Claude

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The next morning, I wake up early. We aren't going to the office today but I still haven't been told where we're going so I slip into some dress pants and a blouse since it's appropriate for all occasions.

As I walk into the dining room for breakfast, I bump into Claude.

"What the fuck are you wearing?"

"If you would tell me where the fuck we're going then I would be able to dress better."

He moves closer to me until my back hits the table. "Don't swear at me."

We stare at each other for a few seconds, unmoving. Heat is spreading up my neck into my cheeks. I must look flushed but I don't move away.

"What the fuck are you two doing?"

I push Claude off of me as Opium stares at me as if I've grown two heads.

"Your stupid boss was just being a bully like he usually is," I snap and bite into an apple.

I wait for Raphael to come to the table before I bring up what I desperately want to know.

"Am I going to be informed of where we're going today?"

The silence that follows almost causes me to lose my cool but I reel it in when Opium sighs.

"We're going to your mothers house," he says.

My heart stops. Like actually skips a beat. The familiar, agonising heart of anxiety rushes through my body like water loose from a dam until I literally can't move.

Never tell anyone anything again.

I swallow away the anxiety but clench my fists under the table.

"May I ask why?"

Opium shrugs and goes back to eating his porridge and Raphael finds extreme interest in the pattern of the tablecloth.

I look over to Claude who for once is staring directly back at me.

"It's your first assignment just like I said yesterday." Simple and to the point. And fucking annoying just like him.

"When you said assignment in the cryptic and inconsiderate way of yours, I assumed you meant delivering a fuckton of coke or maybe killing a mother with five starving children. Isn't that what the mafia does?"

What the fuck is wrong with me? Why did I say that out loud? It's like I have a death wish or something. I mean...

The cracking of fingers brings me back to reality and I look over to see Claude cracking his knuckles while looking at me with a completely blank expression.

"You'd rather murder someone than visit your own mother?"

"No, of course not," I splutter.

"Then why the fuck are you complaining?"

Because I'd rather murder someone then visit my mother.

"Because I don't understand."

"Your brothers birthday is tomorrow, correct?"

Creep.

"Yes."

"So we are going to go visit. Think of it more as a privilege than an assignment."

He said it himself yesterday. My mother doesn't care. Why would visiting her be a privilege? It must be a test. Maybe to see if I'll tell my brothers something? Fine, I'll play along.

"Finish getting ready and meet me at the garage in 30 minutes."

"What should I wear?"

He shrugs indifferently. "Do I look like your personal stylist? Wear whatever you would normally wear to visit your family. Something nice so you don't embarrass me."