CONTENT AND TRIGGER WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER: While this fic is going to be smutty and kinky as fuck, it's also much darker fic, so I'm dealing with darker issues. This chapter features a discussion of sexual assault. I don't go into detail of the event, but I do go into the aftermath of it and how shitty it is to deal with. I didn't really intend to go this way, but here we are, writing our own trauma into fics. (I'm okay, by the way, this is old trauma - writing is just how I process stuff).
There is also descriptions of torture, blood, and knives. If you've ever seen Reservoir Dogs, I have a scene somewhat modeled after one of the more famous scenes in it. I'm trying to showcase James's dark side. I also added some new songs to the playlist.
Romanian translations will be at the bottom.
Dahlia reapplies her lipstick in the bathroom. After what just happened at the table, she had to take some time to clean herself up. As she's fixing her lipstick, a woman steps out of the stall and tilts her head. She's got shoulder length auburn hair and she's wearing a long black dress. Her lips are perfectly painted in red lipstick. She's a little older than Dahlia. She might be James's age, but it's hard to tell with the lights. Dahlia isn't very good at being able to guess how old people are, and with everyone in Los Angeles getting botox, it's even harder to tell.
"Are you all right, dear?"
Dahlia stares at her in the mirror.
"Yeah, why."
"I just saw you from across the restaurant with that man and you looked like you were crying."
"Oh," Dahlia laughs, her cheeks flushing again. "No, I, uh, he just said something really sweet to me."
"Hmm." The woman steps up to the counter and washes her hands. Dahlia waits. She looks like she wants to say something else. Her light blonde brows pinch together in quiet contemplation and Dahlia's stomach flutters. Finally, the woman flicks the water off of her hands, grabs a paper towel, and dries them off. She smiles.
"Have a lovely evening."
"You too," Dahlia says softly.
She looks at herself in the mirror and bites her lip.
"What the fuck was that?"
Quickly, she washes her hands and puts her lipstick back into the small black clutch that James bought her, slinging it over her shoulder, and walking back outside. James is on his phone. His jaw is clenched and he looks angry. He doesn't see her yet, leaning over the table as he speaks. She can't hear him, but whatever's coming out of his mouth looks like it's vicious. Dahlia thinks about the woman in the bathroom and the way she seemed to be holding something back. Does she know James, or was she just being protective?
She pauses, watching him speak. Her mother had this kind of rage. Quiet, but when she used it the right way, it was explosive, leaving destruction in its wake.
At least this isn't directed at her.
James's eyes catch hers and his face softens, breaking out into a smile. He beckons her over to the table and Dahlia follows, sliding back down into the seat next to him. James keeps talking, changing his demeanor entirely. He reaches out, his hand sliding up her thigh. Dahlia takes a sip of wine, still not quite believing that this is happening.
"He didn't even show up for the meeting this morning. Nu te mai certa cu mine. Ne păstrăm pârghia. Nu tolerez o asemenea lipsă de respect."
Dahlia didn't know he spoke another language. She can't tell what it is, but it sounds beautiful, pouring from his lips like wine. His voice gets lower. Dahlia gets butterflies and he locks eyes with her. Dahlia bites her lip and James licks his lips.
"Nu mă mai suna. Sunt ocupat. Da, cu ea." He smiles. "E frumoasă, dar e înflăcărată."
He hangs up the phone and pockets it.
"I didn't know you spoke another language."
He nods.
"My dad was Romanian." He smirks, but his smile doesn't touch his eyes like it usually does. Dahlia can already tell that his father is a sore spot for him. Whenever he mentions him, it's brief, and there's always a kind of hatred in his eyes that Dahlia can relate to.
"I didn't tell you that?" He asks.
She shakes her head.
"It's beautiful."
"Thank you."
Their food arrives and the second Dahlia sees it and smells it, she realizes just how hungry she is. She practically snatches it from the waiter before it hits the table and James arches an eyebrow as he begins to dig into his cod, rice, and vegetables.
"You worked up an appetite."
