“Exactly. Do whatever you want here then. I don’t care, but I don’t need your help with shit, okay?”
The elevator doors opened, and I stepped inside, watching her eyes blazing with the urge to kill me, just before she also quickly stepped inside, a second before the doors closed.
“What is your actual problem, or are you always an asshole?” With her arms folded right below her perky breasts, she stood in front of the doors, blocking my only exit.
Taking a step forward, she flinched against the space vanishing between us. She was in heels, but was still at least four inches shorter than me in her cream colors that contrasted my all black sweats.
“Always, toots.”
Abigail’s face slipped into confusion at me agreeing with her. I was an asshole, born with a silver spoon, with no accountability, and molded into the monster I am right now.
I wasn’t ashamed, and no part of my face disagreed with me. My conscience, my morality, my introspect, and my retrospect all agreed: asshole.
“Then fire me…” Her voice was cold and empty. Not threatening one bit, but it made me pay attention to every sound she made.
“No can do.”
“I don’t wanna be part of whatever fucked up game this is between you and Vic. I’ll just quit.” Her eyebrows wiggled at her threat.
“I’m not taking any resignations right now. Sorry.” The doors opened to the garage floor, and I pushed past her, heading for my McLaren that was matte black with glossy black flames. You could only see when the sun reflected off it.
Following me just like I hoped she wouldn’t, I sighed, heavily knowing she could hear me. Pulling on the handle of the door, I stood behind it, ready to jump in and take off after she clearly needed the last word.
“You can’t stop me from quitting.”
Grabbing her arm, I pressed her against my car with my husky low voice between us. “You aren’t quitting, and I’m not firing you. Is that clear? No one leaves the Clave unscathed, so if you feel like dying, then be my fucking guest. That’s on you.”
I felt her hips grind into mine as I pushed against her keeping her against my car. She wasn’t trying to create friction, but it was waking my dick. I wasn’t wearing any boxers under my fitted joggers, which didn’t help to cage my raging hard on.
Abigail swallowed hard, feeling exactly how hard I was against her. I expected her to push me away quickly, but she didn’t.
“You want shit to do? See who you really work for? Come with me to the Hunt.”
“The Hunt?” Her hands were on my chest, my grip was still around her elbow, and my dick was straining against the thin material.
“It’s an invite only event. Just be at my place by six. We have to drive up to the mountains.”
If she was going to work for me, she needed to know who she was working for. I wasn’t the rest of my brothers who lived, ate, and breathed the Clave enough for the darkness to be normal.
This kind of darkness isn’t normal.
Letting her arm go, I watched her shiver against the emptiness of me not being against her as I slid into my car and slammed the door closed. Rolling the pitch black windows down, I spotted her in my mirror, still against my car, trying to catch her breath.
After she pushed off my car, I pumped the gas, shooting straight back in the few inches between us.
She was dangerously close still, and one wrong move could have hurt her.
It would be poetic justice to die at the hands of a guy named Grimm—death having his way, after I had cheated him out of Abigail earlier.
Therapy was the same, as always. Quiet, suggestive… and then you scrape the bottom of the barrel for whatever you can get away with.
I used to barter with her a few years back, after she had taken me on when the previous seventeen kept handing me off to “someone more qualified”.
After bartering didn’t work, I tried to seduce her into just giving me my meds and letting the sessions go by the wayside. I even offered to keep paying her for the sessions I didn’t want.
After that didn’t work, I moved on to just staying silent. I now use the time to think, plan, or doze off with my eyes open.
It was pointless—talking about all the reasons why I’m such a fucked up person. What’s done is done. Short of a time machine, I was pretty sure no amount of “actualizing” my demons were going to exercise them away.
I was part of a goddamn cult who worshipped a God that was good and pure. You would think that should get me some clout, but it didn’t, because it doesn’t matter how you slice it: A monster is a monster.
Point-blank. Period.
“Jason, tell me about your social life?”
“It’s Grimm… for the millionth time. I go by Grimm.” I kept my eyes fixed on the poster of a generic beach, framed, that I’m sure her photographer husband or distant modeling career paid for. This was LA, and I was well aware of everyone being out for themselves.
“Okay, Grimm, tell me about your personal life.”
All these thoughts ran through my head all at once, making me smile. I didn’t normally tell kills my name, but last week I did, when I took care of a politician making noise for all the wrong reasons—reasons the Clave didn’t support.
That was enough for them. Piss them off, refuse to step in line, don’t kiss the ring… all reasons to send a text with your name to me.
“Making new friends? Trying dating again?” Her voice was smothered in honey and sugar.
“Yeah, I met the politician Dave Ernwest last week. He seemed nice enough.”
Met him was taking some liberties.
I confirmed his identity with a quick Google search on my phone, tied up his hands, and forced him to swallow the silencer on the end of my gun, while I unloaded my clip into his mouth.
“Did you make plans to see him again?”
Sure, if you can befriend the red kind of mist my bullets turned him into.
“No…” My mouth was still smirking, and my eyes were still fixed on the waves that weren't actually moving.
“How about dating? Meet any women? Trying any apps again?”
I sucked in a breath and rolled my eyes. Friends and girls were her answers to fixing me, grounding me to this reality. I had both, and neither fixed the damage inside my head. I knew that better than anyone who threw out that sloppy advice, yet the words came up as smooth as toxins wanting out of your body.
“I got a receptionist.”
“That’s wonderful! Working more closely with others can have a positive effect on how we view our self-worth.”
Last week, I worked very closely with my friends when we threatened the director of the FBI. Vic held him down, Khaos showed him the photos of his family so he knew we weren’t joking, and Bowen, well… he was just being Bowen, creeping around the guy’s house. I held the pliers to his fingers, tight against his knuckles. Hard enough to cut, but just not all the way.
I didn’t feel any amount of an increase to my positivity.
“That’s all our time today. You said you’re going away for three days, so I’ll see you Friday.”
Normally I see her every other day, but the Hunt takes priority. Showing your loyalty isn’t an option when it means living or dying.
I lived in LA, unlike the rest of the four who lived in Manhattan Beach, Palos Verdes, and Calabasas. I wanted to live in the thick of it. I didn’t want to be able to escape my life or take it off like a jacket at the door.