I look at my car. I have to get Angelic home, and with her I can only have a verbal spat. So I can't take much longer.
I go back inside the Parker property, then inside the house. I'm an English gentleman, so I didn't want to break into Skyla's residence. The consequences compelled me, and the consequences serve Angelique.
I climb the stairs to the second floor. I open the first three doors, but they give access to the bedrooms. In one of them, I even find Skyla lying on the bed. I open the last door in the hall, then finally find the games room.
Three pairs of eyes turn to me.
There's a pool table in the middle of the room, and above it are rows of white powder. The smoke in the air indicates that the three offenders spent the entire afternoon smoking marijuana.
- What's up dude? Do you want some? – the first to speak sits on the edge of the sofa, and points to the row of dust.
I could punch him, then throw his body out the window. However, that would take my time, and I've already exhausted my annual allotment of wasted hours.
I remove the gun from the waistband of my pants. Immediately, the three look at each other, trying to figure out who brought this problem here. It's funny, because I bought this gun to do Margot's job, and here I am, defending the job.
“I'm looking for Dylan, Marco and Chris,” I announce.
- It's us. What is happening? - said the man sitting at the other end of the sofa. This one looks younger than the others. Maybe you're not even old enough to drink.
- What is that? What are you doing? - said the second.
- Calm down, man. Let's talk - the third begins to despair.
I step forward. They start sliding on the sofa, trying to keep as much distance as possible.
– There was a woman downstairs – I'm starting – Someone drugged her and tried to take advantage of her – I'm calm, because I know it ends here. No one can touch what's mine and on this earth have peace
“I've spent the last few days trying to control my anger and be more patient,” I continue. I take the ammunition out of my pocket, without taking my eyes off the three of them, and I put it in the cavity of the rifle while reloading – But you want to know? You picked a bad day to try to rape someone, because it was my wife.
I watch calmly as understanding dawns on them. The three look at each other once more, realizing I'm not mistaken, let alone.
"Man, we didn't know. We…” I cut him off.
– I'm going to break the hand of two of you – I point the finger at them – We have to drive to the hospital.
“She wanted, man. We weren't going to force the debate – number three is fighting back.
In other circumstances, I might laugh. I could laugh. But I'm not having such a good day.
My anger started to bloom last night when I saw Angelic on that fucking stage. Then with her running out of the building, barefoot. Finally, with a dozen incompetent police officers who took hours to find her. Not to mention the fifty other stress peaks.
In short: bad day for trying to fuck with me.
I approach the last joker who spoke. I lean down until our faces are close.
- And even? In that case, I'll let you choose – I whisper, so only he can hear – I'll disfigure your filthy little hands with my gun or with my fists. Choose one - please. Your eyes are wide and your pupils are dilated, partly from the drug, partly from fear – I pray you choose the latter option.
ANGELIC...
I wake up feeling my body reacting in the worst possible way. My head is throbbing like never before. I try to open my eyes and am grateful for the darkness around me. I couldn't even stand a spark of sunshine.
I look to the side, looking for my bedside clock. I can't find it, then I remember that I'm not at home.
By the way, where am I?
I sit on the soft bed and feel the satin sheet under my body. This is not Skyla's bed, she hates slippery fabrics.
Little by little, the images of last night come back to me. I remember Tyler offering me the first drink, then the second, the third…then we were all stoned, drinking whatever they put in our drinks.
Shit.
I passed out on the living room couch. Tyler wouldn't have the strength to take me to bed, so...
I touch my body, realizing that every garment is there. I breathe a sigh of relief knowing that I didn't end up naked in a stranger's bed.
I'm getting up. The desire to continue sleeping is overcome by curiosity. I turn on the bedside lamp to see the room around me.
Of them. Time. Shit.
This is LeBlanc's room.
The room is large, although there is little decoration and a lot of impersonality. It seems no one lives here. The curtains are greyish, as are the carpet and the sheets. There are huge halls all over the walls, and I could tell they are exhibits. The bathroom is opposite the bed, entirely in transparent glass. I can see the gold rimmed tub, the marble overhead shower and sink.
Clearly this guy is a narcissist.
I leave the room. My body is crying out for a long, relaxing bath, but I'm kind of bought, run and kidnapped – all in the same day – so I have priorities on my to-do list.
I walk down a hallway. On one side there are doors, presumably to the other rooms, and on the other a veranda. I reach the bedroom. The whole north wall is made of glass, offering a beautiful view of the city. This room is also impersonal, to the surprise of a total of zero people.
I hear noises upstairs. The sounds of sneakers sliding on the polished floor and muffled sighs.
- One. Two. Dodge - I hear a male voice command - One, two. Dodge - repeat.
I climb the stairs, chasing the noise. The second floor is different from the first, it feels more personal and intimate. The first room is a living room, and on the coffee table there are two used glasses. A leather jacket is draped over the sofa, along with a sports-style backpack.
- One, two, three – continues the voice – Take a step back.
I continue to follow the sounds, entering a hallway with doors on both sides. This apartment is huge, so much so that a person could easily get tired walking around here. The end of the corridor gives access to a training room, paired with a gym.
The door is ajar, so I look through the crack. The sounds emitted are caused by two men. One is facing me, holding a foot catcher. The other man, without a doubt, is LeBlanc. The height, shoulder width and body structure don't let me fool.
I hate to recognize your body so well.
- Up - the man orders, and LeBlanc kicks the clipper up - Down.
The man - who I assume is a trainer - plants his feet on the ground every time he takes the kicks. I don't understand fights. I was brought up to be a complete layman in unladylike matters. But, I admit, the speed of the kicks, the skill and the strength impress me. I have never watched a match like this.
LeBlanc wears polyester shorts, and that's about it. It's the first time I've seen him shirtless. In fact, this is the first time I've seen it less than perfect. He is always neat, clean, well-groomed and groomed, usually in a suit.
- Forward - instructor controls. He walks backwards as LeBlanc walks towards him, kicking the sideboard with his right leg, then his left, and so on - Higher - he yells - Higher.
Both are sweaty, proving they've been here a while. For a brief minute, I allow myself to stare at LeBlanc. The suit has always made him look tall, however, its absence reveals well-defined muscles. Her skin is white, but not the sickly kind. His dark brown, almost black hair is wet with sweat, stuck to the back of his neck, and probably also to his forehead.
I analyze your hands. Not so long ago they were all over me, with such subtlety and sensuality that they no longer seem to be the same. The bulging veins under the skin, from the back to the forearm. Rigid and tense muscles; on the arms, on the back, on the thighs. Even your ass is cute.
He is fine. It is rather hot. A little, I think.
But beyond that, he's also the man who just took a checkbook out of his pocket and bribed me. I don't let myself be seduced by him.
I return to the first floor before being seen snooping around. I still don't know what to do with my life, neither in the next days nor in the next hours. I definitely won't stay here, but I have the weirdest feeling that LeBlanc will follow me around the world.
When I reach the last step of the stairs, I hear the sounds of cutlery coming from the other side of the apartment, probably from the kitchen. Of course, he has employees, and I wonder how many. Obviously, a single employee would be insufficient to sustain his ego.
I head back to the master bedroom. I have to – and want to – get out of here, but not before I take a shower. I can still feel the traces of lemon and alcohol clinging to my skin.