Page 42 of After Effect

“Oh, Lilly Sweety.” Annabelle’s voice jumped up a few octaves, like the sweet, playful woman I remembered. “You still fucking owe me.”

And then she wasn’t. Annabelle hung up, and I switched over to texting Finch.

My phone started ringing, and I sent him straight to voicemail. A text rang through a few seconds later.

I could picture his scowl and rolling eyes through the phone. If I’m being honest, it made me want to drop everything and make those eyes roll to the back of his head a few times over… buuuuut, I had other priorities to tend to first. Plus, he’s much more submissive when he’s in a good mood. Right now, I wouldn’t stand a chance.

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Finch Corbin

Lilly is going to give me a goddamn hernia. She wasn’t answering my calls, she hadn’t texted me back in hours. We now had less than 24 hours before her set, and we’ve done nothing to promote. I’m going to have to just throw her off a fucking cliff at this rate.

I glanced at my phone again. All I wanted to see was a missed call from Lilly, but all I had was a text from Baek. I took a slow deep breath. What other choice do I have?

I got on the highway and took out my frustration on the gas pedal. The late night traffic was sparse enough to unleash all 600 horsepower of my Mercedes AMG. Thirty minutes would be child’s play. The Valley blurred by my window. Calabasas. Agoura Hills.

I barreled down the steep grade into Camarillo and slowed my roll as I transferred to city streets. The address led me into a gated community. The homes were uniform. Neat and carefully groomed. The same paint, the same curtains, the same garages and flowers. I glanced at my text messages, ignoring the still missing contact from Lilly. 324 North Wing Drive. South Wing, East Wing- Ah, there it is.

The street lights were dim, barely illuminating the house numbers. I parked out front and approached the door. I’d done so many deliveries for Baek that it felt like a well-oiled routine. I’d show up, someone would give me a nondescript box, and I’d drop it off at some dark, sketchy looking shop front. Easy. Painless. As long as I never questioned what was going on- which quite frankly, I didn’t want to know- it was well worth the assumed risk. I’m sure people have made far worse deals in this industry in order to get their chance at stardom. And I didn’t want Lilly to have to make any deals like that.

Though as she continued to screen my calls, I was starting to wonder why I protected her so much. Maybe if she had to suffer a bit every now and again, she would actually think about what I’m going through for her.

I rolled my eyes to myself. It’s fine. Everything’s fine. She doesn’t even know what I’m going through for her, anyway.

I pressed the door bell, and it chimed in a short, three-note symphony. The door opened, and a forty-something-year-old man opened the door. He was wearing relaxed jeans, a tan sweater vest pulled over a pink polo shirt, and a fuzzy pair of slippers. He gave off Mr. Rogers vibes, with his gentle smile and his dad-bod build.

“You must be Christian’s protégé! Come in, come in!” Protégé? He shook my hand and waved me inside his townhouse. I followed obediently. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea?”

“N-no, I’m good.” This was strange. I took a seat at his kitchen table. A small scotty dog ran up to me, wearing a red argyle sweater and wagging its tail. I gave the little guy a brief, albeit confused smile before turning my attention back to the man who was now pouring himself a mug of coffee. I cleared my throat. “Mr. Baek told me you had a… time sensitive package for me?”

“Yes, yes, of course.” He looked my way again. He was entirely too chipper for a midnight on a Thursday. “Right this way.”

The man led me downstairs, past a pool table and a bar counter, with old, cheeky advertisements for beer framed on the walls, and a neon sign that read “Man Cave” in bright pink letters. He settled in at a white door, and pulled out a key ring.

He turned to me, and whispered softly, “If you could keep it down, my wife and son have just gone to sleep.”

I nodded as a silent promise. He pushed a key into the lock, and turned the knob.

The room that followed was pitch black. All I could hear was a light rustling. The movement of clothing maybe? The door shut behind us before this Mr. Rogers type character reached over for the light switch. The room shot to life, entirely too brightly, and my vision filled with the image of a man sitting in a wooden chair in the middle of the room, tied and bound and gagged and blindfolded. The hostage shifted in his restraints, while the man walked around back, and placed a hand on each of his shoulders.

“What’s your name, boy?” He gave me a smile while the hostage amped up his struggling under his grasp.

“F-Finch.” I forced an answer through my nerves. He tilted his head in a way that clearly communicated he wanted more, and I found my lips helplessly obeying. “Corbin. Finch Corbin.”

“Ah, Corbin. That makes more sense.” He looked down at his struggling captive. “Mr. Corbin here is going to give you a little ride to the beach. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

The captive in the chair shook his head, triggering a hearty laugh.

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