Chapter Eight-The price of punctuality

Lot 27…Khaid's Penthouse

The sheer absurdity of the situation almost made me smile. Almost. I glided the bespoke black sedan through the final security gate, the scanner recognizing my thumbprint and disarming the perimeter systems before Kael could even press the button. It was past 7:30 PM, the sun long gone, and I was exactly three hours and thirty minutes late for the most important 'delivery' appointment of my week.

And yet, my supplier was waiting.

“She is still in the reception chamber, Boss” Kael's voice was a low rumble from the passenger seat. He sounded bored, perhaps mildly inconvenienced that he hadn't been given the order to remove the annoyance.

“Of course, she is” I murmured, pulling the car into the subterranean garage.

I didn't need to ask Kael how she was behaving. I had watched Bluey on the internal cameras for the last hour of my board meeting. She didn't fidget. She didn't cry. She didn't even sit. She was standing perfectly still in the center of the colorless reception room, the leather bag containing her vials clutched like a war trophy. Her posture was straight, her shoulders taut, radiating a silent, volatile fury.

Defiance. That was her only real product. And it was highly addictive. I grabbed a towel, wiping the last vestiges of that vulgar girl from my office. The one who screamed so satisfyingly off my neck. I needed to enter this new encounter clean, poised, and utterly indifferent. Bluey wasn't a transaction of pleasure, she was a transaction of power.

I took the private elevator directly up to the main floor.

The transition from the cool, dark wood of the living space to the sterile gray of the reception chamber was instantaneous. I stepped through the hidden entrance and paused, allowing my presence to flood the room before she even registered my arrival.

She saw me and went instantly rigid. Her eyes, usually so expressive, were dark pools of unspent indignation. She hadn't been waiting for a business meeting, she had been standing on my marble floor for three hours waiting for the chance to lash out.

“It's about time, CEO sir” she bit out, the title laced with pure sarcasm. Her voice was low, shaky, but she held her ground. She even took a confrontational step forward.

I merely arched an eyebrow, walking slowly toward the glass table where I'd previously gassed her. “Punctuality is a virtue, Bluey. One you should aspire to, not demand from your clientele. Perhaps you should try waiting longer next time. It might improve your manners.”

“Manners?” she scoffed, throwing her head back. “I was given an ultimatum. You bought me out of a debt only to turn me into your personal errand girl, and now you leave me stewing in your glorified security closet for three hours? That's not a client, that's a dictator.”

I stopped right in front of her, enjoying the slight flinch she couldn't suppress.

“Ah, the dictator again” I mused, picking up the small, worn leather bag. “You misunderstand the arrangement. I don't pay you to be punctual, I pay you to be compliant. And I pay you to be here when I decide to arrive. The three hours you spent stewing? That was the true price of the insult you hurled at me at The Void Club. I charge a high f*e for my time being wasted.”

I pulled a single vial from the bag, the emerald green liquid shimmering in the cool light. I held it up, watching her eyes track the movement.

“And yet” I continued, a smile finally playing on my lips, “you didn't leave. You could have walked out of the open gate at any point, but you stood here, clutching your life's work, because you are terrified of what happens if you refuse to play.”

She visibly bristled, her hand flying up instinctively to touch her collarbone. “I stayed because I am a professional. I kept my word. Unlike you.”

“A professional who wears a cheap purple metal necklace and calls it royalty?” I countered, pressing the precise button I knew would ignite her. I saw her jaw clench, the rage finally bubbling over.

“It is mine, and it means something to me!” she yelled, losing the pretense of composure.

“It means you are poor, and you are loud about it” I corrected, my tone dropping to a sharp whisper. “It means you are easy to read, and easy to manipulate” I tossed the leather bag onto the glass table. “Take your money. You have fulfilled your supply obligation for today. Now get out”

She stared at the bag, then at me, her chest heaving. She wanted to argue, to challenge me, to throw the money back in my face, but the hunger, the cold, desperate need for security held her captive.

Finally, she snatched the bag, shoving it under her arm. “I'll be back tomorrow, same time. Don't be late.”

I watched her back as she marched toward the exit. The defiance was still there, but now it was mixed with the bitter taste of defeat. She was learning the new rules.

“Hey”

She stopped, turning her head slightly, waiting with a mixture of hope and fear.

“Tomorrow, you will wait four hours” I informed her. “And bring me a list of all your ingredients. That is the new term of your employment. If you are late, or if you refuse, Kael will find you. And his hospitality is far less patient than mine.”

I didn't wait for her response. I simply turned my back and walked into the main house. The scent of her defiant, frustrated energy lingered in the air, infinitely more stimulating than the perfume I had sprayed. The game was escalating beautifully.

“Boss” Kael called.

I spared him a glance. An act that signifies him to speak.

“Should I arrange the girls for the club outing today?”

“Who says I'm going clubbing?”

“I thought. . .” He looked confused.

“I want to have a different kind of fun. Let's deliver a package to MetroPaul”

★

8:37pm

MTP Clan

“Boss” A guy draped in a suit entered the room briskly but barely. His neck was covered with an eagle tattoo on one side and that of a vulture on the other side.

Metropaul was looking out through the window. He was a middle aged man whose stance and physical agility defies aging. Stale Cigar smoke curled diligently from the pipe between his mouth as he inhaled expertly.

“Speak, Jerry” His voice sounded like an announcement drum in the medieval world.

“The consignment arrived safely. The boys are offloading them right now, boss. Which of the warehouses should we offload them into” Jerry was a few feet behind him now.

“Warehouse ten” He rumbled.

Jerry's eyes widened. “Boss, that's a long way to. . .”

Metropaul interrupted with a spin that caught him off guard. His face was contorted in ugly anger and the vicious scar on his face did not help matters.

Jerry looked down immediately. “Noted boss”

“Leave”

“Daddy. .daddy” A young girl barged into the room wailing.

“Ginger?” MetroPaul's countenance mellowed. “What happened?

“It's Elvira. .she. .we”

“Speak clearly, young girl. Where's Elvira and Mae”

“Mae is outside. . .Elv. . Elvira is gone”

“Boss, I just got an Intel that Mae is unconscious outside.”

“Then what are you waiting for? Fucking call the doctor!” Metropaul yelled.

“Who who who who who” His decibel increased with every word.

“We got an anonymous voice note, sir” Jerry, who just finished calling a doctor, said, bringing the iPad closer to MetroPaul.

“Play it”

“As a supposed Mafia boss, you have such weak and ugly daughters. Send back my consignment tonight. Your daughter. . She's definitely not safe with me. I must admit she's feisty a little unlike the rest and that's why I brought her here. Do not try me, MetroPaul. You have two hours. Your daughter and the key necklace around her neck or my consignment. . .”

“Don't you dare touch that key” MetroPaul yelled.

“It's a voice note, boss” Jerry intoned.

“That sly thing” He growled. “Send back the consignment”