Chapter 3

I had a second to decide how to play things and decided not to waste time talking just yet. He could walk away.

He froze as he felt my gun tap him in the back. His hands hung at his sides, and he held them out a little to show me he wasn't going to try to get to his weapon. I slid my hand under his jacket and relieved him of his gun.

"Walk across the road to the Audi. Slowly," I said in a low voice.

He turned his head slightly. "Davor Mimica. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"We have some things to talk about." I jabbed him harder with the muzzle of the gun. He walked. I couldn't help a small smile as we got to the car. I unlocked it and reached for the cuffs that lay on the passenger seat.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he growled, as I clipped one cuff on and pulled his hand behind his back. "Have you forgotten how to use a phone? I've had things going on. I haven't forgotten about the deal."

"Shut up. There's more to this than the deal." I finished the job and shoved him into the seat, closed the door, and went around the other side. I put his gun in the glovebox. When I pulled the car back onto the road, he spoke again.

"What the fuck do you want, then?"

"You'll find out."

"Where are you taking me?"

"You'll see."

"Oh, a guessing game, is it?" He huffed out a breath. "You realise, I suppose, there'll be consequences?"

"You seem to forget how much you owe me. Even more now."

"What are you talking about?"

Ignoring him, I drove for a few minutes, then parked the car near to my apartment block.

"Tell me what's going on, you fucker," Petter said angrily, as I ushered him out of the car and into the building.

"One of your minions needs to be taught a lesson," I said as we travelled up in the lift.

His eyes narrowed. "What?"

"Blond, blue eyes, tattoo of 'fuck' on his knuckles?"

"Erik."

"Whatever." I jabbed him with my gun again as the lift doors opened. "Turn left. End of the corridor."

He walked ahead of me. "So, what's Erik done? Looked at you wrong?" he sneered as I unlocked my door.

Suddenly furious, both with his smart mouth and my apparent determination to carry out my stupid fantasy that I couldn't forget about, I smacked him in the side of the head with the gun. Off balance and unable to save himself with his hands cuffed behind his back, he stumbled and crashed to the floor. I closed and locked the door behind me.

"Your Erik forced himself on one of my girls!" I spat, using that to explain my anger.

"So you say. She was probably a little slut, just begging for it. He did her a favour, if it even happened."

I kicked him in the stomach, making him splutter and retch. This wasn't the plan. Getting mad and beating him up wouldn't get me what I wanted. It would probably fuck up the whole arrangement we wanted with the Mobsters, too. I took a few deep breaths, then hauled him up and sat him on a chair. I found a second pair of handcuffs and fastened his cuffed hands to the back of the chair. When he caught his breath, he glared up at me.

"What the fuck do you want with me? If Erik did what you say, why aren't you going after him?"

"It's your job to keep your men in line. Not mine. I want you to dish out the punishment. Once that's done, we can talk about the deal."

"And how do you think you're going to make me 'dish out the punishment?' Keep me here as your prisoner until I beg for my freedom? Not happening." He shook his head. "Have you even got a plan?"

"I'm making it up as I go along." I grinned. "Your man's a rapist. I want him to get what he deserves. You've got plenty of time to think about how you're going to do that. I need to get some sleep."

"You can't be fucking serious. You're going to leave me trussed up here all night?" Face contorted with rage, he attempted to stand up. The chair was a heavy one and sturdily made. It moved, but if he thought he could perhaps smash it into a wall and break free, he was out of luck.

"Sit down. It seems I can do what I want right now. You're not in much of a position to stop me. Remember who covered up Ulrik for you." I walked out of the room and closed the door.

"You fucking shithead!" he roared after me. "Fucking sick queer bastard! You're probably getting off on this, aren't you?"

Grinning, I opened the door again. "You have no idea." Laughing quietly, I closed it again and went to my bedroom. It was only when I closed that door and switched on the light, that I realised my dick was hard. I was getting off on this. Petter Hill was chained up in my apartment, at my mercy. And damn, I wanted to fuck him more than ever. Like I told him, I was making it up as I went along. I didn't know what I would do next, and was well aware that all I'd succeeded in doing so far was making him mad. I decided to leave him to cool down while I thought about it some more.

I didn't sleep much. He yelled and stomped at intervals through the night, but eventually there was silence. I slept a few hours and when daylight filled my room, I got up, had a piss, a quick shower, and cleaned my teeth, and went to check on my prisoner.

When I opened the door, I was immediately filled with guilt. The crotch and inner thighs of his jeans were wet, and a puddle under the chair indicated he pissed himself.

"You fucking piece of shit! Let me out of here!" he snarled the moment he became aware of me.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to—"

"What the fuck do you expect? Ten fucking hours, I've been sat here!"

"All right. Give me a minute." I found the keys and unlocked him from the chair. Immediately, he lurched to his feet. "You'd better take a shower." I ushered him to the bathroom, unlocked the cuffs from his wrists, and closed the door after him. I leaned on the wall outside, toying with my gun. I was a fool. What had I hoped to gain by cuffing him to my chair and leaving him to humiliate himself? I had a tongue in my head, but last night a conversation seemed to have been beyond me.

The guilt and irritation I felt quickly evaporated as I heard water running and imagined him naked in the shower. I still wanted to carry out my fantasy. I didn't think he would put piss-soaked jeans back on, which meant he would walk out of the bathroom with only a towel on. Unfortunately, he'd likely be in a steaming temper.

My dick filled. Maybe he was right. I was a sick bastard. In my fantasy I'd contemplated doing what his guy Erik had done to our Laura. After it had been done to me. I would never actually do that. My only option was to make him like it.

"You're going to fuck everything up," I muttered. The leverage I had right now would be shot to hell if I tried anything and it wasn't welcome. How would I explain the deal going down the toilet to the Family?

Eventually the water stopped running and the door opened. He wore a towel and nothing else. His shoulders and pecs bulged, and a six-pack was visible, covered by a small amount of extra flesh. He had a few tattoos, but not as many as I would have expected. He wore a heavy silver bracelet around his left wrist, and a few chunky silver rings on his fingers and one thumb.

"What the fuck are you looking at? You really are queer, aren't you?" He glared at me.

"Shut your mouth. You want me to cuff you again?"

"What do you intend to do with me? You can't keep me here indefinitely. My wife will wonder where I am. She'll send the boys to look for me."

"Let her. They'll never find you here. Besides, you'll be home by lunchtime. So long as I get a guarantee you'll deal with that bastard, Erik."

"You're going pretty over the top if that's all you want." He rolled his eyes.

"Like I said, you're not in a position to argue."

"Well, at least let me have a drink of water, since I'm apparently stuck here for a while."

"Be my guest." I gestured towards the kitchen. He walked past me, and my gaze slid over the Mobsters logo tattoo on the back of his neck and between his shoulder blades, and a Mobsters president tattoo, obviously fresh, on the back of his shoulder. My gaze wandered farther to his firm arse under the towel. What now, I wondered? Could I get what I really wanted?