"Was that your goal?" She asks, taking a massive bite of risotto, followed by a very unladylike gulp of wine.
"One of many," James replies with a smirk.
"I've never dated a guy who had goals for me."
James licks his lips and dabs his mouth with a napkin.
"Dating?" He asks with an incredulous look.
Dahlia begins to panic.
"We are dating, aren't we?"
He sucks his teeth and takes a sip of wine. She drops her fork on her plate and it makes a loud clang that draws attention to their table. Dahlia catches the eye of the woman she saw in the bathroom who looks at them with concern. James's eyes are focused on the plate before they slide up to lock with hers. The silence makes Dahlia want to slide underneath the table and die right then and there.
"Is that what you want?" He asks.
"I mean, I assumed we – should I not have assumed? You bought me this dress, you gave me all of that money and said that you liked me." Her eyes are starting to well with tears and her throat clenches, but she swallows hard, fighting them. Her gaze hardens. "You let me stay at your house. Was I wrong?"
"No," he says softly. "You weren't wrong at all."
Her body slumps a little with relief and she draws in a deep breath.
"I'd like to keep seeing you, Dahlia. I just wanted to let you make the decision."
"That's a first," she whispers.
He smirks again, his tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip. She wants to bite it, mostly out of her sheer attraction to him, but partially because she's angry at him for letting her think that he didn't want anything out of this other than sex.
"You're angry with me."
"Not angry, just... this is so weird."
"I thought it was gentlemanly." He leans over, kissing her softly. She tastes expensive wine on his lips and wets her own. James smirks. "I wouldn't chase you if you didn't want me to, draga mea."
"Why do I have a feeling that's not entirely true?" She asks.
His hand slides up her thigh, nestling between her legs. Dahlia gasps softly.
"You drive me crazy," he whispers.
"I can tell."
"Let me take care of you"
"Is this your way of asking you to be your girlfriend?"
He leans forward, reaching up to cup her face.
"Kiss me."
She does, pressing her lips against his. James deepens the kiss and she draws in a deep breath through her nose, letting him dominate the kiss. All Dahlia has to do is melt against him, her hand grabbing his tie and clutching it between clumsy fingers. She whines as he breaks the kiss to run his lips along her jawline. She looks to her left. The rest of the patrons avert their eyes and go back to their meals. A few servers are staring at them, but once Dahlia makes eye contact, they look the other way. She lets James bite down on her earlobe and she whines softly as his knuckles brush her clit.
"I have half a mind to turn that thing back on."
She whimpers.
"I'm still hungry."
He laughs softly.
"Maybe later, then."
Dahlia whines as he pulls back and they straighten themselves out. James glances around the restaurant, content that everyone seems too afraid to look at him. Dahlia picks her fork back up and they continue to eat.
"What did you study at college?" James asks. "You mentioned you dropped out."
"Oh, uh, I majored in music and minored in gender studies."
"What did you play?"
"Piano," she replies.
He smiles.
"Beautiful."
She laughs.
"I wanted to be a concert pianist when I was a kid, but my parents could never afford the lessons, so I tried to teach myself. I would listen to my dad's old jazz records and try to play along with them. It sort of worked, except I can't really read music, and I don't know anything about music theory. So, I really struggled when it came to the practical application part of it."
"You learned to play by ear?"
She nods.
"That's very impressive. I have a piano at my house if you ever want to play it. It just kind of collects dust."
"I haven't played in years," she laughs. "Not since I dropped out."
"Why not?"
"I, uh... struggled with the music theory and reading music. But I also had a teacher, um..." she takes a deep breath and grabs her wine glass, draining it. She takes a deep breath. Here we go.
"He'd been kind of creepy for a while, and really overstepping his boundaries, but it was in little ways, so I couldn't really say anything without looking totally crazy. I couldn't transfer out of his class because it was mandatory, and he was the only person who taught it. One day after a class, I was trying to put my notes and shit in my bag, and he–" her breath shudders. Her heart pounds, and it feels like she's right back in that room until James puts a hand on her forearm. His blue eyes are wide and his face is soft.
