Page 29 of Scream For Me
Elias
Toxicity – System Of A Down
“Thanks, Yvonne,” I mutter, not even looking up from my desk.
Yvonne doesn’t reply; she just closes the door with a softclickbehind her. I hate working here at Circle HQ. There’s always someone who wants something, needs my signature, or my general fucking approval. That’s the perks of being the one in charge, I guess.
Yvonne is one of my best employees; she’s been here since the start, and she’s one of the best at what she does. So much so that she taught her husband everything she knows, and he works for me now, too. Who’d have thought that a syndicate like this would become a fucking family business?
I glance up at my screen, and my fingers twitch at the sheer amount of unread emails currently sitting in my inbox. I slide a hand down my face and click on a random email. It’s a report from Yvonne on the latest hack, totalling four million dollars. I let out a groan and light up a cigarette. I need the fucking nicotine if I’m going to be looking at numbers all day. I take a long drag, relishing the feeling of looseness in my joints.
It wasn’t always like this, but after I created The Circle and got rid of drugs, we needed something to bring in cash, orwe’d lose everything as quickly as we got it. Bridgeport had been rotting from the inside out long before I got my hands on it. Turf wars, petty kings playing dress-up, drugs bleeding through every street, every family, in every goddamn corner of the city. That’s why I created The Circle.
One by one, I pulled the gangs in. Some came willingly when they realized what I was offering—structure, protection, money without the constant threat of being wiped out by neighboring crews. The rest needed a little convincing, and I’m not ashamed to say that a few didn’t make it through the conversations.
And now? Everything runs through me. To anyone on the outside, it looks the same as it always has—just without the drugs and the general decay. Each crew still operate under their own name, with their own hierarchy and everything that comes along with it. But things are far from the same. Every deal, every shipment, every job—there’s a line that leads back to The Circle. Back to my crew and me.
Drugs were the first thing I cut, but not because it wasn’t profitable. But some things aren’t worth the money. Some things are just destruction wrapped in dollar bills. There are better ways to make money that don’t involve tearing families apart from the inside out. Hacking wasn’t something I’m good at—that came with Gareth. It started small, with a favor here and a favor there. People with too much money and too many secrets who were willing to pay to get their hands on someone else’s. It didn’t take long at all to realize just how fucking deep that well went. Now the rich pay us to tear each other apart from behind screens. Sometimes they want the money, sometimes they just want the damage or the secrets we find. But either way, the lives of rich people are quietly dismantled without a single shot fired, and that’s the way I want it to stay. Either way, we get paid.
The rest of the crews operating within The Circle handle the work that still requires a physical presence. Weapons running, private security for people who can’t trust the law to protect them, jobs that need to be…handled. I don’t like getting involved in that side of the business unless I absolutely have to.
My phone pings in my pocket, breaking me out of my reverie. I pull it out, and I can’t stop the lazy smile that forms on my face when I see it’s from Kat. I know I shouldn’t have her number, and taking it from the contracts the band signed is bordering on obsessive stalker territory, but I couldn’t help myself. I’m more impressed that I haven’t called her yet—I have more restraint than I thought. I open the message straight away.
KAT:
Thanks for last night. I’ll have your jacket dry-cleaned tonight.
ME:
Keep it, it looks better on you.
It’s the truth. The sight of her in my clothes last night sent my brain into some kind of fucking primal haywire. The typing bubble pops up immediately, but disappears again, and something inside my stomach pulls tight, and before I can think, I have another message typed.
ME:
How’s the knee?
It turns to read immediately, and the typing bubble doesn’t disappear this time.
KAT:
Still attached, so I think that’s a win.
I huff a laugh. It wasn’t a serious injury, just a few scrapes and a bit of swelling from what I could see. Although it still tookevery ounce of restraint I have in me not to peel off her jeans and study the wound and take care of her.
Fucking hell, Elias. Get it together.
ME:
You didn’t text me when you got home.
I definitely drove by her apartment about thirty minutes after she should have arrived, so I knew she was safe. I’ll forgive her for not texting me.
KAT:
I was tired, sorry. Hope I didn’t worry you ;)
I feel like a fucking teenager. What does that wink face mean? I tap out another reply before I can overthink.
