The F King: A Bad Boy Romance(34)

I swung my chair round to face him and sucked air in through my teeth. “I dunno man, this is some potent shit. There’s not many Italians that could handle it.”

Somehow, I managed to contain my smug smile as I played him like a fucking maestro. His eyes widened in surprise and he almost choked on his sudden sense of bruised ego.

That was one thing I could always count on with these Acardi fucks, a massive sense of self-importance that was easily manipulated. What the fuck was their induction process like that they were so genuinely surprised when somebody didn’t lick the ground they walked on?

“You mouthy fuck, I was droppin’ acid when the best-”

I held up my hands and waved him down before he could recount the lengthy history of Italy, his family, the Acardis, and how badly he’d fuck me up.

“Take it easy, take it easy. I’m just saying, it’s potent shit. Tell you what, just to show you I meant no disrespect, how about this, alright? You can take one for free, but just chill out here for a while and see how it hits you? You like what it does, then you can buy enough for yourself and that dick sucking raver girl to have a hell of a night, OK?”

My new friend straightened his suit and raised his chin proudly as if he’d really asserted himself well. “Yeah. Alright. Fuck it, I’m clocking out for the night.”

Oh he had no idea.

“What’s your name, man?”

“Tony.”

“OK, Tony,” I said, opening the bag and tearing off a square with a picture of a grenade on it. “Here you are. Down the rabbit hole you go.”

“Hey, thanks, maybe you’re not so bad.”

Tony put the tab on his tongue and scratched his neck awkwardly. I could see he was the kind of guy who had to decide how low to stop shaving his face and say “OK, this is chest hair now.”

“Take a seat, man,” I said, gesturing at the spare office chair. “I can put some music on if you want to listen to it while you wait for a while. I’ve got to get a little bit of work done though, if you don’t mind.”

Tony looked over at the chair and then sat in it. “OK, that’d be great. Hoo-boy, I can already feel it kickin’ in over here.”

I found some generic rave music on the internet, and a moment later my computer speakers were doing the best they could. It wasn’t much, but it didn’t have to be.

Changing screens back to some test results, I pored over them for about ten minutes before glancing over my shoulder to see what kind of state Tony was in. It turned out he wasn’t in any kind of dancing mood.

Staring straight ahead at nothing, I could see he was already breathing quick and shallow. Sweat was beading and dripping down his forehead and the sides of his face. To his credit, the sweat looked clear, so I at least had some evidence that he hadn’t used shoe polish to get that slick-back style going.

I rose to my feet, closed the door to my office and approached the poor bastard known as Tony. He was probably seeing some pretty trippy colors right now, but as the drug worked its magic and triggered the production of m-chlorophenylpiperazine in Tony’s brain, well, that was when the shit was really going to hit the fan.

The office chair he was sitting on rolled easily on its wheels, and I pushed him casually over to my decontamination enclosure. It was like the world’s most intense shower, and if anything dangerous was ever spilled on me, that’s where I’d run to.

Things might get messy with Tony, so it was important to question him somewhere that was easy to clean. I took him to the edge, until the chair hit the frame around the door, and tipped him in.

Tony sprawled forward, instinctively putting his hands out to brace for an impact he couldn’t see coming as he sensed the sudden movement. He landed mostly inside the enclosure and I moved the chair aside before planting my foot on his ass and shoving him the rest of the way in.

Unable to keep his balance in the throes of whatever mind-expanding experience he was having, he tumbled forward again, this time breaking his fall with his face. He grunted and I shut the door, locking him inside in complete darkness.

He’d be a lot easier to work over in an hour or two, if I let him soften himself up a bit by stewing in his own juices. Plus, I’d found that the early stages were a little on the incoherent screamy side of things. I’d get a lot more sense out of him later on, and the decontamination enclosure would spare my long-suffering eardrums most of his worthless Acardi shrieks.

For two full hours, as my lab assistants finished their tasks and left for the day, I listened to the dull thuds of Tony trying to smash his way out through the stainless steel, and occasionally entertained the notion that I could hear the more high-pitched of his screams. Hopefully he didn’t lose his voice by the time I questioned him; his writing ability would be severely impaired even if he hadn’t broken his hands.