A villain for life.

Twelve.

I update every three days or so, if I don't somebody please nag me xD

**

Somewhere deep in my handbag my cell phone rang loudly, the Halloween theme song fixed for my editor as a personal joke rang through the thick silence. How very ironic that the tune should meet the mood of my current situation. Victor was obviously calling to check on my progress or whereabouts as he had promised earlier. 

Olyver's barely there smile dared me to picked me up.

I looked away defeated. There was just no way out of this. A minute ticked by and finally when I thought Victor would give up, my phone rang again.

The tune went on and on as Victor was quite very persistent in getting a response, he knew how possessed I got when it came to writing and my lack of attention for my surroundings.

On the sixth ring Olyver turned my purse upside down emptying its contents furiously, looking for it. Junk endlessly kept falling out much to Olvyer's irritation and then my uneaten cheese burger went smack on his hand.

Shit I had completely forgotten about that.

Olyver gave me a side way glance as he wiped the mess with a tissue, he had clearly never dealt with a woman's purse before.

When he realized the cell was in the side pocket he ripped it out and just when I thought he was going to slam it against the floor and jump on it. He took out the battery and placed it aside very coolly. I breathed out a sigh of relief.

"I've got a lot of things to tell you Gia. Let's work out a deal" he started in a too calm voice that was absolutely scary.

I nodded mechanically and then after a brief silence I spoke up "Is it okay if I record this conversation for the autobiography?"

"Not now. Let's work this out first"

"Okay." I nodded but I was thinking What the fuck is this guy serious!? A serial psychopath wanted me to write his life story.

"What happened to the hooker from the hotel?" My investigator instincts suddenly got the best of me, and I needed to know.

Olyver's eyes went a little out-of-focus at something he was remembering "She was giving me oral sex and she got carried away so I choked her. She loved it. Too bad she died. Now moving on." The tone of his voice warned me against any further interruptions.

All I could do was listen, pray and hope an opening came along that would favour me against him. Maybe Victor would sense something was up, come over and save me, at the same time a part of me wish he wouldn't for his own safety.

Olvyer made himself quite comfortable on my couch while I mentally prepared myself for a lengthy saga that started along the lines of "I was born in..."

Olvyer didn't disappoint. He started with his father, an Italian baker who supposedly made the best buns in a quaint little town in east Italy.

Minutes whipped by and Olvyer was still describing the different types of buns in his father's shop.

I stifled a yawn. He's a serial killer, of course he's entitled to a bit of abnormal madness.

Before I could yawn again, Olvyer suddenly stopped.

A deep chill spread over my skin and I hoped I didn't look too obviously bored.

"Well Gia, moving onto the real story," he smiled.

My mouth fell slightly agape. What the hell was that then? The unasked question was quite obvious on my face.

"I just love buns," he shrugged.

I'm sure you do, I internally snickered.

He shot me a cautioning look as if he could read my dirty mind and I almost shat a brick in my seat.

Who was this man really?

Olvyer started his story before he was born and then moved onto his childhood, his eyes suddenly became sharper and focused as he gave me very little of his past and then started to tell me about surviving a ruthless imprisonment and how he couldn't be contained to obey any laws of ethics or civilization in general, and how at the order he had to kill or be killed instead.

Hours went by and I was unexpectedly absorbed by his story and forgot that I was supposed to be frightened.

"And so now I enjoy myself in every desire, many you can't even begin to imagine" his voice took on a more low seductive tone.

I shifted in my seat as his eyes bore into me.

His expression turned hard with a conclusiveness "That's where the elitists come in and then you." He said after a beat.

That's it? I wanted to ask but instead I asked "Who are the elitists?" I wanted him to go on.

"That dear Gia, is a story for another day. I'll tell you after you're back from Nevada."

"Nevada? Why?"

"That's where the story begins."

"I'm not going into the freaking desert."

"Oh but yes you are." He smirked, but there was a definitive threat in his eye.

"What are you going to do? Drag me kicking and screaming into a car at gun point?"

Olyver took out an envelope from his jacket and slid it across the table.

I was now afraid of what it may contain. Nude pictures of me? Olvyer's nudes? A million dollars? Please let it be million dollars.

I reluctantly picked it up and took out its contents, a stack of pictures.

Oh goody.

They were pictures of Danny my boyfriend. Ex-Boyfriend. I mentally corrected myself again.

Danny looked like a suspicious drug dealer as he exited the corner of a super market hiding a package under his arm and I realised it was taken three days ago when I'd asked him to come over and pick up his stuff.

I was in some of the shots too. I was in a black sweat shirt, black shades on my sleep laden puffy face. I looked similarly suspicious as I accepted the package from Danny in front of my apartment building. In the next picture, the package was broken and a tampon box was caught in a mid air shot falling out towards the ground. In the next shot I was bending down to pick it while Danny was looking around obviously embarrassed. And then in the next, I was handing him a box of a few belongings of his while he clutched onto my hand with a look of despair.

Wow. That would look like perhaps the worst drug deal exchange in the history of drug deal exchanges, if it was.

"You can keep those." Olyver said with a look of pure entertainment on his face. "Just remember, I can get to Daniel anytime or Victor, or your parents and whoever else there is that so much as knows you personally, so the police is a big no-no. Comprendre?

"Just a minute," I interrupted his death threat which he made sound like a pleasant invite to a picnic.

"I'm a newspaper journalist not a story writer. Biographer" I quickly corrected.

"I understand Gia, but you're my writer. You can turn me down if you must know.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

"On the downside, I would have to exercise the dissolution clause for my own safety." He then picked up the gun and pointed it at my head.

***