The Fall(20)

“I hate you, you son-of-a-bitch.” Her right hook came closer than I would have liked, my fist catching it before it made contact with my jaw. “I hate you and my father.” Her voice dripping with so much venom I was surprised she hadn’t gone for her gun.

“Once again, sweetheart.” I forced her shaking hand away from my face, the resistance hinting she’d thrown some conviction behind it. “I don’t give a shit what you or anyone else thinks. And I’m not here to help you sort out your f*cking daddy issues either.”

“Yeah, well right now I’m not sure who I’d rather see dead, him or you.” Her jaw was so tight the words barely got out, her hand shaking loose from my grip.

“But I’m the bad guy, right? Maybe you are more like me than you think.” I laughed, pointing out what a f*cking hypocrite she was being. “I’m a lot of things, Sofia, but I’m not pretending to be something I’m not.”

She wanted to walk away; I saw it in the way her body twitched. Her response the usual when it came to me. Run away. Fast. But she didn’t. Her feet planted in place refusing to budge.

“You tell yourself whatever you need to, Michael.” She said my name in place of bastard or *, but we both knew she wasn’t being polite. “But we are nothing alike.”

The stare competition could have gone on for hours. Maybe it did, I didn’t bother checking my watch as I met her eyeballs with my own.

I felt the loathing, her repulsion.

I welcomed it.

Liked it even.

And it jacked me up so tight my balls ached.

This was as close to foreplay as I had ever gotten, the pure disgust giving me a hard-on.

Most men wanted the game. Their ego stroked followed by their cock, but I didn’t prescribe to the BS. I didn’t want the lie, or a woman to call my own. Sex—well that was necessary, and I preferred it uncomplicated and emotion-free, which is why I usually paid for it. At least with a hooker there wasn’t a pretense. And let me be clear, when it came to women, you were paying one way or another. My way was cheaper.

Even hookers were smart enough to know there was more to me than met the eye. Sure, they were all I’m-so-wet-for-you-baby while I f*cked them, but I could sense their fear. I watched them struggle with the instinct to run, even though I’d given them no reason. It wasn’t my face that scared them off, some of them getting turned on by what I had to offer, nope it was my lack of connection to anything with a heartbeat. That’s the kind of emotion you couldn’t fake and more importantly, I didn’t want to. But everyone wants to get paid, so they pushed the urge down and gave me what I wanted.

Sofia was different.

Not just because she wasn’t a whore, but because it wasn’t fear that was prickling her skin.

It was fury in her eyes, her distaste.

And that lack of fear is what got me hard.

Still, there wasn’t a chance I’d bury my cock into the woman in front of me. Not because she couldn’t get me off. Fuck knows that tight ass of hers and those perky tits would be enough of a reason. And it wasn’t out of some sense of morality or decency—we both knew I had neither. No, the reason I wouldn’t take her was because I wanted it, and that feeling unnerved me more than anything.

Neither of us spoke.

The silent showdown not one either of us was willing to concede.

In the end it was my f*cking phone, the piece of shit vibrating wildly from my front jeans pocket that broke the stand off. The iPhone was answered as I continued to keep my eyes locked on her.

“What?”

No one calling me was going to expect anything more; I wasn’t the have-a-chat kind of guy.

“Is she dead?” The words were level, unemotional. Jimmy didn’t bother with small talk, the news of his daughter’s house going bye-bye obviously reaching his ear. Had to say I was impressed, it had barely been an hour.

“Checking up on me?” I cracked a smile; Sofia shifting her weight on her feet able to only hear one side of the call. “Not sure if I’m touched or offended.”

“Stop jerking me off,” he huffed into the phone impatiently, “was that your handy work or someone else’s?”

I didn’t like someone looking over my shoulder, or expecting to hold my f*cking hand. Their payment got them a result; the method was mine to decide. And whether the job was Jimmy’s kid or not, it didn’t give the bastard a free pass. No amount of money gave him a say in what or how I did it.

“Mine,” I barked back, my spine steeling. “And I don’t appreciate your tone.”

“More balls than brains.” Jimmy laughed, I’d assumed relieved he didn’t have to decide whether it was lilies or roses that would be placed on top of his daughter’s casket. “You might want to watch it, son. You just bought yourself a bunch of eyes on you.”

“I’m not your son, *.” I felt the need to remind the POS on the phone that my allegiances weren’t to him. “And if you’re looking to lodge an opinion, you might want to try the People’s Choice, not here.”

My thumb killed the call regardless of whether Jimmy was done or not.

She wanted to ask. I could see her lips pressed into a thin line to stop her from opening her mouth. At war with her need to know who I’d been talking to, and her desire not to give me the satisfaction.