Page 15 of Priest

Large, dark arms were marked with various tattoos, and black jeans curved to the contours of his bowed legs and hugged his ass nicely. The man was fine. There was no doubt about it. If he wasn’t so evil, I would say that he knew he was fine. He had an air of cockiness to him, but not about his looks. It seemed to be more about his position in life than anything else. He turned and caught me staring at him.

“Come eat,” was all he muttered before he took a seat at the table. I sat opposite him. We ate in silence. I was lost in my thoughts about the situation, and I assumed he was too.

I thought about how I could get to Priest. He assumed I wanted him. I would let him keep thinking that and use it to my advantage.

I would be his Delilah, figuring out everything that mattered to him. I would get close enough to him for him to let his guard down, and then I would seduce him. The moment that he trusted me, I would strike, and I would be free. It wouldn’t take thirty days for that to happen.

“What the fuck you smiling for?” he asked.

I hadn’t realized that I’d been smiling, but I covered it up nicely.

“I was hungry. And the food was really good. Thank you.”

He continued chewing slowly, but he didn’t respond. He just watched me, and I waited.

It was either him or me, and baby, this time, I would be no man’s pawn. The one thing men took for granted, that we were here solely to please them, would be the one thing that I used to my advantage: sex as a weapon.

SUNDAY EVENING

“Repent, muthafucka,”I commanded in a dark tone.

“I didn’t do it. I swear that it wasn’t me.”

“You telling me my eyes muthafuckin lyin’? That ain’t you on that video footage getting out that car and snatching that kid up?”

“I swear I had nothing to do with that. I was just following orders.”

“Yo’ punk ass had everything to do with it. You snatched him up, and you delivered him to the dock on Fifty-First and Candler. You signed off on that shit. You had funds deposited into your account. That was all your bitch ass.”

His shoulders hunched as he shook his head and insisted, “It wasn’t me.”

I smacked him in the mouth with my gun and snarled, “I want a name,” as blood flew from his mouth.

“I don’t know it.”

I hit him with my fist.

“Lie to me again.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll give you a name.”

“Three… two…”

“Christopher Morgan.”

“What did they do with the kid?”

He sniffled and shook his head. “I swear that’s all I know. I don’t know anything else.”

“Where does he usually send his victims before they’re shipped out?”

“He keeps them in a house on Vanguard, a brick house with a green door, but that’s all I know. After that, someone else takes over. I’m not the driver who takes them from the house, and I have no idea where they go after the house. That’s all I know.”

I was assured that he was finally telling me the truth.

“How many others of you are there?”

“It’s just three of us.”

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