“I know.”
“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”
“I know,” the man said, peeking out his window. “I’ve heard this all before.”
“You seriously do not know what you’re doing.”
Angie sat in a chair, watching the man. It wasn’t by choice, though she could have stared at the (rather filthy) floor instead, but being tied to a chair certainly limits your possibilities for visual entertainment. She had struggled for a while trying to get the ropes undone, but she only achieved what she suspected to me an itchy rash. The man seemed a competent enough knot tier.
“Lady,” the man said, “I’ve heard it all before.”
The man stood with a shotgun, peeking out the window, raising the shotgun to peek out with him. He’d glance back at Angie from time to time as if he expected her just to escape.
This wasn’t the first time Angie had been kidnapped, and it likely wouldn’t be her last. She just wished they’d let her read the romance novel [1] she carried with her in her purse, or if they’d serve some nice food. She was getting hungry.
Angie was grocery shopping when she saw the man do a double-take as she walked by. She thought it was because she was wearing a new top that made her chest look particularly glorious, but it turned out he recognized her as Pepin’s wife. It wasn’t easy being the wife of Chicago’s mob boss, but it was generally quite comfortable, when her grocery shopping wasn’t being interrupted anyway.
A fraction of her actually felt sorry for the man, completely unaware of his situation. She remembered when Pepin sent his daughter, Vanessa, away.
It was late at night. Dracula couldn’t be in the sunlight, of course. They loaded her bolted coffin into a boat. At that time, Angie felt nothing but relief, the end of a part of her life. She wouldn’t have to work for anyone anymore. She felt Pepin’s heavy shoulder drape across her shoulders as Dracula’s boat headed towards the moon. And she felt safe.
But then she’d have nightmares about that moment, that she’d be the one being dragged away on the boat. It was as if she saw her own future. She’d wake up beside Pepin’s cold body and feel the fear shoot through her. Their souls were joined. He wouldn’t leave her. He wouldn’t send her away. And Angie wouldn’t get power hungry like Vanessa did. She’d remind herself it couldn’t be her future, as she curled up against Pepin, wrapping her warm form against his cold one.
But she had seen how short his temper was. He was trying to cool it down for her, but she still thought about it sometimes. Especially in times like these. What if she did something so wrong to stir up that anger again? Would she be missing her face?
“My husband is going to tear you limb from limb,” she said to the man.
“Lady,” he said. “My brother died in cement shoes. I know what fucking with the mob does to a man. But I’ve got it all figured out.”
[1] Is there a certain type of novel she’d be reading?
Let me know if there are any changes to be made already.
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