Page 24 of Dangerously Deceptive

I look over at the mark, as though this is the first time I have even noticed he is in the bar. He gives me a smile, and a hand movement that could be classed as a very posh wave. I look between them at first, trying to make it look like I am unsure about what to do. I see the mark talking, and it must be going straight to the headphone hidden in this man’s ear because he repeats the words to me.

“He says it’s only a drink. He can’t allow a girl as beautiful as you to drink alone.”

I fake mull it over for a second before clumsily climbing down from the stool. I want to say that it is an act, but it really isn’t. I just am that clumsy.

Now that I have moved seats, Jamieson has his back to me, and I see him wait a few moments before going over to the bar to order another drink. No doubt when he goes back he will sit in a chair on the opposite side of the table, one that will have a direct line of sight to my new position. His actions seem perfectly normal, and none of the mark’s security seem to notice anything. I do my best to ignore him, not wanting to give him away.

As I reach the mark, it’s the first time I really take in his appearance. Obviously, I know every little thing there is to know about Mortimer Whitlock. He looks exactly like the picture I have spent the last couple of weeks studying. Salt-and-pepper hair, skin that is just beginning to wrinkle, or it would without the Botox, and a cold, icy blue stare. He’s in his early forties, but the stress of being a multi-billion-pound marketing mogul is beginning to take its toll and become apparent on his appearance. He is actually quite a good-looking older man, and given he goes to the gym four times a week, I imagine he has the body of a man half his age.

It’s his eyes that show who he really is. Even as he smiles, and the crystal blue shines, it’s clear to see they are ice cold, just like his heart. This man is the epitome of a front. To the world, he is Mortimer Whitlock, billionaire family man, who gives away more money to charity than anyone else. What people don’t see is the man underneath. The charities he funds are all fronts, and all he does is promote evil. He runs guns and drugs internationally, but what he is most well-known for is trafficking people, specifically kids. He runs an underground enterprise that specialises in selling women and children to the highest bidders. You wouldn’t know that by looking at him. You also wouldn’t know that he likes his girls a couple of years under legal.

I have to push all that knowledge out of my head, or the revulsion will creep into my expression. I am already doing my best to stop my stomach from flipping as the cosmopolitan threatens to make a reappearance.

“Hi, it’s so lovely to meet you. My name is Charles, could I interest you in another drink?” he asks, holding his hand out to instantly get the attention of the barman. He obviously knows how powerful this man is, even using an alias, as he stops making Jamieson’s drink and rushes over to us.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Jamieson’s eye roll and the way his fists clench. He hates men like this who use their wealth to show superiority over others. Luckily, he quickly gets control of his breathing. As he gently taps one of his fingers against the bar, I realise he is using the method I taught him a long time ago. To think about a song, and tap it out while you focus on your breathing. I use ‘Jingle Bells’, and by the way his finger taps, it looks like he is using it too.

Luckily, the barman catches my attention by asking Mortimer what he wants to drink, and I push the past out of my mind, focusing solely on the task at hand. How does he still remember an anxiety technique I taught him when we were teenagers?

No, focus, Shayla. Ask questions like that later.

“Bourbon, top-shelf, on the rocks,” Mortimer requests, his voice short and sharp, like he doesn’t want to spend any more time than possible talking to menial workers. He looks over at me, my turn to order.

“Can I have the same as before, please?” I ask the barman, before turning to face Whitlock again. “I can pay for my own if you like?” I try to keep my voice light and airy, hiding the years of street smarts I developed living with the Reapers. I need to come across as a naive, young girl, and I think so far I am pulling it off.

The barman has already walked away to prepare our drinks, and thankfully he hands Jamieson’s over to him before he returns with ours. “Not a chance. A girl as beautiful as you doesn’t pay for her drinks,” he says with a little wink at the end.

My stomach flips and not in a good way. I know he is trying to look sexy, and maybe to women who don’t know who he is, that move would have worked, and for Beth it will work, but for me it is creepy as fuck.

