The Winston bully
1270 Words
Marcus poured me a drink and I took a large gulp. The glass hit the table a little harder than I intended it to but Marcus didn’t flinch.
“So,” he said, he spoke slowly as he swirled his drink, “you didn’t complete the mission."
I didn't say anything, I only looked at him.
Ice clinked in his glass as he took a sip, but his eyes never left mine.
“That’s not how I explained it.” His gaze sharpened. “There was someone on the staircase watching quietly.” Marcus dropped the glass down.
“Watching everything that was going on?” he asked.
I nodded. “Yes, if I moved any further… it wouldn’t have just been the mission at risk. I'd have been at risk too."
He leaned back, exhaling slowly. “You’re off the case.” The words landed like a bombshell
My head snapped up. “What?”
I pushed forward in my seat. “No. I can still do it.” He didn’t say anything rather he stared at his glass.
“Maybe not like that,” I continued quickly. “Not as a male model. But I can get back in. I can get his pictures.”
Marcus raised a brow.
“So you want another round for redemption?” he asked. “you want to go back there, so you'll be blindfolded and drugged?” My jaw tightened.
He watched me and then shook his head.
“I don’t think so.”
He reached into his coat and pulled out an envelope, dropping it on the table between us. “I’ve got something else. More suitable. Less danger involved.”
I didn’t touch it, it wouldn't offer much like the previous job. I thought to myself
“Open it.” Marcus said as he stared at me.
I dropped my glass down before picking up the envelope. The paper felt heavier.
There were photos inside.
I saw a young woman in her early fifties. Elegantly dressed in expensive fabrics, her posture stiff in every shot as if she knew she was being photographed.
I looked at another photo: It was a man in a wheelchair. I paused. "What's the mission here?"
Marcus leaned forward his hands propped on the oak desk.
“He has an engagement party tonight. They're of high-profile, you have to be careful because it can get messy”
I flipped to the next page. More details + More names =More money. I smiled at the thought. “How much?” I asked the question that mattered most.
“Six million.” My fingers paused on the paper. Marcus continued, his voice steady.
“She’s being forced into the marriage. It was all a family arrangement. But she doesn’t want to marry a cripple."
Another photo of the man in the chair. “She needs a way out,” Marcus went on. “And that’s where you come in.”
He nodded.
“You just have to create a scene.” His fingers tapped lightly against the table. “Something convincing enough to ruin the engagement.”
My eyes dropped back to the photograph and Marcus watched my face carefully.
“Well?” he asked.
My thumb slid slowly across the edge of the photo.
Six million.
I closed the file. “When do I start?”
"You have only three hours left."
I got up and Marcus didn’t move. He simply swirled the ice in his glass and watched me leave.
********************
I packed my hair in a low bun and decided to wear a black gown, the black silk hugged my waist and shaped my thighs before flowing to the floor.
I wore my diamond necklace since it's a high class event then I must look the part.
I complimented my dress with a red glove. "Destruction is here." I muttered to myself with a smile.
Finally, the mask. It felt cold against my skin, I needed it so incase things go sideways my pictures won't be on the internet.
I arrived at the scene and it was an outdoor engagement party, everyone was at the poolside. The only thing I could hear were strings, soft piano, laughter and clinking of glasses.
Lights shone in the water making it look clear and reflecting people's dresses, shoes, champagne flutes.
I stepped onto the stone path. My heels echoed with every step I took. I paused when I saw him.
The heir in a wheelchair, he was dressed in a black suit. He has curly hair which fell over his forehead, almost covering his eyes.
His hands rested lightly on the chair arms as he sat alone watching others interact with each other. It was his engagement party but no one talked to him.
I decided to stand there for a while, observing him.
Marcus appeared beside me, like a shadow. "That's him."
I followed the movement near him.
“Crippled come on! Let's dance!”
Three men grabbed the wheelchair, spinning him around. The wheels scraped against stone, he gripped the armrest for support so he won't fall over.
The didn't care, no one did. No one spoke up. They stopped and started teasing him. "Heyyy, get up and dance!! It's your party."
The chair tipped and It sent him falling to the floor before everyone's eyes. Laughter erupted from the bullies when he fell.
The older brother Noah Winston stood nearby, he was a quiet observer, he kept smiling the chaos, letting it unfold.
Noah Winston, Jace Winston's older brother, walked towards the wheelchair. He held half a bottle of champagne in his hand.
He poured the cold liquid on Jace, drenching his black suit. A wicked laugh broke from Noah’s lips.
Jace didn’t flinch. He just sat there, his eyes shut tight, his lips pressed thin as the liquid poured over his face.
The crowd didn’t move. They all watched and Angela sipped her wine from across the pool with an elegant posture her eyes calm.
Marcus whispered, “Here's his family history. Pay attention.”
"That's Angela Winston. His step-mother. But she's became a widow after marrying into the Winston's fortune. She had a son with another man. She drove her new husband Mr Winston to the edge until he jumped from the rooftop, leaving his businesses into her hands."
"Then that's her stepson, the one in the wheelchair, he's Jace Winston. He had had survived her schemes, but he lost his ability to walk. He had ensured her that he wouldn’t be a threat to her."
I swallowed and finished my glass in one gulp. My fingers tightened the mask on my face. It's time to act.
I moved through the laughing crowd, until I was close enough.
Noah barely noticed me until I shoved him into the pool. He fell in with a huge splash, sputtering, and gasping for air.
The shock froze the others.
I grabbed the empty champagne bottle which lay on the floor and swung it just enough hitting the head of one of the men who charged towards me.
The others screamed and scrambled backward, retreating inside the house.
I leaned down toward Jace, helped him unto his chair, brushing the soaked fabric from his shoulder as I guided him toward the house.
“Thank you,” Jace muttered when we got inside. His fingers were fidgeting with his wet clothes, tugging at the edges, trying to regain some control.
“You better leave now,” He said softly.
“If my brother comes out of the pool and sees you, you’ll be in trouble.”
- Writer