"It's okay. You don't have to–"
"I want to." She doesn't know why, but she wants to keep talking. Like her dad, she's only ever told Wanda about this. She was too afraid to go to the cops - not that they'd do anything anyway.
"He was a respected professor, he'd mentored students who went on to go to Julliard and shit. Everyone in the department always talked about what a nice guy he was. I mean, this guy had so much power, it was insane. And he knew it. He went to fucking women's marches and shit, and yet here he was, after class, not letting me leave and not listening to me when I said no–" Her voice breaks. She chokes and sniffles, trying to keep the emotion at bay. She's gotten good at that over the years.
"Did he–"
Dahlia shakes her head.
"He tried. I bit his lip and kneed him in the balls. I threatened to go to the Dean or the department head, but when I told him that, he got crazy. He got my phone number at one point... said he had a friend in IT. He had my address too. The whole thing got out of control so fast. I was working at a coffee shop at the time and he showed up and threatened me in the middle of a fucking work day when I was taking out the trash. He said he'd teach me a lesson if I went to anyone, and that nobody would believe me anyway. So, I just shut up. It was just easier."
She takes a bite of her dinner and sighs.
"I withdrew two months later. Originally, I was going to try and stick it out and just go back to normal. It was just the one class and he got his hooks into another girl pretty quick. But... I couldn't look at his fucking face after what he did to me. I haven't played piano since."
"That's when you started at your dad's shop? After that?"
She nods.
"I had control over my life again. It felt like a fresh start, and God knows I needed it."
"What was his name?" James asks as lightning flashes in his eyes. "Your professor."
"Why?"
"I'm curious."
"Why, you gonna ban him from your hotel?" Dahlia laughs.
"Tell me."
She doesn't know why he's so interested. Maybe he donates to the university.
"Uh, Barlowe. David Barlowe."
James nods.
"Okay."
"What are you going to do?" Dahlia asks.
"I was thinking of hiring a pianist for Sharon Carter's fundraiser. I wanted to make sure I didn't hire the wrong person."
Dahlia nods.
"I have a list of the cool professors who worked there. You could look into hiring them."
He smiles.
"Text it to me."
"I will." She pauses. "I'm sorry for getting all intense. I don't usually do that."
"Dahlia, you don't have to apologize."
"You haven't made me uncomfortable or anything, by the way."
"Well, I hope not."
"No, I mean – with the sex stuff. That doesn't bother me. I just wanted to make that clear. I like you, and I like where we're headed with it." She winces. "I feel like I'm talking too much. Am I? Talking too much?"
She feels like she has to make him feel better about what she just confessed. She does that a lot, comforts people after she shares too much, or tries to pull back. It's a coping mechanism and a survival tactic. James brushes her hair away from her face, his smile is a balm to her shattered nerves.
"You're not talking too much. I'm glad you feel comfortable with me. I'd never hurt you, Dahlia."
Dahlia nods. She believes him. She doesn't know why, but she does. She avoids his intense gaze and he pours her another glass of wine.
"I appreciate you telling me that, Dahlia."
She smiles.
"It feels good to talk about this stuff."
"Everyone's got something they keep secret," he says softly.
"What about you?" She asks. "What's yours?"
James laughs and shakes his head.
"Aside from the kinky stuff you're into. I already know that."
"I, uh, I golf."
Dahlia arches an eyebrow.
"All rich guys golf."
"Such a stereotype," he chuckles.
"Come on. Tell me something real, James."
His expression falls.
"Real?"
"Yeah. Real."
He pushes his food around on his plate and draws in a breath.
"The flowers I bought for my mom... she's uh... she died fifteen years ago."
Dahlia frowns.
"I'm sorry."
"Me too." He breathes deeply. "I try to visit her grave as often as I can. Bring her flowers, things I think she would have liked if she were still here. She was beautiful. Strong, smart, she loved me no matter what. Dad wasn't as supportive."
