Page 14 of Scary Suitor

“Come on, I want to hear it,” he urges, dismissive of my squirming discomfort as I whip my head to the side. “You can do that for me, right?”

His hand wanders and ghosts over exposed skin, grazing me with teasing fingertips and stopping at the uneasy shudders above my heart.

“You’re my good girl.”

His lips break into a vile grin.

“I left you a gift on the table. You deserve it.”

Chapter Four

Cassio

I take the files, flipping through the medical records of individuals I deem worthy of use. I’m particular about my work, and I only deliver the best products. It’s not that my men are slacking off, and they wouldn’t dare to tamper with my money flow.

It’s the nature of today’s society.

Most people are infested with drugs, diseases, and filth. They congeal in places like a hot zone of a pertussis outbreak. The bacterial disease is making its way around the city, hitting people with weaker immune systems, and the nasty flu season is hindering the healing process.

My stubborn girl wouldn’t stay in her apartment even if I say it’s to decrease the risk of exposure. Whooping cough doesn’t hit as lethal as it does to children, but there’s that slim chance she could get chronic lung problems later.

I heard her friend cough this morning, claiming it was a dry throat.

Picking up the phone, I scroll through to find the number I called earlier. The man on the other end answers. I give a definitive order to eliminate two candidates, keep four, and create a different plan for one individual.

I open the file to a woman. She has a decent job, a boring upbringing, blue-collar parents, and a husband. She’s also six months pregnant. Typically, I take people who have mid-range contact with society. The police will not put effort into people who have an inkling of being runaways.

But I take special orders. I will double the price for manpower, a comprehensive abduction plan to ensure it’s strictly a runaway to the police, and the delivery fees depend on whether the purchase instructions were “alive or dead.”

The woman in the file is not wanted as a special, custom-ordered purchase. Her blood is Ro subtype, and it’s in extremely high demand.

I have a loose plan laid out in my head. It’s easy to make her look like a fed-up pregnant wife who planned her escape to give her child a life she can’t have and send a letter into the mail from a different country’s postal code.

Being in this business has taught me many things.

Mistakes were made that could’ve ended my life, but I learned from them to be better at tying up loose ends before and after they happened.

This woman is a product, I think,and products are curated to demands.

She will live in a guarded facility with armed guards, medical professionals, and white walls for the rest of her life. The doctors will take her blood, then repeat once it’s safe to do it again. If she cooperates and accepts her value as a blood bank, then I might entertain the idea of selling her unborn child to someone willing to pay the price.

Or she could raise her child from behind polycarbonate panels, where she has a good view of her child receiving the same fate as her.

She has nobody to blame but herself for being born with the blood type. Surely, her child would resent her too.

The iniquity is justifiable when money is involved.

A better man would not go after pregnant women, children, the elderly, and people who can’t defend themselves.

I’m a good man; that’s like saying water is dry.

A moral compass gets in the way of making money, and I want to spoil my pretty girl.

I can easily give her a black card with unlimited access to fill her arms with materialistic things. A thousand roses daily, a yacht to see whales, million-dollar homes to please her itch for new environments, and vacations whenever she wants.

Of course, she’ll have me—my attention, love, and hands cherishing her precious little body. It would break her heart if she found out how I make my money, so I never told her about my business.

I can be a better person for her. I’m capable of love and affection, which she is obligated to accept. I’m happy to give more if she demands it.

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