Page 2 of Mister Prick

El Fantasmawas real, he was walking sex, and he was the man I had fallen in love with. On the day we met I sold him a car. While we were on our test drive, he kidnapped a man, and then paid me nineteen thousand dollars to keep my mouth shut.

Since that day, the truth was getting harder to believe and increasingly impossible to divulge. Lies, on the other hand, were commonplace and rolled from the tip of my tongue with ease.

I wouldn’t change things if I could. The lies allowed us to continue living a life that was fast-paced, always entertaining, and rewarding in many ways. What he was doing may have been immoral in the eyes of many, but the few who clearly understood his means and methods would understand it as nothing but a necessity. In short, he did what he did for the betterment of mankind, and to cleanse the community of shit-hats like the one standing before me.

Fully prepared to tell yet another lie, I glanced up and met the hardened gaze of the man who was determined to beat me into speaking. As I did, I noticed a green eye staring back at me from between the door and the doorframe that was positioned immediately behind him.

My mouth twisted into a shitty little smirk. I liked it when Vince’s eyes looked green.

A confused look washed over my captor. Maybe he thought I was having a moment of clarity, or that the truth was going to spill from my lips.

“Oh, the Ghost?” I asked. “El Fantasma?”

The door behind my abductor opened a few more inches.

With his back to the door and unaware of who was behind him, stinky man grinned enough to expose his yellow teeth. “Yeah.” He slapped the leather strap against his open palm. “Where is he?”

I tossed my head toward the only door in the room. “He’s right behind you.”

It was the first time I’d told the truth all night.

1

Jessica

I hadtwo weaknesses that I would readily admit. My first was a good martini. If I drank more than one, however, my subconscious thoughts spewed from me like a geyser. My second was a confident man. In the presence of one, my knees went weak, and my ability to say no escaped me completely.

I never mixed the two.

Demanding, impetuous, and confident. Those would be the first three words I’d choose to describe Vince Devoe. Pleasing him was impossible and pissing him off was easy. His nickname was Mister Prick, and it wasn’t something that we came up with at the dealership. It was a name he’d earned in his day to day manner of living life. There were, however, a few qualities about him most people found noteworthy.

He was an intriguing man. A mysterious air surrounded him, and all who met him described him as fascinating. Additionally, he was handsome. Ruggedly so, to be honest. Lastly, watching him move was like seeing a miracle unfold. Each time he walked into the dealership, my eyes were riveted to him. His manner of walking exuded confidence, commanding the attention of anyone who witnessed it.

When he strutted through a crowd, men looked in the other direction.

Women stared in awe, hoping to absorb a moment of his swagger before he noticed them ogling him.

I had no idea how he earned his wealth, but I doubted it was legitimate. He’d purchased a few cars from the dealership I worked at, spending well over a hundred grand on each one. He negotiated the cheapest price possible, and always paid by pulling bound stacks of one-hundred-dollar bills from the leather satchel he carried with him.

Yet.

He didn’t have a job.

At least not that anyone knew about.

I gazed across my desk at him and thanked God we weren’t in a bar. Adding a martini to the equation would have proven disastrous, no doubt. Dressed in dark washed blue jeans and an untucked navy button-down shirt, he looked like a thirty-something Silicon Valley software executive. For a fleeting moment, I got lost admiring his handsome features.

His eyes were hazel, often seeming brown while other times glistening the greenest of green. A strong jawline arrowed toward his chin, and hallmarked his facial features. His short mop of brown hair was unkempt. He was forever neat, but his hair was always a perfect mess. Short of one almost indiscernible tattoo on the web of skin between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand, he had no others that I could see.

As he wrung his hands together, I stared at the dime-sized tattoo. After deciding it was a flower, I met his hardened gaze. “I can go one hundred forty-two thousand.”

Through slits, he shot a piercing glare in my direction. “One thirty-eight,” he said, his face expressing no emotion as he spoke. The pulse of the vein in the side of his neck gave hint to his determination.

His black look was meant to be intimidating, and it was working. I broke his glare, stood, and stepped to the corner of my desk.

I exhaled a dramatic sigh. “One forty-one, and that’s it. If you can’t find comfort in that price, I guess you’ll have to pick a different car. Maybe the 550i X-Drive?”

“I’d prefer walking to driving one of those underpowered bastards.” He raked his fingers through his hair as he stood. “You ever heard the phrase ‘meet me in the middle?’”