were always too ritzy for my tastes. I’m more basic when it comes to my menu choices, craving a cheeseburger and chili fries over raw fish and spiced meats with chunks of God knows in it.
And two, again, dinner with the ladies in my house is like setting myself up with the most mundane and exhausting conversations imaginable.
“On another rabbit diet,” I offer, plucking a mozzarella stick and dipping it into marinara. He smiles, the two dimples that I used to think were his best feature protruding through his cheeks. His dirty blond hair is cut shorter than the last time I saw him, appearing more professional and clean-cut since he got promoted at the law firm he works at.
“Anything above a size three is considered unethical around here.”
“Ah, well—“ I lift my vodka martini in silent salute. “—here’s to being the rebel.”
Dillion lifts his glass of brandy, and we both take a sip at the same time, commending my lack of wanting to be a starving model that could get blown away by a large gust of wind at any moment. He’s the only one that understands some of my unpleasantries with my sisters and mom. His stepmother is queen bitch over a reigning bunch of socialites who purposely dig up trash to spread around town. Thankfully, I’ve only had to meet her twice, and since my mother is well-known and French, women like her around here.
“How’s school?” He licks his bottom lip as he stares down at his drink and looking cute in thought as he asks me his normal questions before we get into something off the wall and comfortably weird.
“Good, I’ll be getting another bachelor’s in the fall.”
His eyes slice up to me and widen. “Another one already? What are you doing collecting them at this point?”
I spread an extra cheesy smile over my face. “Maybeeeee. This one will be my favorite, though. You know how much this means to me.”
“I do.” He bobs his head and runs his index finger over the rim of his glass. “You only spent two hours picking out an outfit to wear just to go grab a burger or a movie when we’d go. Fashion is your thing.”
I pop the rest of my mozzarella stick in my mouth and don’t bother to cover my mouth when I say, “How’s Macie?”
Dillion looks heavenward and sighs, which surprises me. He’s been head over heels about her for over two years.
“The woman is nuts.” I perk a confused brow. “From the moment I told her I loved her, she’s like…super territorial.”
“You’re just now telling her you love her?”
“I did more than that.” He swirls the dark liquor in his glass around as if it’s his problems whirling around at the bottom. “I proposed to her.”
Holy fuck.
“Dude, why are you just telling me this, now?” I wipe my mouth with the crisp white napkin in my lap and raise my arm for a waitress to grab us a celebratory shot. Leave it to a busy man like Dillion to forget and leave that important change in his life out. At least he told me before dinner.
His hand shoots out to my lifted one, and I slowly drop it, watching his features harden.
“What’s wrong?”
My ex rakes his hands through his thick hair, and he lets out a weighted sigh off his chest. “Everything has changed. She’s more…” His brown eyes glisten with regret and remorse. “She’s a fucking nightmare.”
“A nightmare?” He gives me a curt nod to confirm. “How? Have you spoken to her about—“
“And have her start throwing things at me?” He shakes his head before finishing off the rest of his drink in one gulp. “No, I’m too stressed out with work to come home to her and start shit.”
“Well, you’ll have to get it figured out somehow, right?” He hits me with an exasperated look that says I’m naive in how these things work. And maybe he’s right. I’ve struck out so many times with guys it’s almost embarrassing. “You love her…don’t you?”
“I’ll spend late nights at the office.”
“Dil.”
“I’ll book more meetings and—“
“Do you really think that spending more time away from Macie is going to make her loosen her leash on you?” He spreads more tuna on a cracker, and I purposely keep my eyes on him so I don’t lose my appetite for my overly priced burger.
“I don’t think I can marry her,” he finally vouches with a weighty sigh. “Not like this. I…Amirah, it’s rough as hell.”
“Relationships are. I mean, look at me.” I place a palm on my chest. “I’m single and just had a guy ghost me a few weeks back.”
“Ghost you?” His brows furrow then his gaze flicks down my floral dress. “What did you do? Ask him those This or That questions that you did with me?”
I roll my eyes. “Screw you. You liked that stuff.”
“Nah, I liked looking at you from over the table. I wasn’t listening to half the shit you were saying.”
I shrug. “That must’ve been why we didn’t work out because half your answers sucked anyway.”
He pops his shoulder and hor d'oeuvre into his mouth. “Probably. That and I’m horrible with dates.”
“It wasn’t the dates that were horrible.”
