Page 35 of His Toy
“Thank you for the invitation, Davis,” he said.
“And you brought a woman?”
“You don’t want to leave her out there?” another man asked.
“I trust Heather,” Zaid said. He reached under the table and squeezed my thigh, letting the dress bunch up so that he could touch my bare skin. “She knows what will happen,” he locked eyes with me, “if she disobeys me.”
If the eyes in the room weren’t on us, I would have shivered. To feel the anticipation of Zaid locking me to the shackles in the wall before he grabbed an instrument. But somehow, I knew he was implying something worse. I dreaded the thought of what disobeying him would mean.
“Well then,” the cigar man said. “Where were we?”
After some discussion, it became clear that there was some sort of stealing; one of the men, a paunchy man named Marcus, had been in charge of an escort business in a casino owned by Davis, the cigar man. Since net earnings for the service had been steadily declining under Marcus’s control, despite an increase in business, Davis was forcing him out. Marcus tried to argue that he was lying, that there was no evidence of any wrongdoing. But because there were legal boundaries in the way and implications of violence, Marcus couldn’t fight it.
Zaid stayed silent, listening to the conversation, waiting for any subtle indicators of rebellion.
“But I’ve worked with you for sixteen years,” Marcus said. “That ain’t what brothers do.”
“We’re not brothers, Marcus. I hate it when you say that,” Davis said. “And you workedforme. This is a business. And if you don’t like it, well,” he turned his posture towards Zaid, “there are ways to fix that.”
To fix that? Did he mean permanently?
Zaid was stoic, staring into the face of Marcus. Marcus shrank. “Will I still get to keep the perks?”
“If you are asking whether you can use a prostitute for free, let that be their decision,” Davis said. An icy stillness fell around us. “You may keep your original position as driver. But your status will be one of consultant, not a manager.” Davis put his smoke back between his lips, then clapped his hands. “Congratulations! Let’s celebrate the good news!”
As the businessmen exited, Zaid kept a hand on my thigh, signaling for me to stay seated. We waited for everyone to leave, except for the security guards—Zaid’s men, I guessed. Zaid shook hands with Davis, and Davis thanked Zaid for his attendance.
“I’ll keep an eye out,” Zaid said. Davis tilted his cigar.
“Do take care of him, will you?” Davis asked.
“If that’s your wish.”
Davis winked. “It is. But for now, enjoy the festivities. Your—” the man looked me up and down, his eyes scanning my left hand, then my neck. Clearly, I was not his wife. Was he checking for a collar?
What was I, in this man’s eyes? In Zaid’s eyes?
“Her too,” Davis said.
We stepped out into the lobby, and Zaid nodded at Grant. Grant acknowledged his gesture, then got out his phone. The two of them exchanged instructions in quick, subtle movements. Then we returned to the lounge and went to the bar. I ordered a glass of wine, and Zaid ordered a scotch. He pulled out a stool and motioned for me to sit. He leaned on the counter next to me.
“Keep your eyes open,” he said. “Davis expects retaliation.”
“And if so?”
“We’ll take care of it.” He squinted his eyes, glaring at Marcus. Marcus was chugging from a bottle of expensive-looking liquor. He still had a job, technically. But a driver? That couldn’t have been good. And still, Zaid was supposed to kill him.
“You weren’t kidding,” I said quietly. Zaid straightened, then leaned in, his ear close to my lips. “You’re a hitman.”
“I offer protection,” he picked up his highball and swished around the scotch, “For a steep price.” He set it down, then looked at me. “Sometimes, that includes distasteful acts in the name of saving the vile rich.”
I blinked my eyes. Was he equating distasteful acts with murder? Davis didn’t look like he needed protection.
But the look on Zaid’s face showed that there was more to it. He despised the ‘service’ he provided.
“What?” Zaid asked.
“Was it always like this?”