Desperation didn't look good on anyone—least of all me. It's a sad feeling, desperation. It seeps in slowly, evenly until it consumes you and you're willing to do anything for what you want. I'd been desperate few times in my life, but when I was desperate...it wasn't a good look.
That's how Gary looks right now. Desperate.
I sit next to him in the passenger seat and stare at his hands as they tighten around the steering wheel. The turn white, and then red when his grip loosens. He repeats that motion, gripping the steering wheel as tight as he can and then relaxing. I want to tell him to relax, but I kept my mouth shut. He wouldn't like that. After a while, my eyes drift ahead to the opening of the parking deck. We're on the third level, waiting. And waiting. And waiting.
Gary normally wouldn't be so patient. But when I look towards him again, I realized just how much his patience was thinning. His ears are turning a shade of red and his teeth clench together, making his jaw appear more prominently. I swallow and turn away. I'm growing impatient too, but I don't dare speak.
He's clearly not in the mood for discussion. I feel my phone vibrate in my back pocket but ignore it. Just when Gary's mouth opens to explode, a sleek black SUV turned into the deck and parks betweens two cars across from us. We sit and wait. The headlights flash twice and immediately I move.
I push open the door and walk around to the back. Gary pops the trunk and I grab the three suitcases. I'm not nervous. Gary said my life was dependent on how skillful I was, but if there was one thing I didn't lack was confidence. I know I did a good job. I'd bet my life on it. And, I guess, that's what I'm here to do. I glance up to see Gary walking towards the car. I close the trunk and start walking towards them but stop short when Gary's hand extends out, palm facing me. Wait.
He goes to the driver's side window and exchanges a few words with the driver. Then he leans back, his eyes meeting mine. I wait. He nods once and I slowly move forward again. The passenger side door opens and a guy steps out. I eye him. He looks young. Like really young. Seventeen, maybe. His eyes meet mine and then slowly lower, taking in the rest of me. His lips twitch a little and I fight off the urge to roll my eyes.
He walks up to me, and I stare at him in mild disinterest. His hand goes to a suitcase, but I don't loosen my grip when he tries to take it. He pauses and looks up at me, eyebrows raised in question. I glance at Gary to see him watching our exchange. His lips lift a little in amusement, and I resist smiling back. My eyes shift back to the eighteen year old and after another second, I let him take the case from me.
He places the suitcase on the hood and unlocks it using the pin Gary calmly rattles off. The case opens revealing hundreds of bills stacked and placed neatly inside. Gary's eyes cut to mine in warning, but I keep my shoulders relaxed.
Gary takes a deep breath and addresses the man in the car. "There is another matter we need to discuss."
The man pauses for a moment before emerging from the car and gesturing for Gary to wall. They step away from us and begin to walk, talking amongst themselves. My eyes go back to the boy. I eye him up and down. He even dresses like a teenager in those ripped jeans and vans sneakers.
"So what's your name?" He breaks the silence between us. He doesn't look up, his focus solely on the money. He picks up a stack and flips through it, his fingers rubbing each paper carefully. I cross my arms over my chest, my eyes on the money. Noticing my lack of response, he throws me a look over his shoulder. "You have one, right?"
I frown. "Of course I do."
"What is it?" He raises a finger in a 'one sec' gesture. "Hold that thought."
My brows lift as he walks around the car and goes to the back. He pulls out two cases of his own and opens them. I eye what's inside. A bill counter. Then he opens the other. A scale.
"So," he says, coming back towards me. "You were just about to tell me your name?"
"Don't you have curfew?" I ask, my voice calm and taunting. "Mommy must be worried."
His voice changes. "She's dead."
I don't care. Rolling my eyes, I sneak a glance at Gary. He's nodding, head bowed slightly as he listened intently to whatever it wad the man was telling him.
"You always this nice or do you just like me?" The kid jokes. He bounces back quick. He puts some money in the machine and it quickly begins to count.
"I'm not nice."
"Clearly," he laughs. "I'm Jonah."
"I didn't ask."
He huffs and takes the counted bills out the machine, then moves to place a single bill on the scale. One gram. He checks the next. One gram. He continues doing so, making sure each bill checks out. When he's finished, he moves on to the next stack, putting it in the machine to count and then putting it on the scale to weigh. I didn't realize how tedious this would be. Sighing, I pace the floor.
"You seem anxious," the boy notes.
"Not anxious." I shoot him an annoyed look. "Impatient. I have to pee."
I did have to pee, actually, and considered going to the bathroom but figured Gary wouldn't appreciate that. So I try to relax and wait. Halfway through, Jonah makes a strange sound and I turn to look at him.
"What?"
He hesitates. I move forward, and my shoulders tense when I see what he's looking at. A bill sat on the scale and the scale read...
.97. Fuck. I glance over my shoulder at Gary and the man, my mind reeling as I try to find a quick solution.
I subtly shake my head. No, that's not right. I checked. Every bill was a gram—every single one. I made sure of it.
"Weigh it again," I whisper-hiss.
He checks over his shoulder at Gary and the man—his boss?—talking with their backs facing us.
"No, I should—"
"Just—" I suck in a sharp breath when I realize how demanding I sound. He won't want to help if I keep being a bitch. I slowly exhale, dreading the next word that would have to fall from my lips. "—please..."
I glance at the numbers on the scale. Fuck fuck fucking fuck. "...weigh it again."
He picks up the bill, runs his hand over it to smooth it out. He glances over his shoulder again. I step forward.
"How old are you?"
There's that pesky desperation again.
"Eighteen."
I was right. My lips lift a little.
"I was...rude earlier. I'm sorry. It's been a rough week." I bite my lip. "My name—it's Milan."
