Razors M.C. Zero to 100 mph #2
Twenty-Seven

**

“I hate cloak and dagger but it’s imperative. I have some information that can blow a Senator’s re-election out of the water”.

“I’m listening”.

“If I give you information, will you help me to keep safe? Otherwise forget it”.

“What are you asking for? New name? New identity?”

“No!” Seb gasped, rubbing his hands together under the table. The small coffee shop was of little consequence, the owners went about their business as Seb looked at the reporter frustrated. “I don’t know. Anonymity. Safety. Protection from being prosecuted”.

“How big is this information?”

“Big enough! That Biological Centre wasn’t just intentionally broken into and torched, it was specifically targeted to prevent anyone ever finding out about a certain case”.

“Whose?”

“A victim of rape”.

“Rape happens all the time. Unfortunate, but fact. I remember everyone used that as an opportunity to boost their image, politicians, ratings for tv. Even our own paper rode that story”.

“This person did it to protect their political platform and stood beside all the protestors as a pro-rallyist, a Cameleon. Boosting his image, even though he was the one who instigated the whole thing. Gives propaganda a new meaning”.

“Why?”

Seb remained quiet and stared, his mind going a hundred miles an hour. It was his attorney who had suggested this avenue with very strict instructions.

“Give me something in writing first then I’ll talk”.

“In writing about what? You not being named? How do I know you’re not the sicko who broke into that building in the first place”, the reported said, resting the pen he was holding down on his notepad.

“A highly secured office building which is government leased I might add. Twenty-four-hour surveillance, world class face identification data recognition, automatic locking system which disable all lifts and vaulted doors which ... I might add, should have been impenetrable because they held sensitive files. Do I really look that clever to you?” Seb asked exasperated.

“Perhaps not ..." the reporter said and then amended ", no offense. But you could know someone who knows someone. Maybe you’ve got a snitch who is threatening to dob you in before they get caught”.

“I’m the one who doesn’t like cloak and dagger. Listen! Help me or I’ll find someone who will. There are plenty of reporters who’d murder their own mums for what I know”.

The man sat back and picked up his mobile phone, “Give me a minute or more?”

“Fine,” was all Sebastian O’Rourke said, sitting back and taking his first sip of his now tepid coffee.

“My editor wants a word before we proceed”, the reported said, nodding at Seb.

**

Christie parked her small SUV and began walking towards her psychology building unaware of her surroundings. Life had been immensely intense yet quiet since moving out of the dorm and living with her god-awful mother.

A contradiction of sorts as Christie no longer had the luxury to live life with a bottomless purse, instead she kept her coined pittance close. Her social life ceased being so carefree as well from sheer embarrassment, humiliation and a need to study with more determination than ever.

Her mum wore her designer label clothes without asking and drank money quicker than Christie earned down at the small record shop where she worked, but what bothered Christie the most, it didn't truly bother her at all.

Life just sucked! Even the bad was not that bad, deep down she knew it was but she couldn't go there. Her routine had become mundane on purpose to a degree so she would stop thinking about the what if's.

What if Mallie was innocent and didn't seduce her Daddy. What if she never had Mallie raped in the first place. What if she hadn't lied from the start, too enraged with anger to see the truth.

It didn't matter anymore, Mallie, her step-father, her ex-boyfriend and everyone didn't want to see Christie ever again. Therefore, until she got her degree, found financial security, moved far, far away she needed to just exist!

The reality for now, rent was behind, food was sparse, and having a hot shower was something she only dreamt about. Christie’s mum was behind with everything, even her own cognitive thought.

She was surprised her own mother even remembered who she was with the amount of alcohol she consumed.

“Just letting you know your peace and your future is now owned, by Me”, said this enormous man who blocked Christie’s path.

Christie stumbled, nearly lost the books she had clutched at her chest, her expensive shoe tipping sideways nearly twisting her ankle as she corrected her stance.

She just stared at this intimidating man in his leather jacket and black jeans, black leather boots. He had thick black hair too, but it was his green eyes, they held such contempt she couldn’t look away, dare not move nor speak.

“Christie O’Rourke, until I decide otherwise you will remain guilty. I have sentenced you to a life of remorse. Until we meet again ... and we will ..." Stone said stepping closer "... when you look over your shoulder, I will be the one watching, You. Can't right the wrong you've done, nor will you cause more harm”.

“Who are you?” she whispered. Petrified out of her mind, scared beyond comprehension, absolutely confused that she stood motionless with fear feeling a small trickle running down the inside of her leg.

Stone just chuckled, “A nightmare that will never go away no matter what I’ve been ordered”.

Mallie would not have liked his own interpretation of what she had wanted him to say, but it was said anyway, his way.

Stone never negotiated, never apologised twice. Disliked repeating himself, rarely changed his mind and his Méudail was his everything.

Stone walked towards his bike a very happy man; Christie was left near catatonic.

**

Mike Sheffield had finished work for the day, his office was still busy with staff when he looked down at his cell phone, wondering who would have sent such an odd message.

“Need any milk”.

**

Max had made the effort and was sitting down with his parents eating cold salmon with a white mustard sauce accompanied by scalloped potato's and honeyed carrots. A green salad, tossed in olive oil and vinaigrette was served to Mrs Sheffield instead of the cooked vegetables, her figure and appearance meant everything.

His stomach churned at the farce he called family, but he grinned and bared it.

“Glad to see your out of your room and have your appetite back son”.

“Thank you, father”. Sᴇaʀch Thᴇ FɪndNøvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“How are your studies coming along?”

“Marvelously”.

“No need to be smart Maximillion”, his mother retorted. Her immaculate dress and faultless makeup a contrast to her own snarky reply thought Max picking up his utensils.

If only they knew his truth... what he wanted? What he was!

“Dear, Dear! He’s made an effort; let’s all have a pleasant meal”.

The table was quiet, everyone held their thoughts to themselves as they ate in silence until Mike near choked on his glazed carrot.

“Dad?” asked Max showing a small amount of concern.

“Darling?” asked Mike’s wife, with more.

Mike had turned red and was finding breathing difficult, picking up his glass of white wine, he drank an uncouth amount of alcohol before swallowing the huge portion in his mouth, regaining some semblance of control.

“If you’ll excuse me, I forgot about a meeting all of a sudden”, he said dabbing his mouth with a freshly starched linen napkin.

Ignoring his wife, not even bothering to look at his son, Mike rose and ordered one of his men to have his car ready and waiting out the front of his home.

He needed to purchase some more milk! Urgently...

**

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