“Thank you so much. My name is Beth,” I reply as I hold out my pink manicured hand for him to shake. But he dials up the sleaze by kissing the back of my hand after he shakes it. In a move as old as he is, I giggle, whilst trying not to vomit. I try my best to make it look like I’m swooning.

“What is a beautiful girl like you doing here? Not many girls your age hang out alone in hotel bars during the week,” he prods, trying not to sound suspicious, but I know he is.

I pretend not to notice his security guard that is sitting behind me, as he reaches over and tries to discreetly take my ID out of my bag, no doubt photographing it to run for facial recognition. Which is exactly what I want him to do. If he does exactly what Kellan thinks he will do, he will run the ID and realise it’s a fake, then he will do a reverse image search on the photo. That will then bring up Beth Matthew’s very active Instagram and Facebook. Those feature lots of pictures, dating back for the last few years, making it very clear that I am only fifteen.

Blocking out the action going on behind me, I focus on telling Whitlock exactly what he wants to hear. “Well, it’s lovely meeting you, Charles. Believe it or not, I live just around the corner from this hotel, so it’s the nearest upmarket place to drink. I had a rough day at sch—I mean, university. I fancied a drink but with it being a weeknight, none of my friends did. So I got a bit dressed up, because you can’t come to a place like this if you aren’t, and I’m treating myself to a couple of cosmopolitans. But now I’ve met you, I'm super pleased because I wasn’t looking forward to drinking alone.” I add a little girly giggle at the end, and I know he is eating it up.

“Well, I’m glad I could be of assistance. I hope you don’t mind me saying, but you look far too young to be in a bar,” he comments as I take a sip of my drink, pretending to gasp as the burn hits my throat.

“What can I say, I have a good skin care regime. I’m old enough,” I say pointedly, and I know by the way his eyes glisten that he got the message. He knows what I was implying. I’m old enough for him.

“I think we are going to have a good night together, Beth,” Whitlock announces, holding his glass out in a toast. I pick mine up and as our glasses collide, I smile. This is going perfectly.

The night passes by without a hitch. I had a few drinks, but by this point, Jamieson has already paid the barman to swap the vodka in my cosmopolitans for water. So, I pretend to get drunk, whilst actually, I keep all my mental faculties intact.

We chatted about a lot, and I was incredibly worried when he told me he had a daughter about my age, called Mia. I hate to think what kind of life she had growing up. Maybe she was as in the dark about Whitlock’s evil side as the rest of the world. That’s a much better scenario than the alternative. That maybe she knows all too well he is a child sexual predator. Fuck, I can’t think about her. Although it does worry me that he managed to keep her hidden from all the research Kellan did.

As the night begins drawing to a close, and people start to slowly leave the bar, I start pretending to yawn, joking about how tired I am after being at school all day. Well, I’m quick to change it to university, but not quick enough for him to get the message.

“I have had a lovely night with you tonight, Beth. I know the hotel is going to be closing the bar soon. Would you care to join me in my room for a night cap?” he asks, with a sickening grin on his face.

“Oh…erm. I-I would love to. But, I’ve never done anything like this before.” I say, looking around like I am nervous. He takes my hands in his, and I can’t help the shudder that ripples down my body. His smile widens, and I know he thinks I’m shuddering in a good way. I will take it, even if it couldn’t be any further from the truth.

“Don’t worry, little one. It’s only a drink. We can take it as slow as you need,” he whispers, sounding a lot more genuine than I know he actually is.

“Okay, that should be fine.” With that, he finishes the rest of his drink and physically picks me up to lift me off the bar stool. I squeal, like a young girl really would, and it is clearly music to his ears as his smile gets impossibly bigger.

He takes hold of my hand and we leave the bar. I am desperate to turn around, to see how many men were following us, but mostly to look at Jamieson, to let him know that I am okay. But I know that doing that would arouse suspicion. Something I can’t afford given how far I have come.

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