Power and Perfidy

Brad Miller

Fridays are usually not my best days, but I swear this one is way off the chart of bad. It's the worst.

I walk into my office to find my space a mess. I'm startled, but only momentarily because I remember that I did this. My anger always gets the best of me, despite how much I try to act like the suave guy.

The last person I want to see is my secretary that doesn't know when to shut it, so I pick the papers up and start arranging.

My eyes are met with a picture frame in the mess. Once, in a fit of anger, I threw the legendary frame over the table and it lost its glass.

I run my fingers through the copy as I get lost in a good moment. I used to have many of those moments, but not anymore. The picture in question was taken the day I knew I'd achieved everything I wanted. Love was checked, wealth was checked, power was definitely checked. But today, I squat here, troubled, with the thought of losing everything plundering my mind.

After a few minutes, I find myself in the toilet, on the seat, staring at the tap as it drops water after every couple of seconds. A dysfunctional faucet is a little therapeutic and I had no idea until now.

Today has been really bad, I can't even pretend to be all figured out. I think about the news I received from my woman shortly before my meeting and it makes me want to go back out there and empty the content of my shelf to the ground again.

How can anyone in their right state of mind do anything to provoke me?

Finally, after about ten minutes of a mental breakdown, I get on my feet and motion back into the office. Anger management therapies are useless, they never work. I don't think so. Or maybe I'm way restless than usual to do the exercises right.

But why wouldn't I be this hysterical? I got a call from Tatiana, telling me my right hand man, Honcho, who was kidnapped by my worst enemy, was killed this morning after spilling all he knew about my business.

I have a lot of enemies but Vicente Robles is certainly the worst of them all.

Honcho was in charge of ensuring nothing happened to not even a gram of my merchandise. He was kidnapped a few days ago by Vicente. I'm not exactly pained by his death, fuck no. I'd have killed him myself if he was released and made it back here. I'm more concerned about the information he gave Vicente about my upcoming deliveries. Those are classified information that should never make it to the enemy's desk. An enemy that is desperate for my operation.

The bastard is trying to sabotage my deals. Well, now he has every reason to want to ruin me after I put his wife's head inside a well designed box, in a fucking dispatch, and had it grandly delivered to him at his residence. I don't regret it. Not even a little bit, because no one, and I repeat, no fucking one sends men to my kitchen to steal my dinner, kill some of my chefs—who tried to escape out of fear—can go unpunished. I wish that was all he did; one of his men tried to put his hands on Tatiana. I'll remove even the skin of anyone who tries to hurt her.

Although he didn't openly admit it till date, I'm damn sure he orchestrated the whole thing. His moves are erratic and pointless. He's gameless and doesn't think before making certain decisions, mostly because he wants to make a point to me, and this makes his every actions very noticeable.

You're failing, Brad.

I smack my forehead and fling my suit over the swivel chair, grappling with the edge of my desk. Then I start drowning in my own thoughts...again. Lately, that's all the bastard makes me do; think of my whole twenty nine years of living, and I do it in the most condescending manner.

I've been a successful Drug Baron for five years, a fucking Executive, a man with a seat in the Command Deck, a man the whole of Mexico and a huge part of the United States depend on for the good stuff. I can not, and I mean ever, let a man twice my age - a man who came out of no where, a man with no background data, a man with no goddamn past - come screw me over. He's after my wealth, my power, my chair...my life!

All these threats, and I'm still not going to agree to his terms and conditions in respect to taking place as his second in command. A second in command doesn't have a seat in the Command Deck, a second in command is a good-for-nothing that will never be chosen before a boss's son. Plus, why'd I even want to hand Vicente what I've worked so hard to achieve?

This business isn't about age, it's about competence. And I, who's very competent, make the rules around here.

Just me.

Nobody else.

My door swings open, sending in a fierce breeze. I turn around to see Tatiana walking in, terrified about the scattered papers I'd angrily thrown to the floor again.

"Brad, are you alright?" Her concerns are clearly unwanted.

But yes, I'm fine. Can she not see that I'm doing absolutely great?

Letting my heavy legs lead me to the swivel chair, I sink in it.

If I didn't know me enough, I'd think I've been subdued, because thinking about my next actions has not exactly been easy since Vicente strung along. Just three years, I'm surprised in this short time, he's been able to build a threat this huge on me.

"You need to calm down," Tatiana calls out in a pacifying tone. She takes the sling of her bag off her shoulder, takes a step further and halts.

"And how am I supposed to do that?"

I'm surprised she's not anxious about this, why she is calmer than I am. I wasn't the one who was almost raped by one of this man's men.

