Capture Me

A Look From The Other Side

Thalia

Ryder had been gone for over a minute and I never uttered a word to Gid.

My eyes scanned the place and the only thing that was preventing it from being called empty was the couches that we were sitting on and a plastic plant.

My thoughts wandered to my own company, did they have this kind of thing as well? I knew they had cells to hold criminals that were yet to be killed or ransomed, but there was a possibility that they had eerie rooms too. Torture rooms, I was sure that what they were called.

"He's not going to where he said he is going, isn't he?" I asked Gid, who, in return raised his eyebrows as if to answer 'yes' to my question.

Silence again sat with us for a moment. I stared at my companion, he was wearing black semi-fit jeans, coupled with black ankle boots and a black dress shirt, sleeves folded up to his elbows. He was a mystery to look at.

"Is he going in one of those rooms?" No matter how hard he tried to hide the tension he was feeling when he walked out of his boss's office, I still sensed it. "What do you do in there?" Type a report? Talk to the other bosses? Somehow at the back of my brain, I knew what they did inside those rooms but I refused to acknowledge it. 

"You don't want to know Missus Colton." He smiled at me, seeming to end the matter at that—silently confirming the last possibility I thought which made the nervousness I was feeling worsen.

Flashes of Ryder killing someone in the room came, another was him getting beaten, the worst one, him getting shot and would never be able to leave the room assaulted my already worried mind. I shook my head to clear the bad thoughts and diverted my attention to something else.

"How many underground floors does this building have?" Gid somehow sensed that I was trying to distract myself and looked up from his phone.

"Five? I think. This floor is the lowest I get to visit. If there are other floors then the people residing there forgot to inform us." His smile ever present seeming too accommodating at the same time bears a warning.

His eyes were so green from the distance I was in. Like moss after the rain.

"Why did you color your hair blue?" This seemed like a personal question, but I was trying to distract myself from worrying about my husband even when he told me he would be fine.

He touched his hair his gaze never leaving mine. "This," His hand went down and entwined to the other, he rested his elbows on the arms of the couch. "Was like my own version of giving the world I grew up the finger. Growing up, I was limited to do things on my own decisions, there was always that voice who would instruct you how to move—how to do things, must not tarnish the goddamned—excuse my language—reputation. So, when I was old enough to leave, I never gave it a second thought." He said it like we normally did this, like friends. Was he not afraid that I might use—which I wouldn't—the information he just told me? Maybe he didn't care because he could dispose them if ever they moved wrong anyway?

"Do you know the "agents" here on a personal basis?" I didn't think he would answer, it seemed like a pointless thing to ask and maybe they do, but why would I care?

Because I was once a hitman.

"I think some do, but mostly not, they don't even know their partner's full name sometimes. They prefer to keep that part of their life private and untouched. You never know when someone you once trust turns on you." I was going to ask another question again, but I hesitated. He might think I was too curious for my own good and annoying.

He appeared to have noticed it. "Go on, ask away," he told me smiling, and rotated his right wrist motioning me to continue.

"Does Ryder know your full name?" My husband never really told me anything regarding his other work so I was always left wondering.

"Nope, I don't think so. Most of the people here call each other's last names, but they just call me Gid," he answered.

"What's your full name?" I asked in a beat. This person looked and moved so mysteriously, it made me want to know more about him.

Yeah, and the regret I instantly felt for getting to comfortable might get me killed.

He just smiled and went back to typing on his phone. I guess I stepped on a poop this time, part of me still hope that he would answer but then as seconds ticked by the silence became awkward.

I stared at him thumbing through his phone and then my eyes went to my nails, and started taking out the dirt caught in them.

I looked at him, bewildered when he handed me his phone, face-down. I lifted the screen and read the words typed in there.

Michael Gideon Knight.

Why does this seemed so familiar? "Your full name?" I confirmed, handing him his phone back.

He nodded and put his index finger on his lips, indicating that I keep my mouth shut about it—and then something clicked, I covered my mouth to keep my loud gasp minimal.

"You're," I cleared my throat and lowered my voice. "You own Knight World!" He practically owned the liquor industry and ruled with an iron fist. "But you've got a black hair and brown eyes in your pictures. And you were super tan, like orange-tan!"

He chuckled and crossed his legs. "Nothing an old wig and contact lenses can do, plus a great makeup artist and a good spray-tan."

I let my jaw drop for a couple more seconds and then pulled it back up. "Are all super wealthy people employed in this kind of job?"

There was a feeling that I knew him from somewhere else not on television advertisements or posters, but I couldn't place it.

"No, just the fit, athletic, handsome, hot ones—" His phone rang and his eyes followed the alight screen. "It's Ryde." He looked at me. "Do you mind if I answer it away from your hearing? Confidentiality and all."

I just waved him to go and the last thing I heard was him saying hello before he disappeared in the hallways.