Novak (2 page)

Katrina

“You are in a lot of trouble, little girl!  You and I both know that you stole that diary and used it to write that book. Now granted, I am a reasonable man and if you had the common courtesy to ask me before you penned my life story, then we could have worked something out. As it stands, well, to put it mildly, you are in a lot of trouble.”

I eye the man who towers over me. He stands at a good 6’3” with a lean, muscular body. Though he dons a black suit with a crisp, white, button-up shirt and cufflinks, his look is edgy with spiked blonde hair, piercings, and a large tattoo on his neck that you can see poking out above his collar. He doesn’t look like the kind of guy who would just let me get away with stealing from him. It is his glacier, ice cold, blue eyes that send the very clear message that he isn’t a man to be fucked with. Unfortunately for me, it’s too late; I’ve already crossed him. His shoes are black Italian leather, shined to a high gloss, and at this moment, one of them is right near my face. I had been lying on my stomach with my shoes off and my legs leisurely crossed at the ankle, reading a book, so I never even noticed him until I saw that high gloss dress shoe.

He nudges me with his toe, bringing me out of my daydream and says, “Listen to me, girl. I’m talking to you.”

“Hey!” I spit hiss, as if I’m a snake he has intruded upon. Who does this guy think he is anyway? It isn’t like he has proof I have stolen anything from him… yet.

With no warning at all, he reaches down, viciously pulling a handful of my hair, and raises me to my feet. I am within inches of his face when he glares into my eyes. The intensity of his stare causes me to immediately drop my gaze. This guy isn’t even concerned that someone will see him manhandling me and that sets off warning alarms in my head. Any normal person would worry about being seen, despite the apparent privacy of my chosen reading spot. I’m definitely wishing I had opted to enjoy my lunch in a much more public area now.

“The first thing you are going to do is give me back my diary.”

“I don’t have it,” I lie.

“Liar! So we have a liar and a thief in our midst, do we?”

“I don’t have it,” I once again state.

“Lying little bitch, you have no idea who you are fucking with but you are getting ready to find out. You are way out of your league, little girl.”

Though I’m offended he just called me a bitch, now probably isn’t a good time to deal with it. This guy is pissed and I have no intention of confessing to anything. Little do I know, the words he speaks are very true. He is a dangerous killer for hire. I will find out very soon that this man takes menace to a whole different level.

“Hey, buddy, you can’t just manhandle me like this.”

He takes his other hand and begins squeezing my neck, “I can’t?” he innocently asks, as he continues to apply pressure around my throat. It is evident by the look on his face that he is enjoying himself immensely.

“Okay,” I eke out.

He shakes his head at me, “Okay what?”

“I’ll give you your fucking diary,” I gasp.

He grits his teeth, squeezing harder, “You would do well not to curse at me, little girl.”

Even though he is scaring me, he is also pissing me off.

All I remember thinking is,
I should kick him!

The next thing that I know, he is doubled over and screaming, “You bitch!”

I run through the park area where I had gone to eat lunch and burst through the doors of the high rise building where I work—shoeless. I don’t care… I’ll go back for them later. I’m really going to be pissed if someone steals my designer shoes that I had to leave behind because of that jerk.

The security guard eyes me, “Are you alright, Katrina?” He is looking down at my pantyhose covered feet suspiciously.
Once a cop, always a cop, even if he is just a security guard now.

“Yes, I just thought I was running late,” I lie, which seems to be coming second nature to me lately.

I make my way into the restroom and try to pull myself together.

I take a moment to sit on a bench in the restroom and try to gather my wits as I contemplate what to do about the diary.

Giving it back would be tantamount to admitting that I stole it and used it to write my story. It meant confessing that my novel, which has now become a worldwide best seller, is nothing more than a hoax. It seems people enjoy reading about sexually deviant gangsters; I know I sure did. It was what gave me the idea for the book. Hell, I’m no phenomenal writer; I just know a good story when I read one and that guy’s diary is a good story.

This creates a grave problem for me. It means losing a lot of money and, worse than that, it means my reputation as a writer will be ruined. I have no choice. I will have to try and charm this snake somehow, someway, into not ruining all that I have worked for.

Before I ever wrote fiction, I started writing for a hip, upcoming, online magazine. I can’t afford to lose my reputation as a writer where I work now, so it isn’t just the book issues I am dealing with.