He put the bill back on the scale, and his eyes go to the number. ".97."
My jaw tightens.
"I have to...you know. I have to tell him." Jonah looks at the suitcase. "Are there more?"
My teeth grind against each other as the tension between us continues to build. Closing my eyes for two short seconds, I take another breath. "I know you want to fuck me."
He chokes on his spit. "Wh—" He coughs and turns away, his face reddening. "What?"
"I saw the way you were looking at me earlier," I press on, stepping closer to him.
"I—" He swallows. "That's—"
"So you don't?"
He stammers. "Are you...offering?"
I smile and shrug slightly.
He hesitates again. Tilting my head to side, I wait as he slowly trails his eyes over the length of me again.
"I—"
"Finish counting the bills, tell your boss is all good, and..." I shrug.
"And you'll...have sex with me?"
I eye him. "You are eighteen, right?"
"Yeah, I'm just—" His ears turn red. "I've never..."
I blink. "Never...?"
He doesn't respond. He turns away in embarrassment and picks up the bill. My mouth opens to form an 'o'. Ohh. A virgin. Okay. That makes things a little easier. An eighteen year old virgin male? He'd fuck anything at this point. He's lucky it's me. Instead of pushing it, I smile lightly and pull my bottom lip in my mouth.
His eyes go past me and I turn to see Gary and the man turning towards us. I look back at Jonah, hope in my eyes. Fuck. I hate that shit too.
Once you hope for something, there's no chance of ever getting it.
Jonah's face goes red. "I'm sorry. I can't—he'll kill me."
My eyes squeeze shut. Time slows. I can hear footsteps as Gary and the other man walk back towards us, but no sound can compare to the hammering of my heart in my chest. Fuck. I hear Jonah's voice, calling out for his boss and suddenly I'm out of options.
I quickly turn, grabbing Jonah and pulling him towards me with a speed that catches him off guard. I reach behind my back, my hand wrapping around the handle of the gun in my waistband and I pull it out to press against Jonah's temple. He stills, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His hands raise in surrender. Meanwhile, I'm staring down a barrel myself.
"Put it down!" The man shouts, his hands much steadier than mine.
My eyes shift to Gary. He stares at me, eyes narrowed. I'm sorry, I mouth. I fucked up. Recognition flashes in his eyes, as well as annoyance. His hand moves, probably going for the gun he keeps on him. The man is having none of it. He pulls another gun, aiming it at Gary's head. Gary's hand stills.
"Don't fucking try it," the man growls.
"Please—" Jonah gasps, and I press my arm further against his throat.
"Shut up," I hiss in his ear. "You should have fucked me when you had the chance."
"Put the gun down!" The man says again, his voice like gravel. "Now, bitch!"
"Do not lower the gun," Gary says with a calm voice.
"Why don't I just make it easy?" The man hissed. He pulls the trigger. I flinch as the sound invades my ears and pull the trigger as a reaction.
And suddenly I'm falling backwards.
"Milan!" Someone shouts angrily.
My gun clatters to the ground. I feel dead weight on me and try to push it off, but to no avail. Suddenly, Gary's face appears above mine and the weight is lifted. I gasp, rolling over to see Jonah laying next to me. His eyes are lifeless, and yet staring right at me. Right through me. Blood pours from the wound in his head. Swallowing thickly, I push myself away from him and sit up.
"What—" my eyes lock on the other body on the ground. The man. Whoever the fuck he was.
"He—" I shake my head. "Why'd he kill him?"
"So you wouldn't have leverage. You'd have been next had you not fired immediately." Gary's hand extends towards me. I hesitantly take it, and he pulls me up. I'm immediately knocked right back down, and blood fills my mouth. I look up at Gary in shock, but he barely notices as he flexes his hand and locks his jaw. "Do you have any idea what you've just done, you insolent girl?"
I open my mouth to speak, but decide against it. I turn and spit out blood instead. His hand grabs at my chin, yanking it towards him so he can look me in the eye. A chill runs down my spine when I see the look in his eye.
"I'm sorry!" I run a hand through my hair. "I didn't think! I just—"
"No!" He picks my gun up and aims it between my eyes. "You didn't think. What did I say, hm? What did I say?!"
The words seem to get stuck in my throat.
He doesn't like that. He pressed the barrel into my skin, and I wince at how hot it is, but don't move. I swallow down spit and blood and part my lips to speak.
"That my life...was dependent...upon how good—"
"How good you are," he finishes. His jaw locks. "Clearly not very fucking good. Isn't that a disappointment?"
Tears blur my vision.
"You disappoint me, Milan. You're too reckless. You don't—" he pushes hard with the gun, forcing my head back, "—think. You just act. After everything I taught you, I expected better."
It was strange, but I felt...hurt. Humiliated. Because I'd disappointed him. He wasn't my father. Not by blood. Not in any other way. There were no similarities between him and my father. And yet...
I felt as if I'd disappointed my father. It was as if I'd let him down. And I had. Because that's what Gary had been. A...father-figure. He raised me, too.
And I disappointed him.
"I have no use for someone like you."
The tears fell. Desperation. Oh, how I hate it. It comes in ways you least expect it. It comes at moments you've been waiting for.
In this very moment, I realize two very important things. One: I'm desperate. For what, though? To live? To be better? Greater? To prove myself. Or am I just desperate. Probably
And two: I hate Gary. But I love him. And I don't want to disappoint him. I don't want to die at his hand. I don't want this to be it.
So I'm desperate. Just...desperate.
"No, please—" I'm shaking. I'm fucking shaking. "Please, I'm sorry. I'll do better. I'll—"
He pulls the trigger.