The Mafia's Conman

Chapter Three: Lock Picking Is Not My Favorite Hobby

Chapter Three: Lock Picking Is Not My Favorite Hobby

   I stared at the blank wall in front of me, feeling oddly emptier the longer I stared. It was... It was a weird feeling, definitely. It was like someone went into my mess of a brain and just smacked the shit out of it with a fucking metal bat, and now it both throbbed and cut off my prized emotion box because at the moment, I was incapable of feeling shit.

   My usually disheveled mind was uncharacteristically empty, doing its desperate best to not think of one person in particular. One very hot person. One gorgeously intoxicating person. Dammit, Chris! Think of something else... Like that one time you were running away from that one revenge stricken murderer, who tried to rip your eyes out with his bare han- that's not helping. Think positive memories Chris. Like... like... shit. I don't have any. How depressing.

   Man, I need a life.

   Instead, I revised over my earlier actions, questioning as to how they even found me. Racking my mind over every detail, and yet still, I came out blank.

   Then, it hit me like a cold hard slap to the face. The phone! The prehistoric- probably once fossilized- phone! It must have had a tracker or something on it!

   What a rookie mistake.

   Chris, you fucking moron!

   I should have checked if it was bugged! Or, just not have taken it at all!

   Mentally chiding myself for my own stupidity, I tugged at the handcuffs tying me securely to the bed. It wasn't kinky at all! It just fucking hurt! They gave no room for escape, only allowing a small gap to gently roll my wrist. 

   Yet planful as it was, I harshly twisted my wrist in an inhumane way, successfully emitting multiple cracking sounds. Harshly biting my lips to muffle a cry of pain, I bend my hand out of the cuffs until it was free. With another painful movement, I cracked my dislocated bones back in place, biting my bottom lip so hard it released a few drops of blood. The metallic taste filled my mouth, but I paid no heed as I stretch my body the furthest it could reach to the wooden nightstand beside me. Each movement brought severed physical pain, but as the strong and powerful man I was, I pushed past it as I grabbed the pen conveniently resting there.

   It was a typical black ink pen with a cap, just perfect.

   Bringing the item closer to me, I gave it a small glare, taking off the cap with my teeth. With a throbbing hand, I brought the cap up to my lips to chew on it.

   Once satisfied at the edgy sharpness of it, I smiled triumphantly at my accomplishments. If you even could call it that.

   It was convenient that a pen was there. Suspicious too.

   With delicate movements, I brought the cap to my handcuffed left hand, wincing at the pain it brought.

   Though I must say, I was genuinely surprised when I heard the first click, indicating that my ridiculous plan worked. I hadn't actually expected it to work. With renewed vigor, I worked readily on opening the damn thing. The pain on my right hand was becoming frantic, and I figured I needed relief or I just might die.

   I was so close, so close to opening the damn thing, when the door busted open. Startled, the tip of the cap snapped inside the cuff at the violent jerk of my hand. Glaring at the intruder with cruel eyes, I found the person I'd been trying to avoid thinking of, right there in the flesh.

   Jackson, that bastard!

   The man walked in, glancing between my freed hand, the pen cap in it, and my pouting, glaring face. He had this smirk on his face that only pissed me off, probably more than it should.

   "Watcha doing?" The man's "innocent" voice only intensified my glare, annoyed that the bastard still had that increasingly annoying smile.

   "Nothing."

   What the fuck was that, Chris? Was that supposed to be a comeback? Great job dumbass. I berated myself, both for the stupid response and the fact that I was actually starting to argue with a fucking mafia boss. Though I doubted that a guy who referenced Phineas and Ferb and proposes on death threats would want to kill me because I say some dumbass shit sometimes... or, well, most of the time.

   The ever present smirk of his didn't fade as he made his way towards me, and I scooted away. Why wouldn't I? The guy was fucking insane! Marry you, my ass! I was practically plastered to the headboard, but the bothersome guy didn't relent his advancements until he stood beside the bed. In a flash, I watched his hand stretch out to click a button on the side of cuffs, opening them.

   Are you fucking kidding me?

   And just like that, my hand was freed. Instantly, I cradled my throbbing wrist, trying to soothe the scorching pain. My gaze burned Jackson, who only watched me with amusement. Devil!

   A slightly rough hand suddenly caressed my cheek, starling me. I didn't jerk away- which was odd, because I'm always a jerk- nor did I make any moves to break away from him. I was frozen on spot. Honestly, I wasn't as petrified as I should be. I've heard all sorts of tales about the ruthless, unforgiving mafia lord; yet, surely, the smirking man before me wasn't insane, right? Right!? Who was I fucking kidding, the guy probably had a freaking sex dungeon for all I knew.

   I was too involved in my thoughts I didn't notice when Jackson lowered himself down to my level, bending his tall form to come face to face, his lips quickly connecting to mine. And as quickly as they touched me, they pulled away. "You're so cute."

   Without missing his smirk, my eyes trailed him walk towards the door, leaving me in a stupified daze.

   What the fuck?

   Snapping out of my daze, I touch my lips where he'd just pecked me. Turning to the door, I barely managed to shout out my next words before it closed shut. "Fuck you!"

   Though as soon as the words left me, I had a new horrifying realization.

Did he just call me cute?

_ _ _

   Walking out of the now locked room, Jackson smirked, remembering the startled look the boy had before it flushed a crimson red when their lips connected. 

   Just before the door shut, he heard the boy shout out a string of curses, making him chuckle. T

   he guards beside the door glanced at Jackson in shock, but pretended not to notice the happy look of their boss's face as he walked away, a bounce practically in his steps.

   What a cute little wife I've gotten, Jackson thought.

______

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