"You're thirty next month, Brad. You need to start getting your shit together." She drops to her knees and starts picking the papers off the floor. Of course she'd clean it up, thats what she does in my life and Underground. "This is unacceptable."

I stare at her in complete disgust at her words before banging the table. "You know what's unacceptable? Vicente in my business."

My bizarre tone jerks her to a standind position, and with hesitancy, her eyes rake me down-up. Maybe through me, because it sure as hell feels like they're about to dagger me. She finds composure and moves to the shelf with the papers in her hands.

I look over my shoulder. Admittedly, I do it to look away from her for a while. I hate to yell at her, I'll always feel bad about it right after. Until I hear her speak again, I don't look in her direction.

"I'm not saying you shouldn't get mad, but disorganising your space isn't going to fix anything and you know this." Her shifty Italian accent slips out a bit. Seems like all I needed to calm my nerves was the solemn sound of her voice.

"Che figo," (how awesome) I say with a slight eye roll and completely lean in the chair as my tension eases out a little.

Suddenly, my temples that were raging start finding rhythm. I face her lean yet curvy figure and gawk at her through the process of arranging the top of the scattered shelf.

I was too upset earlier to notice she's wearing a color that, when contrasting with her skin, turns me on. I love blue on her, especially this shade—midnight. Her loosely tied blonde hair partially covers her entire back from being exposed. The dress has a deeply cut neck line that stops mid-spine.

I assess her a while longer before I make out the compliment with a raspy tone. "This dress looks fucking sexy on you." My thumb brushes against my chin.

She chuckles. "Stop it, Brad, there are more important things to discuss," she says with unmistakable humor, but I know it means 'Thank you.'

Yes, she is the complete opposite of me when it comes to dealing with compliments. I'll say she has always been that shy person.

I catch her smiling faintly from the side as she struggles to concentrate. "For real. How long have you had the dress?" I taunt her some more, tilting my head to have a clearer look at her lips as they twitch to hide that smile.

"Long enough for you to notice it," she eventually says, refusing to turn around even though she knows where I'm driving at.

Not like she's still arranging anything, she's just gaping at an organized shelf and probably looking for a little piece of paper that doesn't align with every other one. I'll blame that on her obsession for precision.

"Look," she starts. "I didn't exactly say you shouldn't worry about Vicente," her words follow a sigh. "I just said, don't let your anger get the better of you. I mean, what have you learned in your anger management classes?"

Her humorous giggle makes me laugh.

Having a fitting quote for everything I do is something I now find more of a joke than a lesson. And, I was actually wrong; she's not exactly unbothered like I thought, she is just better at keeping her shit together. But It's not the same for a man who has a family to protect. Who has her to protect.

She finds a piece of paper sneaking out of the heap and pushes it back in, then she turns around to face me, partially leaned against the shelf for support. "Sophia didn't only call to inform me about Honcho's death." Her voice deepens, "She also said Vicente was spotted going into the ANS headquarters with a briefcase and came out empty handed."

If you think my right hand man dying is sad news, I assure you this is way worse. Even though I've been expecting this moment for a while now, I didn't quite prepare my emotions for it.

She ignores my loud huff. "Now I don't know if that was just a show."

"What's he showcasing?"

"That he'd serve proof to Dante. Proof that this bank makes drugs, proof that you're affiliated with the Executives. Proof that you're a Crime Boss. Isn't that enough highlight?" She's yelling now, "Get him out, Miller."

Miller. Creative of her to call me that. And very fucking typical when she's indirectly trying to say I'm inept but wouldn't dare say it to my face.

"He could unravel the mystery all he fucking wants, but there's no way in hell that son of motherfucker would have proof to give Dante and the whole Anti-Narcotic Squad." I try to lecture her, because anxiety is sure getting in the way of her thought process. "Don't dance to his tunes, babe. Vicente is such a terrible actor."

"Do I look like a vixen?" Her frown deepens into a scowl. "We're talking a major burst-in if the ANS has a lead that you're an Executive—a fucking crime boss—and this supposed bank is a laboratory for making narcotics." She snaps her fingers in a fit of temper to call back my straying mind. "Are you even paying attention to what I'm saying?"

"Yes..." I look at her. It's funny how she accuses me of mislaying my temper. "Yes, I'm listening. I'm just not getting why you don't trust me to have this under control."

Tatiana sighs and rolls eyes. "Brad, Vicente has an alliance with the Anti-narcotic Squad. He'd destroy you."

A frown laces my face, I tsk and begin to bite the insides of my mouth, my nerves on the edge. "So what you're saying in essence is Dante finally collected his money?" Resting my elbows on the desk, I ask the obvious. "Why is every bastard with a badge worse than criminals?" My question bounces back to me.

