Serpentine Desires

The prey

Those of you who comment will get a fictional man in reality. I bless you. 

******

"Apologies for being late. Had to run a small errand." The brooding man sauntered in, wearing a black leather jacket and matching jeans. His tattoos peeked through the sleeves, and several skull rings adorned his fingers, looking like they could summon a demon particularly the one he worked for.

He looked everything but a billionaire's butler—or whatever he was supposed to be. His hair was slicked back with what appeared to be rebellion, and his face was contorted in a permanent scowl that suggested he had just eaten a particularly sour lemon.

He looked anything but sorry.

He opened the door of the car and bobbed his head in the passenger seat. "Get in." This was the second time in two hours a man I didn't trust was telling me to get in his car. This time I couldn't resist.

"It's alright," I muttered, making myself comfortable as he slammed the door shut, making me jump in my seat at his rudeness. "You didn't have to pick me up..." I whispered, watching him round the car and get into the driver's seat, shutting the door like a madman.

Kyle adjusted his skull rings as if they were crucial for driving, glancing over at me with an expression that could only be described as a mix between annoyed and slightly amused. "Mr Romanovski insisted," he grumbled, revving the engine unnecessarily loud.

I gulped. "Oh," Insisted. More like threatened. That demon looked unaccustomed to hearing no.

Kyle gave me a side-eye as I cleared my throat and focused on the view out.

"Этот ублюдок думает, что я его мальчик на побегушках." He murmured something under his breath in Russian I didn't understand as he pressed down on the gas pedal.

(The fucker thinks I'm his errand boy.)

"So," He began with his low and menacing voice, "You're quitting?"

I shifted uncomfortably, the leather seat creaking beneath me. "I didn't ask for this," I muttered. "Mr. Romanovski..." That maniac. "He's not exactly someone I can work for."

To my surprise, he let out a dark chuckle. "You think I don't know that? The man has a way of making you feel like you're making a choice when in reality, you never had one to begin with." His lips curled into a sardonic smile.

I glanced at him, trying to gauge what he was getting at. Was this a test? To see if I bad mouth his master? "Why do you work for him then?" I found myself asking despite the thudding of my heart.

His smile faded, replaced by a hardened expression. "We all have our demons," he said cryptically, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. "Some of us just happen to work for one."

A shiver ran down my spine as I absorbed his words. The car revered faster, the surroundings becoming more desolate and foreboding. I tried to distract myself by looking out the window, but the desolation only amplified my unease.

"He's scary," My voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes flicked toward me for a moment before returning to the road. "Пугает мой зад, у ублюдка несколько шурупов в голове ослабли," he muttered. "I'd say he's...particular."

(Scary my ass, the fucker has got a loose screw or two.)

I swallowed hard, the knot in my stomach tightening. "I just want to quit." My voice was shaky, barely audible over the hum of the engine.