"I'm–"
"I know," he breathes.
Dahlia abandons her dinner temporarily and snuggles in close to him. James looks like he needs someone. It's strange to see him so vulnerable, but she appreciates it. She's never connected with someone this fast. They've only known each other for a few days, and here they are, pouring their hearts out over dinner. But what else do you talk about over dinner besides trauma?
Maybe she should see that therapist.
She nuzzles against his neck. Displaying outward affection to anyone other than Wanda is difficult for her, but James brings something out in her. It's more than just animal lust, she wants to touch him all the time. It could be hormones, or it could be the start of something real.
"Thank you for sharing that with me."
"You're welcome," James whispers, kissing the top of her head.
She drags her plate over toward her so that it bumps up next to his, and they eat the rest of their meal with her practically sitting in his lap.
James pays for dinner, and won't let Dahlia look at the bill. He tells her she probably doesn't want to know. They walk out of the restaurant and James gives his ticket to the valet, who pulls up in a sparkling white Maserati. Dahlia whistles softly.
"Damn, James..."
"You like it?" He asks.
She raises her eyebrows.
"Like it? It's gorgeous."
"You want it?" He asks flippantly.
She snorts with laughter.
"You're not serious."
"I am serious."
Her jaw drops.
"You want me to have a $200,000 car?"
"Why not?" James asks. "You're with me, you deserve to have the best."
"James, I couldn't afford the payments."
He chuckles and wraps his arms around her waist, kissing her softly.
"Draga mea, what makes you think I'd let you spend a dime on this car?"
She bites her lip.
"I can't accept this."
"Why not?"
"Because it's..."
"You take the bus to work, don't you?"
"I walk, but sometimes, yeah. If I'm running late."
"How long is that walk?"
"About forty minutes."
"Dahlia. You need a car. I've got ten of them." He frowns. "More than that, actually. I'll go and get it detailed and tomorrow it's yours. Okay?"
She sighs and bites her lip. Wanda would call her crazy for turning this down. She does need a car. They could stop hiring drivers for small orders and save a lot of money in the shop. It would help them out a lot and once they got back on their feet financially, they could afford to buy an actual van and Dahlia could just have a cool ass car to drive around LA with. It's kind of a win-win for her. Besides, she knows that James isn't going to let her say no to him when it comes to something like this.
Dahlia nods.
"Okay."
James grins and kisses her on the cheek.
"Good girl."
Dahlia's stomach flips and she climbs into the passenger seat after James opens the door for her. He drives her to her apartment at her request. She tells him that Wanda wants to know how dinner went. He smirks.
"Well, I wouldn't want to keep you two apart."
"She'd have a lot to say to you if she did."
James chuckles.
"I'm sure she would."
He pulls up to her building and kills the engine, turning to her.
"Thank you for accompanying me tonight."
Dahlia chuckles and tucks her hair behind her ears.
"Thanks for dinner and the orgasm."
James grins.
"I aim to please."
He leans over and kisses her.
"You definitely do," Dahlia whispers.
"I'd like you and Wanda to come for a business meeting tomorrow. My office. I'll have Natasha email you the details and the door code to get in. I can show you both the banquet hall and where the fundraiser will be."
Dahlia nods. She feels like he's finding excuses to see her again, when he could literally show up in the middle of her day and whisk her anywhere he wanted her to go. It's frightening how fast she's starting to fall for him.
"Sounds good."
"Good," he breathes. He leans over and cups her face in his hands, pressing a sweet kiss against her lips. Dahlia whines and opens her mouth as James's tongue dances against hers. She tastes wine and spice, breaking the kiss to moan as he sucks on her bottom lip. He pulls away. "I'll see you tomorrow, sweets."
She giggles.
"See you tomorrow."
Dahlia climbs out of the car and blows James a kiss before she trots inside of her building, her mind and body buzzing from the night. As she presses the up button on the elevator, she does a stupid little dance, smiling to herself. She's got it bad.