"Vicente is way, way ahead of us now. He's being backed by the law."

"That bastard!" I yell and bang the table.

"We need to come up with a better plan that doesn't involve planting evidence here and there and waiting for him to get caught by the ANS and sent to prison, because apparently, that's never gonna happen If he keeps crediting Dante's account."

A strained laughter escapes my mouth as I try to pull myself together. The thought of all that is happening is sickening me. Dante is supposed to be the Chief of Police of the Los Cabos Anti Narcotic Squad and he's frivolously entertaining a popular Drug baron? This country is a fucking joke.

"What are we going to do next?" Tatiana picks on the hem of her dress and pulls a loose thread out of it, distracting herself from my reaction. A habit I've always known her to possess whenever she's downcast.

The only reasonable thing is to eliminate Vicente...if it were that easy. Him and I have a lot in common, I'm forced to accept, but there can never be two of me in one country. It's either me or me. I've tried my best to co-exist with the bastard, believing he poses no threat, but he keeps sticking his nose in my fucking business. And I've had it with him. Taking him out has been on my to-do list since he came here.

Why even Los Cabos? This is my city. Mine!

Aside his crookedness, I don't know anything intriguing about the old fool.

Nine out of ten of my deliveries that get obstructed or vandalized is caused by Vicente—who has little or no control over his stupid men, or him actually giving his men the go ahead just to prove a point to me. Then the remaining one? It is Vicente stealing from me with the help of my disloyal men. Tell me why I should put up with this?

The heels of Tatiana's shoes colliding with the laminated tiles bring my attention to her, and I take her in with one cheerless glance as she walks towards the floor-to-ceiling window to my acute left.

"Are you not going to say anything?" She halts in front of the window and stares outside; down the eleven floors.

What is there to say?

I stifle a sigh after my search for words of comfort turns futile. I'd rather not say anything than have to lie about the situation, because right now, I really have nothing under control. Maybe not everything, because there's still one thing I can control at this moment, and it's her emotions.

So, concluding I should do exactly that, I get up and walk to her from behind. I cup my arms around her waist, a forty-sixty mix of lavender and orchid hitting my senses, then I place my chin on her shoulder. "When was the last time I made you come?" I breathe down her neck, spinning her around to have a good look at her worried eyes.

"I- I don't..."

I shush her at once, my finger against her lips. We stare at each other in heated passion for a few seconds but it seems endless. Well, that is before I replace my finger with my tongue. I dig into her warm mouth with determination, like there's a price at the end of the kiss. The price may be to see her sexy on my desk.

She doesn't kiss me back immediately, I can tell she's contemplating it.

Eventually, her warm lips brush against mine and the feeling makes me harden. Whatever it is that courses through my veins makes me push her further and further until she bumps into the window and I'm caging her there. I love it whenever there's nowhere for her to run and she's surrendering. She's most beautiful whenever she's completely ready for my indulgences.

I take my lip away from hers and move them to her ears. "It's been three days."

We both stop to laugh over it. It is ever that long?

I pick a lock of her golden hair and twist it. I should tuck them behind her ear, but the shade is always so adorable dangling down her meek face, so I drop as much strands as I can over her relaxed cheekbones.

I raise her chin up till her toasty topaz eyes meet mine. There's something dangerous about my relationship with the Italian, no matter how well aware I am that I possess her, it always feels like this is a sin, and that my punishment will be losing her.

The thought of losing her sounds like death to me, it's worse than having to lose everything to Vicente, because in some way, I'm doing everything to keep her, and safe.

The next thing I feel is Tatiana's weight on me. She holds on to the back of my neck and wrap her legs around my waist for support.

Without delay, my fingers stroke her back, causing her to tilt her head slightly backwards, well, too much that she clinks against the glass.

I like that she has given my lips enough room to make their way to her neck. I leave light kisses on her because I know it gives her butterflies. I know no one ever makes her feel the way I do.

I push her up, widening her thighs and then I move towards my table. It screeches, complaining about her weight as I place her to sit at the edge of it.

In the heat of the moment, I'm unable to hold myself from talking. "I'd die if he puts his hands on you." I bite on her ear lobe softly, and she gasps. "You're mine, Tatiana. Mine."

I always remind her, because I know what Vicente thinks of us. He knows how much revulsion I feel about another man being close to her at all. So he's been doing everything to punish me with that. He had the balls to send a man to touch her, to try to taint her.

Tatiana holds on to my shirt tightly, squeezing it and pulling me towards her. My fingers don't wait, they start exploring the inner parts of her thighs.

