[ DISCONTINUED ]
❝He took one look at her and he knew she was the perfect kind of trouble: a good girl who knew exactly when to be bad.❞
Zayn Malik. Ruthless leader of one of the largest mafia organizations within Nevada. Who also owns the most popu...
❝The pursuit of pleasure, especially when it's seen to bring disastrous consequences. ❞
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💰 Z A Y N
"Please, just give me two more days. I promise I'll get it." Charles falls to his knees before me in an act of desperation. When he glances up, he sees my pistol which rests in its holster, exposed to him as I place my hands on my hips and push the sides of my suit jacket open.
One of my hands plays with my lip out of habit as I glance at the man before me. He was hopeless and absolutely desperate. In the last month, he's lost his wife, was kicked out of his home, had his car repossessed, been beaten and bruised by myself and my men, and he's lost well over thirty thousand dollars.
Which is why we're in this situation. He gambled away thirty large in my casino on borrowed money and now he owes me. I'd given him the ultimatum last Wednesday to pay me double the money owed or I'd fucking kill him.
If I can recall correctly, I reckon I told him I'd cut off every finger of his, knuckle by knuckle, until he begged me to end his life.
I know he got the point—seeing as how he pissed himself and cried out in agreement when the barrel of my pistol was pressed against his forehead—yet he still doesn't have my money, for whatever reason.
I've always seen myself as a reasonable man, but if you don't hold up your end of the bargain . . . well, then my hands are tied. A deal's a deal.
"Charles," I hum, wetting my lips before I begin. "I understand that you've been a little down on your luck lately, but when you owe someone, you have to see it through."
"Please," he pleads. "I'll win it back. I'll steal it from a bank. I'll work for you. I'll do anything you want. Just please, don't kill me." His hands shake uncontrollably as he runs them through his hair. His whole body shakes and he can't catch a single breath of air in his lungs, it seems.
I briefly look over at Christopher who stands ever so loyal by the doorway. He's emotionless, like usual, but so I am. There's a man crying out for his life near my ankles and I don't feel an ounce of pity.
I'm not sure if I was born this way, or if something's happened that's created the self I currently occupy.
"I reckon there is some work you could do for me, yeah?"
At that, Charles perks up and stands to his feet. "Really?"
I walk away from him, stepping over to admire the expensive wood that creates my desk. Christopher and Charles watch as I create suspense by dragging my fingertips across the surface while slowly making my way around the massive object.