🌺 🌺 🌺
James sits in front of Dahlia's building for a few minutes and pulls out his phone. He texts Natasha.
I need your help with something.
[Romanoff]: What is it?
I need you to get me intel on a David Barlowe. Address, preferably. He teaches music at USC.
[Romanoff]: Give me five minutes.
Sure. Thanks, Natasha.
James waits patiently, gnawing on his thumbnail and scrolling through Dahlia's instagram while he waits. There's a new photo of her from tonight. He can tell because she's wearing the same lipstick. It looks like she took it in the elevator, her head resting against the wall as she bites her lip and stares into the camera. That look will be the death of him. James looks down at the caption.
Can't stop thinking about you 🖤
He smiles.
"Ditto, peach."
Natasha's text diverts his attention back to the present.
[Romanoff]: 450 Morrison Street. Sherman Oaks.
Does he have kids? Family?
[Romanoff]: Facebook says single. Dad's dead, mom is in a nursing home. Only other social media he has is Instagram.
Perfect. In a few hours, I'm going to ask you to have those accounts disabled and deleted.
[Romanoff]: Sure thing.
Thank you, Natasha.
Natasha knows better than to ask questions. James plugs the address into the GPS on his phone and drives off. He can't stop thinking about what that fucking pig did to Dahlia. It makes his blood boil to know that someone touched her like that, violated her like that. He has an iron grip on the steering wheel, his gaze menacing as he sails toward his destination and weaves in and out of traffic. When he reaches the house, he parks right outside of it. This won't take long. James pats his pockets, making sure he has a pistol and his favorite knife with them. Even on a date, he can't let them go. He was surprised Dahlia didn't feel them when she hugged him. She probably thought one of them was his wallet.
He steps out of the car and shuts the door. It's a quiet neighborhood with not much going on. He looks at the address. 450 is a small white and red house with a mediocre looking backyard. James walks up the steps, cracking his knuckles and popping the vertebrae in his neck. He knocks on the door and glances around. The street is empty.
It opens and a man in his late forties pokes his head out. He has salt and pepper hair, thick glasses, and a white beard.
"Can I help you?"
"Are you David Barlowe?"
"Whatever you're selling, pal, I ain't buying."
He goes to close the door and James steps forward, putting his foot in between the frame and the door. Quickly, he pulls the gun out of his jacket pocket and points it at David, whose eyes go wide with fear.
"Why don't we go for a drive?" James whispers.
"What?"
"Come on. You and me. I have something I'd like to discuss with you."
He watches David glance behind him and points his gun at David's head.
"Don't you dare try and run on me, David. 'Cause I've got six little friends in this thing, and they can aallllll run faster than you can. Now are you going to come with me?"
David nods.
"Perfect." James reaches forward and yanks him out of the house by his shirt, turning him to face the car as he shuts the door. As they walk, he presses the gun to the back of his neck. "If you make a noise, I will shoot you without even thinking twice about it. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Good." James leans over and opens the car door. "Get in."
He should be getting someone else to do this for him, but for James, this is personal. The idea of this creep touching his Dahlia is starting to send James over the edge. He slams the door as David gets in the car and walks around to the passenger seat, sliding in beside him. James starts the car and drives toward a warehouse in East LA. Steve moved Lennox to another location to avoid the cops. Walker still hasn't responded to James's demands, and James has a feeling something big is coming. But he can't think about that now. Right now, he has to focus and do this for Dahlia.
"You teach at USC, don't you?" James asks, his voice flat and cold.
David stammers and James growls.
"Answer the fucking question."
"Y– yeah. I do."
"Do you know a girl named Dahlia Davies?"
David shakes his head and rage flares in James's chest. He pulls his knife out of his jacket as they hit a stop light and drives it into the side of David's thigh. He twists it for good measure. David lets out a bloodcurdling scream of pain while James leans over to turn up the radio. It helps to drown out the noise.
"Tell me the truth, David!" He orders.
"Jesus fucking Christ!" David yelps as blood gushes from his thigh, soaking his pajama bottoms.
