A DEAL WITH THE BOSSY BILLIONAIRE

The Bait

Nolan's POV

I was completely disoriented, dizzy, and unsure of my reality. All I could picture was whether the afterlife was real. The panic in the air was palpable. Cars screeched to a halt, other vehicles crashed into each other, and the loud blaring of horns filled the atmosphere. I could hear the clicks of cameras from nearby passersby taking pictures, and soon the wail of ambulance sirens pierced through the chaos.

I was weak and unable to move. All I could think about was the dead detective. It felt like I was reliving my life in a cycle of karma—a life that would always involve someone dying. It’s true what they say: if you take a life once, you’ll take many more in return.

I tried to stand up, but my right foot was stuck, and I couldn’t free myself since I was still cuffed. To make matters worse, the detective’s body was on fire, and amidst the chaos, my phone rang. Using my teeth, I tried to retrieve it from the dashboard, but it slipped out of reach. Desperate, I had no choice but to break my left wrist bone, freeing myself from the cuffs, though it left my hand bleeding profusely.

Once my hands were free, I released my stuck foot, which was fractured. I hoped the paramedics would reach me, but it seemed I was being ignored. I tried to open the car door, but it was jammed—blocked by the truck that had rammed into the detective’s car. If I tried to escape through the other side, I’d be met with a leaking fuel tank and an open flame right by my seat. Opening that door would mean a certain explosion, and I wasn’t ready to die.

Out of options, I refocused on the incessantly ringing phone in my evidence bag. Using my free hand, I managed to grab the phone and answer it.

"Hello! I thought you wouldn’t answer. I assumed you were dead already, but luck must be on your side," the caller said.

"Who is this?" I asked.

"Let’s skip introductions and get straight to business, shall we?" the caller replied.

I tried to identify the voice, hoping to recognize a familiar enemy, but the caller had masked their voice.

"Fine. As you can see—or hear, or whatever—I don’t have much time. In a few moments, the vehicle I’m in will blow up if I don’t get rescued. So how about you help me get out of this mess, and I’ll consider listening to whatever proposal you have?" I said.

"Hmm... tempting, but no. Sorry! I just feel we’ll bond better if you’re in a life-or-death situation, which, of course, you are now," the caller replied.

"Fine," I said, feeling the heat from the fire and smoke burning my skin bit by bit. "What... (I coughed and covered my nose) do you want?"

"It’s simple. What does any man want in life? Some want wealth, others fame, and others women. But I want something more, and trust me, it is..."

With the heat of the fire increasing, I interrupted, "Damn it, just get to it already and get me out of here!"

"It’s okay, calm down. We’re all friends here, right?" the caller teased.

"Will you, for God’s sake, get to the damn point and get me out of here!" I screamed in anger.

"Fine, we wouldn’t want you dying on us. Okay. I need you to kill someone for me," the caller said.

"Sorry, I don’t do that anymore. I quit," I replied.

"Okay, if you say so. I’m sure the newspapers will give you a nice front-page view," the caller said.

I was weak and coughing heavily as the fire increased. In desperation and with wild tears, I screamed, "Okay, I’ll do it! Just get me the hell out of here!"

"Better still, I’ll take you to your target location. Thanks for doing business with me," the caller said and hung up.

"Okay, just get me the hell out of here!" I screamed, only to realize the call had already ended. I had inhaled too much smoke during the call, and I fainted.

Before I knew it, I was kidnapped, shoved into a blue Mercedes-Benz van with the Chandler Enterprises logo on it. I was blindfolded, my ears were blocked, and I was put into a body bag after being tied up with a rope—no ordinary rope, but the kind that burns you if you struggle. All I could think of was whether this was my last day on Earth or if this was some big prank. Either way, it wasn’t pretty, and even in this uncertain situation, I found myself craving a hotdog and ice cream—possibly because I had a clue that Sia might be behind my kidnapping.

The van pulled over, and I was dragged in the body bag to an abandoned warehouse in a far, remote area, away from civilization—a perfect hideout for inter-gang or drug deal operations, as well as a place for body dumping.

It was around dusk, somewhere between 5 pm and 7 pm. I could smell the hard work of laboring nude women packaging drugs, the villainous bulldogs barking loudly, their chains held by bodyguards. The warehouse was more of a fortress, and not just that—I could smell cash, likely over 700 billion, along with grades of arms and ammunition. After a few minutes, my body hit the ground, and I could hear a conversation between my kidnappers and the one who had ordered my abduction.

Although I couldn’t make out any words, I sensed that I was in big trouble. Soon after, I was gagged, tied with rope, and a s*x toy was used to seal my mouth. I was dragged again, this time into an elevator, which I guessed took us ten floors down. As soon as we reached the tenth floor, all I could smell was toxic waste mixed with blood and tears from prisoners, the beating of someone for information, gunshots, and the stench of melting metal. After dragging my aching body through 58 rooms, I was finally pulled into a room. My body bag was opened, and my mouth was ungagged. The only words the masked kidnapper said to me were, "Enjoy Hell."

That alone terrified me. The room I was in was indeed a prison—one in terrible shape. I could see the claw marks of people who had tried to escape. The door was titanium, with no windows, the floor was icy cold, there was no bed to sleep on, and the light was too bright. The walls were infested with flying roaches, and the room still contained the bones of previous prisoners. At that moment, I knew I was in real hell and utterly hopeless. If I had known, I would’ve kept my lips shut and never opened up to Detective Skull—if that’s even his real name. Or maybe I trusted him because he was Canadian, or maybe I just needed someone to talk to.

At least I was free from Callu and didn’t have to kill kids who failed to meet their drug quota or r**e the daughters of unwilling shop owners who refused to let their shops be used as drug fronts. But at least with Callu, I had my limits. Now I’m supposed to kill for someone who orchestrated the detective’s death and crashed into his car just to make me do his dirty work. To make things worse, I was wearing a hand splint and had to walk with crutches...