Unreliable

12 - karma

Trigger/Content Warnings: Descriptive Gore, Homophobia, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Stalking

Max's POV

The flight was calm. Charles flew on my private jet to Nice while I went on a first-class Qantas flight onboard a very beautiful aircraft to London. This flight was 18 hours, unfortunately, but I slept for most of it.

Finding Nyck's address was easier than I thought and I thought his house was close to the airport but it wasn't. So, to get to his house, I needed to catch the Elizabeth Line to Farringdon which was a thirty-eight minute trip, and then I had to catch a Thameslink train at Farringdon and suffer through another trip, thankfully this one was only one minute, then leave at City Thameslink and walk around four minutes to get to his house.

Simple, right? Abso-fucking-lutely not. I wish it was simple to catch two trains but this costs a shit-ton of money just for this trip. Nonetheless, I get an Oyster card and I catch the Elizabeth Line.

Do people in London just do not give ANY fucks about anything? Like I'm a famous person, riding public transport and surprisingly, nobody has asked to take a picture with me. Thank god I don't have fans bothering my ass all day.

"Next Station, Farringdon." The pre-recorded announcement warns me and I grab my backpack. I lift up from the seat as soon as she starts the second announcement. "Change for, Circle Line, Hammersmith and City Line, Metropolitan Line and National Rail services." The Thameslink station was literally in the same place as the Elizabeth Line station so I didn't need to walk a lot.

The doors unlock and open, I leave the train with only my backpack and my Google Maps open.

After a shit-ton of trips, I finally arrived at Nyck's house. "76 Carter Lane," I whispered, looking at the door in front of me. There was a café on the right side so I decided to spare him for a few minutes because I was fucking thirsty and tired, so I desperately needed a caffeine burst.

I push the door of the café and I get slightly startled by the door bell. I sit down on a random table "for two". I pull out my laptop and I start researching more on Nyck. I open some tabs, search about him on Facebook, Instagram, LinkedIn, any social media platform you can imagine, I probably looked up for information about him on there.

"Can I get you anything?" A nice waiter asks, with her small vertical notebook open and her blue pen out. Her blonde hair, tied perfectly and her uniform, squeaky clean, almost like she hadn't worked.

"Uh sure," I reposition myself on the chair slightly. "A Latte would be fine." She nods and writes it down. She steps away and inputs the order into the computer. Meanwhile, I find some more information on Nyck. You see, I have a very very helpful Russian friend, so, when I asked him for everything on Charles' ex-boyfriend.

1kawapq9wbw+iw@gmail.com
Order Number NSPIR - Delivered
Your order has been successfully delivered. Click on the attachment to learn more.

Security Rule Number one is - never click on a link or an attachment from someone you don't know. This person, I did know. This was Antoine. I know, I know, a very extremely weird name for a Russian but he's of French decent. His grandfather was the president of France for around 4 years before he came to Russia to create a new family.

I click on the email as I receive my latte. I thank the waiter and I take a slight sip of the hot, sugary beverage. The attachment loads. A 3.90MB .zip file, filled with hundreds of pictures and PDFs about Nyck's life. Every. Single. Thing. Girlfriends, Boyfriends, Jobs, Children and much, much more.  At the end of the email, a phone number. I knew it was Antoine's new burner number because he has to change his phone number every few weeks due to... Complicated business.