"I know you know her. Tell me what I wanna know."
"You're fucking crazy! I don't know who you're talking about!"
James nods, keeping the knife lodged in David's leg as he takes out his pistol. His arm extends and there's a beautiful crack it connects with David's skull. He passes out, his head falling against the glass.
"Gonna have to get blood out of those seats tomorrow, David!" James taunts. "You realize what a pain in the ass this is for me? You motherFUCKER!"
He hits him again for good measure as he drives into the parking lot. James turns off the engine and rubs his face. He puts his pistol back into his jacket pocket, gets out of the car, and hauls David's unconscious body inside. The warehouse is dark and far enough away from any neighborhoods or businesses that nobody is going to hear this asshole screaming.
He works in the dark, tying David to a chair and putting duct tape over his mouth. His face is bloodied and the wound on his leg is leaking blood. James paces around for a while, pulling out his phone and placing it on a nearby workbench. The last time he used this thing, he was teaching Peter how to take out someone's teeth so that they couldn't be ID'd with dental records.
The kid's a prodigy.
He scrolls through his Spotify, searching for music he can work with.
"Beethoven?" He whispers. "Nah, doesn't feel right... New Wave, maybe? How do you feel about New Wave?"
David is still passed out, his bloodied mouth hanging open. James sighs dramatically and rolls his eyes.
"Lotta help you are."
Finally, he lands on something.
"Sympathy For the Devil. It's a little cliche, but it could work. I could put on Stealers Wheel and go full Reservoir Dogs on you, David, but I want to have a little bit of originality here. Hmm? Are you listening, David?!"
James looks over at him, his eyes icy. Logic gives way to blinding rage, white hot and coursing through his veins. He'll drive to confession after this. Father Paul told him to use softer methods, but softer methods don't work on men like David. James wants revenge. For Dahlia.
"I think it's time for you to wake up," he snarls as he presses play and waltzes over to him. James yanks the knife out of his thigh. His reward is another muffled blood curdling scream. He watches the man sob, tears streaming down his face and mixing with blood.
"HI, DAVID!" James shouts over the music. He pinches his cheeks. "Welcome back!"
James flips the knife in his hands and steps backward, biting his lip. Like a shark, James begins to circle him, dancing around the chair and singing along with the music while David whips his head around in an attempt to follow him. James spins and slides along the pavement.
"You know, I used to really enjoy this, David! I used to get a big thrill out of pulling this shit on guys like you." He crouches down in front of David and places his hands on his thighs. "I used to pull people's teeth out with pliers and it would give me this incredible rush. It was better than sex."
He sighs.
"See, David, these days... I'm just bored. You know? But I think things are starting to change. I've found someone, y'see. She's sweet and soft, and she has the best laugh. I think I might be falling for her... just a little bit. Not too much. We've only known each other for five days, that would be crazy, right?"
He laughs. His eyes go wide, glittering with malice. A grin spreads across his face and James drags the tip of the knife up and down David's thigh while the man whimpers helplessly.
"She actually told me something very interesting today when I took her to dinner. It's the reason I showed up at your house – I was inspired to take this little trip with you tonight. You know why?"
David shakes his head.
"See, this sweet little gal I'm seeing told me that you were her professor at USC!" He laughs. It's hollow and makes David shudder. "Isn't that funny?!"
James gets to his feet and leans over, pressing his lips to the shell of David's ear.
"She also told me that you did something bad to her. You threatened her... you got her phone number from IT? Showed up at her work and threatened to – how did she put it – teach her a lesson? That's fucked up, David."
David shakes his head as he begins to cry. James pouts and runs a hand through his hair.
"Why'd you have to hurt her like that? Is it because she told you no?" James presses the knife to David's throat and pulls back as the blade draws blood. He snarls. "You should have fucking listened."
David shakes his head, screaming. He's trying to say something, but the tape over his mouth muffles it. James's brows knit together.
"What was that? Oh, hang on." He rips the duct tape off and David groans in pain, spitting blood onto the floor.