Shit, shit, shit, I have no way to reach this man.
Though I had picked up his diary when he left it at our offices, there had been no contact information in it. Had I seen his edgy look, I never would have taken it. The guy looks like walking danger. The piercings, the tattoos, along with his suited attire, all give him a sinister look. I just happened across the diary after he had already gone. That was six months ago. The fact that he is just now turning up to retrieve it tells me he knows about the book… not good. Men like him don’t take too kindly to being stolen from and the fact that I’ve made quite a bit of money off of him without his knowledge is going to be perceived as thievery. I never counted on any of this. It is as if this diary has taken on a life of its own.

He had been smart enough not to leave any details about his identity in his writings. I’m starting to wish I had done the same or, at the very least, written under a pen name.

My thoughts return back to the day I found it. I had meant to take it to the lost and found but, being the avid reader that I am, once I started reading it, I literally could not put it down.

Yes… it was that good.

The man’s story read like an exciting crime story. It had everything, including descriptions of his ties to the criminal underworld and all the danger that comes with them. The most interesting stories though, and those that held my rapt attention, were those about his sexual escapades.

I could not wrap my brain around why in the world anyone, in this day and age, would keep a diary. Oh my goodness… The things that he did to that girl…

“Hey girl,” I jump, as a coworker enters the restroom.

“You better quit daydreaming. The boss is looking for you. He has some client in his office that he wants to introduce you to.”

Great, now I get to go meet some bigwig while I’m barefoot. This day isn’t going well at all.

Katrina

I scurry up the stairs and into my boss’ office. My jaw drops when I look up and see none other than Mr. Tall, Tattooed, and Dangerous himself. He is just standing there, waiting for me and glaring, as he swings my shoes in between two of his fingers.

Well, the thug didn’t waste any time, did he?

“Katrina, I swear you will be late to your own funeral, girl,” my boss chides. As my brain scrambles for an escape route, he adds, “and you’re barefoot.”

I reach out, trying to grab my shoes, but he jerks them out of my reach. “No, no, no,” he chides me, as if speaking to a child.

My clueless boss doesn’t even seem to notice the exchange going on between us. “Well, here she is. You two can go right back there into her office and I am sure that she’d love to hear your proposition.”

Proposition for what? A slow, excruciating death at the hands of a mobster?

I walk back to my office, feeling much like a lamb being led to the slaughter.

It’s almost like I can feel his breath on the back of my neck. You know, like he’s some fire breathing dragon, ready to set his prey ablaze on the next exhalation.

I hear the click of the lock before I turn to see him making his way towards me. There is something very sinister about the sound of that bolt latching.

My instincts force my feet backwards which only serves to put me against the wall and, regrettably, even more at his mercy. He is making his way towards in the same way a predator would stalk his prey. This is not good…

Novak

I approach my little victim. I have purposely backed her up against the wall before I speak to her, “Little bitch.” I place my hand around her throat, squeezing, and watch her eyes fill with fear. I know she is intimidated by my edgy look. The tattoos, the piercings—they are the exact opposite of her professional business persona.

God, she is beautiful. She stands at a good 6’ in heels, or she would if I’d give them back to her. She wears a business suit and her blonde hair is cut in long, curly layers, giving her a wild and untamed, yet classy look.
I have plans for this one,
I think to myself as visions of burying my hard, pierced cock into her hot, little orifice suddenly invade my mind.

“I rather like the way my hand feels around your throat. I find it remarkably pleasing to know that I can control the very air that your lying, thieving, little lungs can breathe right now. You’re bringing out my sexual deviant side, Katrina, with every offense you commit against me. I’m going to make you pay in ways you never anticipated when you stole from me.

“My interrogation skills are spot on, young lady, and there is nothing you will be successful in hiding from me. I enjoy torturing my victims in my line of work. Does the thought of being subjected to my sadistic nature scare you?” I give her no time to answer; I simply continue to overwhelm her. “As I told you before, I am a reasonable man. Had you gotten my permission to write my story, then we could have worked something out. You have put me in quite the predicament, young lady, and you must pay penance for your sins against me… If I allow you to get away with this theft, it will send the wrong message to my enemies. We can’t have that; now can we?

“Then there is also the fact that you made a boatload of money off my story. You professional, straight-laced types intrigue me. You look so innocent and squeaky clean, when, in reality, you’re the most ruthless ones. At least when someone sees me, they immediately know they are dealing with danger. You come in like you’re so harmless and go straight for the jugular; don’t you, girl? I would respect that about you if your deception hadn’t been aimed in my direction.

“I’m absolutely certain you have gotten the message that you fucked over the wrong guy,” I breathe in deeply and exhale before finishing my statement, “now there is only the question of how I am going to deal with you.”