She seems to have a spine made out of steel and the “man” in front of me is a coward. But as it turns out...a useful coward now, nonetheless.
“Lyla Andrews,” I tell him and he gapes. Ignoring him, I drum my fingers against the back of the chair. “Friend of yours?”
“Bestfriend,” he hisses, his eyes bulging “Why are you asking me about her? What have you done...?”
I cut him off. “She came by here earlier this evening, asking for you. Your dear friend thinks the Italians took you and she wanted me to help find you.”
Chuckling in amusement, I shake my head at the girl’s unforgettable audacity but Sorkin pales before he starts rambling.
“She came...she came here, looking for me?” He lets out a whimpering sound. “Oh, she must have been so scared, she must be so worried...” He stops himself, rattling the chains. “You stay away from her, you hear me? Stay away from her!”
I’ve always appreciated people who have others back but with Sorkin it rubs me the wrong way. It rubs me the wrong way they’re even friends in the first place. But then I would have never met Lyla.
“How long have you known the girl?” I ask and his eyes start blinking in a flutter.
“All my life.” He says it too quickly. “We’ve been best friends ever since we were kids. Inseparable. Nothing can ever come between us.”
I grunt, having a hard time believing that. Crossing my arms, I slightly lean back. “Tell me about her.”
“Why?” he says suspiciously and I sigh, disliking having my patience tested.
“Because I say so.” Whenever I spend any time with him, I’m tempted to kill him. Now more than ever.
Sorkin licks his thin lips. “She’s a ballerina for one. Her family lives down in Florida and she doesn’t see them that often. I’m the only one she’s got. If anything happened to me she’d be destroyed.”
“I’m sure she would,” I drawl. “Tell me what she likes to do,” I continue and Sorkin frowns.
“All she does is dance. Sometimes she knits. And she doesn’t know how to cook but she loves gourmet food. Spends most of her paychecks on restaurants.”
I nod carefully, making sure that I remember this information.
“Why do you want to know?” Sorkin’s frown deepens. “Why are you questioning me? What do you want with her?”
“What I want with her is between me and Miss. Andrews. Now,” my voice hardens, “does the little ballerina have a male in her life?”
Jerking his chin, Sorkin answers, “Yeah, she does.” I clench my fists. “Me.”
For those words alone, I backhand him, my clenched hand meeting with his pathetic jaw and he lets out a howling in pain. His head hangs and his breaths turn hysterical. Usually I enjoy watching lesser man suffer but my blood is boiling after his comment.
“You seem very fond of her,” I say, taking a deep, calming inhale. “Such a shame you will never get to see her again.”
Rattling the chains he cries, “If you hurt her, I fucking swear I’ll...”
“I have another fist. One more word from you and I’ll introduce it to the other side of your jaw.”
That shuts him up and I grind my teeth. The little shithead in front of me seems to think it’s his job to protect Lyla. And maybe it was...but now it is mine.
Slowly, lifting his head, he says between his cracked mouth. “What are you going to do with me?”
“For now, nothing,” I say sincerely. “You’re a lucky man despite everything. Your friend just saved your life.”
He nods weakly. “If you hurt me, she’ll never forgive you.”
A white-hot rage razors in me at his words. At the thought of Lyla caring so much about someone I despise.
“Keep talking that way and I will not care. Do not forget that I can end your life right here and right now, never tell about it to the little ballerina, let her think the Italian’s did it, then comfort her and let her cry on my shoulder.”
The face of my prisoner shakes, the small muscles of his features trembling. With a wide grin on my face, I turn my back to him, putting my hands in my pockets and walk away.