He slid into his seat, eyes sharp, scanning the room. Every movent seed chanical—waiters pacing in circles, custors chewing without a word. The silence pressed against him. Too stiff. Too strange. His gut twisted. What if she’s here?
Unable to sit still, Timothy rose, scanning the corners before making for the restroom.
He should’ve trusted his instincts.
At the far side of the restaurant, unnoticed by him, Jean Bassett lounged in a short skirt and black top. Across from her sat a man cloaked in a flowing white thobe, his golden eyes calm yet cutting as they held her in place.
"You deserve this," he murmured, voice smooth as steel. "More than this, even."
Jean’s lips curled into a sly grin. She leaned in, her tone playful yet reverent. "Co on, boss—you know I’d do anything for you."
With each bite the boss took, Jean’s smile deepened, her eyes never leaving him—as though his every move confird her loyalty.
He lifted his head, his golden eyes gleaming as he said, "One of the pigs you asked to keep watch has signalled; he’s here as predicted."
Looking puzzled, she asked, "Who, sir?"
He cleaned his mouth with a napkin before answering Jean. "Timothy Slinger, I did tell you we were coming here for him, right?"
Jean replied. "Sorry, bossy, you’re in my head; there’s no way I’ll have soone else take that spot."
He smiled. "Okay then, call the waiter."
Jean lifted her hand and gave a small wave to catch the waiter’s attention at the desk. In a matter of monts the waiter arrived, and the boss pulled out a white paper from his chest pocket, instructing the male waiter. "Give this to Timothy Slinger. He handed it to the waiter; as he collected it, slight contact was made between the two. Disgust ford on the boss’s face; he instantly picked up his napkin, rubbing his hands, and he retorted.
"You filthy pig, must you touch ? Leave this instant."
With no word but a nod, the waiter left. The once disgusted look on the boss slowly slipped away, a grin curling across his face as he said, "Now we wait."
[Narrator]:
Oh, this is bad. You see where this is going, right? Let’s see how it plays out."
****
The restroom doors opened, and out ca Timothy—hands wet, placed at the dryer. As he made his way to his seat, he had a quick look at the surroundings.
It feels different; I knew I was overthinking.
As soon as he settled into his seat, soone appeared; he looked up only to see it was waiter Arjun.
"Don’t you guys have custors? I’m not ordering now—I’ll call later," he quipped.
Arjun didn’t leave; he slipped out the paper he was given, and as instructed, he was to give it to Timothy. Timothy’s eyes narrowed, suspicion clear as he reluctantly took the paper. He opened the paper slowly, his eyes narrowed as he read:
A word with you, good sir.
He stood up, his tone sharp. "Who is it?" Arjun pointed to the seat of the sender.
Every step he took ca with a thought.
Who is this, and what do they want? At first I thought sothing was off, then it seed calm, and now this. His fist tightened.
He got to the seat; smiling at him was the boss—who greeted him. "Good day, sir, my na is Al-daeem," he said, pointing at who sat in front of him. I’m pretty sure you know who this is."
Timothy turned to see who the other person was. The mont his eyes landed on her, recognition struck—Jean Bassett. His face darkened as anger crept in; his clenched fist went up, coming down fast into Jean, but sothing was wrong. He couldn’t hurt her; sothing was in the way. It wasn’t visible, but he gave another punch, and the invisible barrier was there to cover.
Al-daeem called to him. "Mr. Timothy, I’ll never let you hit one of my own." No words from Timothy, eyes just fixed on Jean; she took her tongue out, mocking Timothy. He yelled. "Who the hell are you?"
Al-daeem’s golden eyes dropped in disappointnt, he said. "I thought I introduced myself earlier, but okay, let say it again: my na is Al-daeem, and I am the leader of the Retribution."
His veins on his arm popped out; Al-daeem took a look at it and told him. "It’s no use; my Golden Shield will deflect it."
His tone was laced with anger. "You—you’re the boss. You’re a coward hiding behind a shield."
Al-daeem cut in, shaking his head. "Nope, I’m no coward. I don’t have to do anything yet; I have allies for all this. He leaned forward. You see, Timothy, I’m a big fan of your work, a huge fan. I love your discipline; it’s remarkable, but—his tone dropped, saddened—you’re on that side. I wish you could join us but you won’t."
His voice toughened as he said. "You’re damn right I won’t join your madness."
Al-daeem turned to Jean. "You see this, Jean; he’s stubborn."
Jean, with her ever ridiculous smile, answered. He sure deserves what’s coming to him."
He pointed to Timothy, sighing. "I didn’t want to bring you into this, but you keep interfering, and I can’t take it anymore. My guys are upset with for sparing you."
His brown eyes lasered in on Al-daeem as he stood, waiting for an opening to strike. What ca next from Al-daeem hit him like a bullet.
"I thought if I killed your friend you’d keep calm but no you ca through and—"
Timothy cut him off; his face paled at the revelation, and he stuttered. "You—you killed Cecil."
Al-daeem answered. "Yes, I did, but not directly," disappointnt still lingered on his face, he added. Jean sent the killer to him."
His face twisted in pain at the words and the revelation of who caused his friend’s death. He asked. "Why bring the innocent into this if it’s you want?"
Jean teased. "Awww, what a friend."
Al-daeem yelled. "It was your arrogance and the sa stubbornness that you show that brought about his death. After the ssage of phase one, I thought you’d still be down, but you fought back, and I applauded you. He hit the table slightly. As soone who cares about you, I thought about helping you and tried adopting the boy, but you kept on refusing; even today you still do."
Upon hearing this, his mind was racing:
So he had been the one; he’s the main culprit. Jefferson and lissa are not safe.
Al-daeem cut him from his thoughts. "Don’t overthink things, friend. I want you to put on a show for ."
A shadow of sadness lingered in his eyes as he spoke. "I’ll never do what you ask."
Al-daeem’s golden piercing eyes locked on Timothy’s; his voice carried madness. "If you don’t, it’s just one call, and I’ll have the boy and his mother dead."
Timothy’s face went down; he had been beaten. Al-daeem said to him. "It seems you’ve been countered. Okay, this is what I want from you. He spread out his hands. All these pigs you see here need to be slain; you’re the butcher, and this is your slaughterhouse."
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