Page 9 of Most Of All

“How’s it going, old man?” I say smirking. I know he despises being called that, and that’s why I do it.

“I have two more men coming in tomorrow. I want them questioned first. I want you to get every single piece of information you can out of them. It’s time sensitive, so I need it done quickly.”

“So, you want them to talk. But you want it done quickly... You know better than I do, old man, that shit takes time.”

“I don’t care what you think. I want it done, fast. Understood? You do what I say, boy, what part of that do you not understand? You know exactly what will happen if you don't.” He tries to get up into my face as he speaks, but I step back from him.

“Keep your hair on, old man, well...whatever you have left of it. I will do it, but I can’t promise the outcome. What kind of information do you want from them? What is it regarding?”

“You don't get to ask questions regarding my business.”

“You launder money through your dry-cleaning business and dabble in drugs; you're not fucking royalty,” I bark at him, getting pissed off.

“You, boy!” he shouts, trying to get up into my face again. “You will do what you are told and not ask any questions. Otherwise, I will torture her, and send you the video. Maybe, just maybe, I will cut her tongue out. What do you think?”

Unable to control my anger, I yank him up by his collar, lifting him completely off the floor. I am absolutely fuming with rage. I would give anything to be able to rip his head off his body right now, but I can't. I toss him to the floor instead and start walking out, not looking back.

“First thing tomorrow, be here,” he yells out as I make my way back through the double doors. I don’t reply, I just keep walking, not wanting to be anywhere near that piece of shit right now. I can’t lose it, and if I stay, I know I will.

I pull out my phone once I have completely left the building. I call Linda, wanting to check on my little wasp. I not only want to see what she’s doing, but also check if she needs anything. Linda informs me that she’s doing well and will text me a list of what she may need. I get in the car, waiting for the message to come through. Completely taken back that once the message comes through it only has one item on it.

Sir, she has only requested a Kindle. She says that she’s sick of reading from her phone because it doesn’t feel right.

I can’t help but chuckle.

Ok Linda, if she requests anything else let me know.

Of course, sir. Right away.

I don’t drive off right away, I sit thinking, where the fuck do I get one of those, and for the life of me I can’t think. Maybe...

Taylor, where would I buy a Kindle?

A Kindle, sir? Maybe try a bookshop?

Thanks, call me once you are finished.

Will do, sir.

Why didn't I think of that? There’s one down the street from where she works. I remember noticing it when I was there before. I drive off, making my way to the bookshop, wondering if I should pick her up something to eat while I’m at it.

Icouldgetusedto this. Laying around all day, reading, and resting. I don’t feel uncomfortable here. You would think that being in a stranger's house I would feel uneasy, but I don't. I feel safe. I have been reading on my phone all day, simply relaxing. I haven’t even moved out of the bed, other than to use the bathroom a couple of times, which Linda helped me with. She’s such a lovely lady. I desperately wanted to be nosy, to look around the house, but unfortunately, I can’t with this pain. I can barely stand up. It did cross my mind to crawl around, but it would look weird to get caught on all fours crawling about the house. That thought was dismissed right away.

I called my parents letting them know I’m ok. Then I called the girls. I told them I would explain everything once I get back to work. I also tried Jack, but he didn’t answer, even though I had ten missed calls from him last night. He must be in court or with a client right now.

Hearing voices coming from downstairs, I pull myself up so I’m sitting. Hoping it’s Don, I try to make myself a little more presentable. I flatten my hair a bit, not that it helps, but, eh... It will have to do. Just as I’m checking my eyes for crusties, Don walks through the bedroom door. He has the biggest smile on his face and I have to wonder if it’s for me. He’s carrying a couple of bags, one which I recognize is from the little Italian cafe that I love.

“I thought you might be hungry.” He says as he sits himself on the edge of the bed.

“How? Err...yes... Um... Yes, thank you.” God. This man. He has rendered me speechless so many times, and I have only known him for what? About twelve hours. Taking the little bag of food from him, I peek inside, curiosity getting the better of me. I wonder if he got my favorite. Now, that would be too good to be true. Taking the sandwich out of the bag, a loud gasp escapes me. He did; he got my favorite. What are the chances of that?

Unable to get a word out due to shock, I stare aimlessly at the mozzarella, pesto, and chicken sandwich. “How? How did you know?” I say eventually.

“I asked the lady at the counter what you liked to eat,” he replies with a smug look on his face.

“How did you know where to go?”

“When I realized I was stopping down the street from where you worked, I called the pharmacy and asked…um…Natalie... I think she said her name was.”

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