"She came onto me."
James points the knife at him as boisterous laughter bounces off of the walls.
"You know, that's what I thought you were going to say! Men like you always say shit like that. It's getting a little old. At least I can admit that I'm fucked up, David! But you? You've gotta blame things on eeeeverybody else but yourself."
"What are you gonna do to me?" David stammers.
"Oh, I'm gonna kill you," James replies with wide, manic eyes.
"You can't!" David yelps. "I'm a professor, I'm a respected member of the community–"
He lands a punch to David's jaw, dislocating it.
"You're also a fucking rapist. See, I don't think that Dahlia's the first girl you did that to, and she definitely wasn't the last. Now, I know what I am, David. I've made peace with what I do to survive in this world. You?" He pokes David hard in the chest. "Won't even fucking admit that you're a monster. You hide behind power and bullshit and bureaucracy, and you scare women. You ruin their lives. You're pathetic."
Another punch. David moans, his face swelling like a balloon.
James's phone buzzes.
Dahlia 🌸
Quickly, he puts the duct tape back on David's mouth and makes sure it's secure before he picks up the phone.
"Dahlia?"
"Hi James."
"What's up?" He covers the mouthpiece. "It's her. I'll just be a second, David."
James walks to the opposite side of the warehouse while David's muffled cries fade into the background.
"What are you doing calling me?"
"Um... I'm a little... stoned." She giggles. "Sorry, this was Wanda's idea – IT WAS, WANDA, SHUT UP!"
James grins.
"Dahliaaaaa, are you being a bad girl again?"
More giggling on her end.
"I just wanted to tell you that I like you a lot, and I'm really excited to see you tomorrow. I also maaaayyyyy have had more than just some pot."
James chuckles softly, his cheeks burning. David and his bullshit fades away into the background. All he can focus on is her.
"I like you a lot too, Dahlia. You should get some sleep, peach."
"I don't know if you have Instagram, but I left a little present for you. My handle is DangerousDahlia."
"How fitting," he purrs. "I'll use the hotel account."
More laughter. James bites his lip as his heart races.
"WANDA, SHUT UP! – You can't hear her, can you?"
"No," he laughs. "But I'm sure it was something vulgar. Get some sleep, Dahlia. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Bye, James – I really had a great time tonight."
"Bye, peach. And I did too."
The line goes dead and James sighs, music still playing in the background. He smiles and looks up at David, who is trying to scoot his chair back toward the door. James rolls his eyes, pulls out his pistol, and fires a shot into his kneecap. The chair topples over as David twitches.
"I was going to draw this out, but I don't think you deserve that. Besides, I've gotta get my beauty sleep. I'm seeing a gorgeous woman tomorrow. I can't be here all night cutting you up and feeding you to the fish."
He kicks David in the ribs, the gut, and in the face, over and over and over again until his body goes limp and blood leaks out on the concrete floor. James wipes the sweat off his brow, pulls out his pistol, and shoots David in the head. Blood leaks out from behind his fractured skull and James pulls out his phone, calling Peter.
"Hey, kid. I'm sorry to bother you, but we've got a situation. I need you to go to 450 Morrison Street in Sherman Oaks. Find a suitcase in the house, grab passports, wallet – you know the drill. Then, I need you to come to the warehouse near the docks. We've got some cleanup to do."
"Sure thing, Mr. Barnes."
"Thanks, Peter."
"How was your date, by the way?"
James smiles.
"It was fantastic."
_______________
Translations:
Ne păstrăm pârghia. Nu tolerez o asemenea lipsă de respect = We're keeping our leverage. I don't tolerate that kind of disrespect.
Nu mă mai suna. Sunt ocupat. Da, cu ea. E frumoasă, dar e înflăcărată. = Don't call me again. I'm busy. Yes, with her. She's beautiful, but she's feisty.
Draga mea = my darling
** The "I've got six little friends and they can all run faster than you can" line is from From Dusk Till Dawn.