Page 26 of The Man I Hate

Pratt returned with two masks. He tossed the Brian Cranston “Heisenberg” mask to me. He quickly donned the realistic-looking Jennifer Anniston mask and adjusted the eyeholes into place.

“Be back in a minute,” he said in a muffled tone.

In a few moments, the sound of women screaming caused Sophia to wince. Illegible demands from Pratt followed. More screaming. A muffled conversation. The sliding door slammed closed. The whimpering from the pool area fell silent.

“Let’s go, Jake,” Pratt shouted from below.

I pulled on the mask and gave the room’s two occupants a nod. “Don’t forget what I said. You don’t want him to come back here, believe me.”

I bounded down the steps two at a time and met Pratt at the vehicle. He opened the back door and tossed a bulging pillowcase inside. Wearing an orange bikini and sandals, Mica stood at his side with an annoyed look on her face. A neon green leather bag was draped over one shoulder. Her bikini top was barely large enough to cover the nipples of her DD-cup breasts. The bottom was wedged between her butt cheeks, leaving ninety-nine percent of her youthful ass exposed. Half-naked and obviously annoyed, she had no apparent idea what was going on. The look on her face made it clear she didn’t care to hear any details of why she was being dragged away from the home.

Wondering if being kidnapped was on her wish list, I took off my mask. Upon recognizing me, she smirked.

“I thought I was being kidnapped for ransom,” she said, seeming disappointed. “I should have known I couldn’t be so lucky. He’ll never let me grow up.” She looked at Pratt and then at me. “How much is he paying you?”

Trying to maintain a professional posture, I cleared my throat. “That’s confidential.”

She cocked her hip. “I’ll give you more.” She eyed me up and down before I could respond. “A lot more.”

“Sorry,” I replied. “We’ve got an agreement.”

Pratt guided her into the back of the vehicle and climbed in at her side. I took the driver’s seat and locked the doors.

“Are you taking me to that creepy attorney?” she asked. “To his office?”

I glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror. “That’s the plan.”

“Oh, hell no,” she snapped back. “Take me to your house. Or some random 7-Eleven. Have my dad pick me up somewhere or meet you, or whatever. Anything. That attorney’s a fucking creep.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because,” she replied. “He’s gross.”

“Our instructions were to deliver you to his—”

“He creeps me out,” she whined.

“Sorry,” I replied.

“He wants you to take me there so he can stare at my tits and make suggestive comments about sex,” she complained. “He’s nasty.”

Her boobs were clearly intended to be the focal point of her sparse wardrobe. I had no idea how she expected someone to look elsewhere.

“Nasty or not,” I replied. “He’s the one who hired us.”

“He. Tries. To. Fuck. Me,” she interjected snidely. “He always rubbing his dick when he talks to me. If I go in there wearing this, he’ll probably try to rape me. Do you want that to happen?” She glared at me through the rearview mirror. “Are you into that kind of crap?”

Despite his instructions to do so, taking her to Crenshaw’s office now seemed like a terrible idea. Being creepy in a twenty-year-old’s eyes was one thing. Forcing oneself upon them sexually was another. While I mulled over my options, Mica continued.

“Take me to your house,” she said, appearing perturbed that I’d consider anything else. “Or just take me to my dad’s.”

Pratt rolled down the window and tossed the pillowcase and its contents onto the side of the road. “You can drop her off at my house,” he said, fighting not to laugh. “I’ll look after her.”

I adjusted the rearview mirror and shot Pratt a glare. If she went with him, he’d be fucking her before I backed out of the driveway.

In my opinion, I had only one option. “I’ll take you home with me,” I said. “You’ll be safe there.”

“Safe?” She smirked. “Too bad I can’t say the same about you.”