She always likes making a case that my kisses don't throw her emotions all over the place, so I get why she's still trying to have a conversation with me, even though she's already sloppy about it. But when my middle finger brushes against her clit, she pulls my neck till my lips meet hers and quietens herself.

Her hands are working overtime, pushing her dress up with the right, because the other is busy stroking the back of my neck.

As soon as her dress climbs over her hips, I take my hands there to have access to the places I've been dying to touch.

Just then, my phone rings.

Is anyone allowed to have a good time around here?

"Hostia puta." (Fucking shit) I contemplate taking it.

When the thought of it being information from an Intel crosses my mind, I slide my finger out of Tatiana and lick every inch of it, looking dead into her eyes. "Good as always," I say and give her a soft kiss on her forehead.

Then, I walk to where my phone sits.

I expected this, he couldn't even wait a fucking day to gloat. Pig!

"It's Vicente," I announce as I try making myself comfortable on the chair. I loosen the grip of my tie around my neck with and hit the answer button.

Before I can get the chance to spit out venom in form of words, Vicente starts talking over me. He just wouldn't stop blabbering.

"You think I didn't know that already?" I ask him, after he informs me about Honcho's death.

"But what you don't know is, he's in a fucking box. I know the birthday present is a bit early, but good things can't wait." He chortles aggressively, almost choking on his own saliva.

I put an end to his stupidity once I disconnect the call. I squeeze my phone so hard till it pops out of my hand. It lands on the table. The broken screen doesn't even bother me.

"What did he call to say?" Tatiania probes with a puzzled expression, clearing her hair to the side.

I know I shouldn't annoy or worry her more. "Nothing I didn't already know." I brush it off with a slight wave of my palm. "How about we continue from where we stopped?" A smirk laces my cheeks as I cajole her back to her prior position.

I hate it when there's fire, she completely shuts down and acts like we're adulterers at the verge of being caught.

Unfortunately, before I crawl to her, she hits me with an uninterested look.

"Not now, please." And then she jumps off the table, pulling her dress back down to her knees.

I watch her grab her bag off the table. She stares at me for a bit; maybe deliberating what to say next.

Her words don't form, so I go ahead, "Okay, go home. Once I'm done here, we could go have dinner anywhere you want."

She slips out of her thought and shakes her head. "Maybe I should cook. What would you like to have for dinner?"

Still trying to hide how rejected I feel by forcing a smile, I think through my cravings. Tatiana makes great food. The thought of her last dish waters my mouth. I shrug and smile at her. "Anything that has your Italian touch."

She throws me a forced smile, does an eighty degrees and walks away.

Just when she's halfway across my office, my attention falls back on her because she calls out to me. I invite the question with raised brows.

"Don't forget you're meeting up with my brother this evening."

"I wouldn't dare." That came out way too confident for a person who already did. Even if I didn't remember I was meeting up with him, she knows she just reminded me.

And I know she's doing all of this to stop me from mocking the imbecile. He finally wants to make something out of his life and I should give him that chance. He said he wanted to meet up to introduce me to a new client. I don't know that I like working with people that roll with Ricardo, but he's promising that the guy pays heavy.

At the meeting, we'll figure out how to split profit since he has the contact and I have the drugs.

I'll just leave the nothing I'm doing here and schedule the meeting right away before I forget again. I'm doing this for Tatiana, because I always want to see her fulfilled. Happy. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't listen to Ricardo.

I put a call through to him and he agrees to meet up with me at a popular café down town in thirty minutes.

Admittedly, it's fulfilling to be regarded with high esteem. I never thought a day like this would come, but I worked it out myself. Being an Executive isn't a title that is handed over. It's fucking earned. Men work their way to the top and get to seat in a room full of other crime bosses to decide how the underground works. So far, I'm the only one to ever walk into the Command Deck at age twenty five. Presently, I'm still the youngest Executive.

It's called fucking achievement.

In order to continue maintaining these achievements, I have to focus on getting Vicente out, else he'd knock me off my seat. He's a big competition, especially since he's doing it mostly to prove that him in hos chair - which is a bloody lie. He always decides to use my plans for his dirty work and then takes credit for it.

I shove my thoughts away to glance at my watch. Ricardo is not exactly a late human being, he isn't punctual, either. he's somewhere in between. In order not to wait too long on him or him on me, now is the best time to leave.

I stare at myself briefly In the mirror, smoothing out my hair, my head tilted to ensure nothing looks out of place. My lips trim a cocky smirk.

"Keep moving at this impressive speed, Miller," I whisper softly. "Ellos no saben nada de poder." (They know nothing about power)

After admiring myself enough to notice nothing, I walk my way out of my office, slamming the door right after me.