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Play games with them, be dismissive, and the kinds of jerkoffs who take teenage girls to get their hands on a fucking list will jump through hoops. Put themselves exactly where I want them.
But if he thinks he’s going to touch Scarlett, I’ll kill him where he stands.
As I pass my security on the way to my office, I position myself between him and Scarlett.
Her ass looks fucking amazing, and I’m still a fucking asshole enough to enjoy it while she walks. The lines and crisscrosses on her flesh from her hour and a half in the playroom, along with the whip marks, are pure fucking jerkoff material. And I’d prefer to be the only one looking at her.
The guy’s talking about the job he’s got planned for her. Under the words is something uglier. Like forced sex on tape. Things she won’t be signing up for.
When we get to my office, he gets quiet.
“Talk,” I say to Dunkel, walking to the bar to make myself a drink. I don’t offer either of them one.
“Can I try her?” And the fucker licks his fat lips.
I cast a look at Scarlett, who’s holding her hands in front of her a little too tight. And I nod at her. “Scarlett?”
“Y-yes, Sir?”
“There’s a dress in the bathroom. Put it on.”
She swallows, the vein in her throat pulsating. I lean against the bar, take a sip of my drink, then pick up the pack of cigarettes sitting on top. I shake one out and light it.
Blowing out a stream of smoke, I say, “Thing is, Dunkel, I don’t fucking share. And I certainly don’t share the woman I’m going to marry. So you can either leave or give me the message.”
“They want the list.”
“Who,” I say, “are they?”
He doesn’t answer and he glances at the door behind him and at me, no doubt trying to calculate if he can make it out before I can reach him. I set the door to lock automatically this afternoon. He can’t get out. He doesn’t know the code.
“There’s an easy or hard way.”
The man swallows as I straighten up. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see that Scarlett’s stepped out of the bathroom, wearing the slinky red dress I put in there for her.
I’m fucking impressed she said what she said and came out willingly. I hoped she would, but it would have worked if she’d protested, too.
“The easy way allows you to leave here alive.”
“I don’t know who sent me,” he says. “I’m a messenger. I got paid, and I wanted—I thought this would be an easy way to meet you, maybe go into business together.”
“With my woman?”
The man swallows. “She’s perfect. Younger is better, though.”
“As in, underage?” I ask, my voice dripping with disgust.
But the moron nods. “Fifteen, sixteen is a prime age. For the less adventurous, a young-looking seventeen to eighteen. But there’s a market for girls her age. She’s what? Twenty-one?”
I narrow my eyes. “What’s the fucking message?”
“They want the client list for the girl’s return. She’s fine, hasn’t been touched. But you only get forty-eight hours. Someone will be in contact.”
“I’ll assume the forty-eight hours will be from when they contact me. Make sure they understand that.” I smile and take another drag on my cigarette. “And you don’t know who the client is?”
“No. I do for-hire work, no questions asked. Along with the film work, ever since I parted ways with Dark Desires. I make extra delivering messages. That’s it.”
He backs off as I approach.
