Page 37 of Tempest

Tempest

“You’re both fucking assholes!”

Corporate executive Desmond Cartwright writhes against the chair, its scarred wooden legs scraping against the dusty concrete floor.

“I’ll ruin the lot of you! You fucking animals—”

Desmond’s head snaps back from Miguel’s direct punch to the mouth.

Blubbering, Desmond’s head falls forward, blood dripping from the corners. He snarls, his teeth stained red. “You think that’s all it’ll take? You idiots are fucking cowboys. Running wild up here, no rules, no laws, when you’re just brainless muscle following orders …”

Miguel’s fist crashes into the side of Desmond’s face. Desmond coughs, spits, and the small clink on the ground tells me he’s lost a tooth or two.

With the shirt sleeves rolled up, Miguel turns to me. “This guy honestly believes he’s going to leave this chair.”

I bring my attention back to Desmond, sending him a droll look. “I didn’t think this would need to be explained, but…” I gesture to his bound hands and feet locking him into a seated position. “You’re a little tied up at the moment.”

“Why, so a kid like you can rough me up?” His eyes dart to Miguel, a bright, shining white against his ballooning bruises. “Is this some kind of initiation for him? To get into your club?”

Miguel chuckles, a low, ominous sound that dissipates as quickly as it leaves his mouth. “He’s well initiated, Cartwright. You’re not here for that.”

“Then what?” Desmond hocks a ruby-red loogie onto the floor in a heavy splat. “Is it money? You want more? I got it, Miggie, you just gotta—”

“You have loans coming out of your future children’s—no grandchildren’s—asses. The shares you’ve invested are in the toilet. You promise us money? Your promises are about as good as what you’ve just stained my floor with.”

“Then give me time! I can ask for more loans.”

“The banks want nothing to do with you. Even the teenage venture capitalists want to forget your name. You’re out of time, Cartwright.”

“No!” Desmond’s eyes flare. “Wait!”

Miguel jerks his chin at me. “Finish him off.”

I push off the wall, coming out of the shadows in two leisurely steps.

“People will look for me!” Desmond cries, his chair squealing as he pushes against the ground with his bound feet to get away. “My wife! My business associates!”

Miguel tucks his hands into his pockets, lowering his chin but watching me with alertness. His white collared shirt remains pristine, despite the multiple blows he landed against Desmond’s face. My collared shirt is black like my pants. I wonder if Desmond has made the connection yet.

“You vacation here a lot, don’t you, Mr. Cartwright?” It’s always good to refer to them with respect before I gut them. It allows them to grasp a level of superiority, one last modicum of the throne they once sat on before I swipe the rug out from underneath them. “With your wife and her parents. The Valley is gorgeous, isn’t it?”

“S-Stay away from me, boy.”

I take another step closer. While doing so, I pull out a circle of wire from my pocket, capped on each end with a wooden stick. “In fact, you’ve been quoted multiple times in the press on how much you enjoy the seclusion here. This is your happy place. You especially enjoy the hiking trails. Sadly, this time, while you’re enjoying the luxuries of a five-star vacation, you will have wandered those same woods at the wrong time.” I widen my eyes at the last word, appearing somewhat maniacal and gleeful. Desmond flinches at the sight. “This time, you’re confronted by a wild animal. A cougar, a black bear, it doesn’t matter, so long as your family remembers you with a gasp and a hand to their heart as they dissect what your last moments must’ve been like.”

I snap the garrote taut with both hands.

“You don’t—you can’t! I have the money.” In a last desperate plea, Desmond’s eyes land on Miguel’s. “I swear it!”

“Oh?” Miguel responds dryly as I walk a lazy half-circle around Desmond. “Where can I find it, Cartwright?”

“In my safe deposit box. With—with … in Virginia. My wife’s jewels, jewelry she inherited from her grandmother, it’s in there.”

Miguel arches a brow. “Is it worth 1.5 million?”

“N-no, but it’s at least half. I can come up with the other half in a month or so.”

Miguel raises a hand for him to quiet. Shockingly, Desmond does. “It’s too late for that. Our orders were to receive you, get what information we could out of you, then bury you. I don’t see a reason to digress now, do you, Tempest?”

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