Finding Lika

Devil In Disguise

"...She told me she didn't want to know how I do it. She just wanted results..."

"...I was desperate."

"...No."

"...At first. But when I got the job done... she wasn't mad anymore."

The words from the recording echoed hauntingly in Henry's ears. Ricocheting like bullets in his mind. Raging in his chest.

The loud sound of his laptop being slammed against his desk shattered the peaceful quietness in his study room. Blinded with rage, Henry continued his assault against the inanimate object. The screen of his laptop flickered in static colors before darkening completely as his fist pummeled against it, sending broken parts and and keyboard pieces flying across the table and the floor. Grabbing the next nearest object within his reach, he hurled it across the wall. The sound of glass breaking pierced the air.

His whole body trembled with barely controllable anger. Every muscles tensed and pulled taut against his skin. His breathing ragged, racing with the pounding of his heart. The graceful plane of his handsome face was marred with wrath, his baby blue eyes stung with fiery anger.

Betrayed. Deceived. Manipulated- Henry was all those three.

Roughly taking off the bluetooth earphone from his ears, he turned towards his door with determination in his steps. His stance were fighter-like; the expression on his face was stone as he made his way towards his home gym. Thomas Bradford, his personal assistant, stared at him wide eyed as Henry passed him. The Englishman didn't dare utter a word upon seeing the murderous glint in his employer's eyes.

Henry angrily yanked the collar of his shirt and threw it across the gym floor. He barely noticed his scraped and bloody knuckles as he impatiently wrapped his wrists and put on his boxing gloves. All his rage, all his frustrations, all his anguish and brokenness were channeled through every strike towards the black punching bag.

Every punch, a punishing act. His punching bag-his enemy. Time was but an inconsequential notion to him.

Sweat ran down the sculpted muscle of his chest and back; his dark curls stuck to the skin of his forehead. His body drenched with perspiration as he drowned himself in the workout, lashing out at the punching bag that hung from the ceiling of his home gym. He ignored the way the muscles of his arm burned with the physical exertion.

"Baby."

At the familiar sound, Henry hold his punches. Had it were not for the years of training, he wouldn't posses the instinct nor agility enough to dodge the punching bag that was swaying back towards him with force. Not looking back, he focused his mind on taking off his red gloves and undoing his wrist wraps. Chest heaving in exhaustion, Henry strolled towards the water dispenser in the room and drew himself some water.

As he downed the water from the glass, he felt a gentle hand across his bicep and arm.

"Babe..."

Annika flinched slightly when she saw the dagger in his eyes from the way Henry glanced at her. "Talk to me," she gently probed, "What's wrong?"

"Why, Annika?" he asked, his voice cracked with a mixture of emotions, "Why did you betray me?"

The actress with the beautiful face frowned in confusion. "What are you talking about, Henry?"

"Lika."

Annika was silenced. Her eyes bewildered. "I don't understand," she answered curtly.

"Nicholas Lang," Henry muttered the name of his previous agent in realization, the one he had fired in the heat of their argument. He let out a bitter chuckle, "Especially Lika-my best friend. You manipulated me, make me send away every single person who genuinely cared about me," he dragged, his voice raised with every word he uttered, "Who's next? My own family?"