The Mafia's Conman

Chapter Two: Pointless Options

Chapter Two: Pointless Options

   Sometimes I really question my position in life.

   Waking up with everything wrong at once was definitely not a good feeling. My head was hurting as though I drank a barrel of alcohol in one gulp; and there's a bile taste in my mouth as though I ate shit, threw it up, ate it back up, threw it up again, then a dog ate it, threw it up, then I ate it back up again.

   Yes, that bad.

   I heaved as I sat up, my mind spinning with the action. Where am I? This isn't my room... is this heaven? No, wait, I'm probably going to hell.

   Wait, hold the phone! I'm on a bed, handcuffed. Red lights flashed in my mind, and I tugged at my restrains with a confused desperation. Why was I handcuffed? Why was I on a bed? Oh. My. G... goose babies! Did Tomas Lanky rape me? The thought sent a deep shiver down my back, I testingly twisted my hips, relieved when I didn't feel any pain. So not raped. That's good I think.

   I sat up on the bed, leaning against the headboard. What the fuck is going on?

   I was never one that desperately did things, mostly due to lack of interest, so after tugging at the handcuffs to no avail; I did the obvious and gave up seeing that I wasn't going to get released any time soon, so instead I started humming loudly, my voice bouncing around in the semi-dark room.

   "Shut up the fuck up." A voice came out of nowhere, startling me. Instant irritation swelled inside of me, which was odd, considering the situation I was in. I paid the voice no mind, continuing to hum to my heart's content. "I'll cut your tongue off if you don't shut up." The voice behind the door threatened, and I pouted despite his words.

   "Stop bullying me, fucktard!" I shouted back, raising my voice at higher pitch to op for that child's tone. I've been told before that I have the mentality of a 7-year-old child. I waited patiently for a response from the man, disappointed when I received none.

   At this rate, I'd given up on everything. My head was hurting, my mouth was dry, my hands were tied, and my nose was itchy. Things couldn't get any worse.

   I continued humming, yet at a considerably quieter tone. Not because he told me, though. I swear. That was, until the door slowly opened, revealing a man. A new man. Not Tomas Lanky or that old fart that was yelling me. Nope, no, this new man was fucking hot. The type of beauty that required a freaking pause to admire it all. He was fucking sizzling with hotness. In an erotic way, not... literally burning. Hot diggity damn.

   "What are you singing?" Asked the new stranger. I beamed at him in response, smiling as though I weren't kidnapped and handcuffed to a fucking bed; which was oddly erotic.

   Just as I was about to go into a historical rant about the background of the made up song I've created, another man walked in.

   "That's the guy boss."

   Tomas Lanky, you bastard!

   "You don't look like the type of man." My voice broke past, interrupting Tomas Lanky before he could go any further.

   "Type of man?" Tomas Lanky must have assumed I was talking to him, gruffly replying to me. But I wasn't, I was talking to the other man. The hot one.