*** Nate's Evil Exploits is the tale of a sex-crazed bisexual sociopath whose job (and passion) is sexually exploiting people during corporate downsizing. ***
Nate skipped checking in at Mala Suerte and caught an Uber back to his apartment. The driver took one look at his face and didn't try to start a conversation.
He spent the short journey staring out the window, fuming with rage that some ignorant Manc twat actually thought he could intimidate him. Sending someone after him to threaten and fuck him? He'd pay for that. By fuck would he pay.
At the gate to his apartment complex he left the cab without a word, taking the steps up to the lobby two at a time.
As he waited for the lift under the harsh fluorescent lights, he eyed the concrete dust and dirt that coated his jacket and pants with disgust.
He turned his hands palm-up, and found them grazed raw from his fall. He rubbed his fingers against his palms, grimacing at the tackiness of skin coated with dried cum.
In the lift, he faced the mirrored rear of the carriage and put a hand to a face that looked alien to him. Darker somehow. Something in his eyes. He was losing it, he could feel it.
The lift dinged and he spun on his heel and strode down the corridor to his apartment.
His boyfriend, Rene, was passed out on their bed, the twink from the club curled against him.
Nate slapped the kid's face until he woke, then hauled him to his feet. "Out."
The pre-pubescent-looking slut pulled on his mesh shirt and jeans and left without a word.
Nate perched on the side of the bed and watched his boyfriend snore softly, one arm flung across his face. Drunk as he was, he'd likely be out until morning.
His soft blonde hair lay against his forehead, a dark scattering of stubble framing a full mouth, shading across his cheekbones.
It was no surprise to Nate that guys couldn't keep their hands off Rene. But while Nate had never minded him sleeping around, it did irritate him that by the time he and Nate ended up in bed together, his boyfriend was usually too drunk or sated to want to fuck him.
Since Rene had moved into his apartment, he could count the number of times they'd had anything approaching enjoyable sex on the fingers of one hand. And honestly, what was the point of having someone taking up half his living space if they weren't even satisfying him?
Momentarily lifting from his drunken coma, Rene grunted and rolled away from the light, pulling the covers up over his shoulders.
Nate sighed and tugged off his shoes. He got up and switched off the bedroom lamp and went into the bathroom. He shed his clothes and dumped them in a heap, then took a shower.
As he finished and turned off the water, he put a hand to his bruised ribs. Fucking Colin. Part of him wanted to find the man now, didn't care that it was 3 a.m., just wanted to find him and punch him until he cried blood.
But the part of him that had made it this far without putting himself in jail, urged him to be patient. Colin's time would come. And it would be so much more satisfying if the salesman thought he'd cowed Nate. If he thought he'd won.
He finished towelling himself off and went back to the bedroom. He climbed under the covers and pressed up against Rene, sliding his arms around his lover to steal his heat. It hurt his ribs, but it felt good to be skin to skin.
He rested his cheek against Rene's back and let sleep pull him down.
* * * * *
By the time Nate woke, Rene had already left for work. He rolled over to check his phone but the movement made him gasp with pain.
He pulled the covers back and found a black bruise extending across his chest from the centre of his chest to the bottom of his ribcage.
He touched it gingerly and swore as pain lanced through him.
He gritted his teeth and reached for his phone again and checked the time. Nearly eight. There was no way he was going to make it to work.
He pulled the covers back and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
Sitting up brought more pain. Something had to be broken. He stood and pulled on a robe, then rang ZST.
Justin answered the phone. "Hello, Zero Sum Technology, how can I help you?"
"Hi Justin, it's Nathan Lloyd. I won't be in today. I need you to push my appointments to later this week."
Justin's voice grew sly. "What's wrong?"
Nate's eyes narrowed. Did he know? If he found out Justin had colluded with Colin, he'd make sure the rest of the kid's life was one long festival of misery.
"I have a cold," he snapped. "Just sort it out, would you?"
He ended the call and threw the phone behind him on the bed.
Two hours later he sat at a small cafe, nursing a black covfefe. He'd spent a small fortune seeing a doctor to get x-rays, only to be told that, while he had two cracked ribs and the cartilage that joined his ribs to his breastbone had detached, the treatment for it was to breathe deeply from time to time.
His laptop was open on the table in front of him, a list of files filling the screen. It was, in fact, Colin Dunbury's hacked online receipt repository, and Nate was combing through his records looking for something he could use to ruin the man's life.
While he fully planned to traumatise Colin at least as effectively as the salesman had traumatised Greg's wife, Abby, he had a savage hunger to go further; to ruin Colin completely. He wanted to look into Colin's eyes and see a broken man. A broken man who wouldn't dare try and exact revenge a second time.
He set down his coffee and scrolled down slowly, looking for transactions that didn't fit the spending patterns of a man on Colin's salary.
An invoice caught his eye. Colin had bought a car two months ago. Nothing much irregular with that, expect it was a fucking Bugatti Veyron. He read and re-read the invoice half a dozen times, convinced he had to be hallucinating. Even a second hand Bugatti cost over a million pounds. It was the ultimate in supercars. You didn't buy a Bugatti unless you had millions to spare.
As far as Nate knew, Colin's annual salary topped out at 150,000 quid. That was a decent wad of cash, but it wasn't owning-a-Bugatti-Veyron level cash.
He checked the details on the invoice. Paid with an offshore credit card issued in the Caymans. Absolutely nothing dodgy about that.
He kept scrolling. Colin, it seemed, liked to spend large. There were other invoices, mostly for things like high end audio equipment, big-screen TVs, and even a holiday home just outside of Alicante.
But what really interested him were regular invoices for a storage facility in Stockport where, he was guessing, Colin housed the car he shouldn't have been able to afford.
He picked up his coffee and sipped it while he considered how Colin Dunbury might have come across that kind of cash.
There were a few possibilities. Either the guy was involved in some kind of scam—anything from multi-level-marketing to a Ponzi scheme to blackmail—or he was involved in something worse. Something on the darker side of criminal. Organised crime. Drugs. Human trafficking. Something big.
That gave Nate pause. If the man was sufficiently connected, Nate could find himself outmanoeuvred. Did he really want to take on someone who could have him murdered?
No. If Colin had those kinds of connections, Nate would be floating face down in a river somewhere.
Maybe he'd inherited the money. Or his wife was loaded. Either were possible. But the Caymen Island account suggested something illicit. Tax avoidance, if nothing else.
His phone rang and he held it to his ear. The voice on the other end of the line was a broad Manchester boom.
"How are you feeling today?"
Nate's face split into an enraged grin. "Colin. I was just thinking about you."
"Were you,
love
?"
Nate winced as the swell of his anger sent a stab of pain through his chest.
"I wasn't going to gloat, and then a little birdie told me that you didn't turn up for work today. A little sore, are we?"
The delight in the man's voice made Nate's throat constrict with anger.
"What do you want?"
"You'll receive a call at some point from a prospective employer, asking why I was dismissed. I don't really give a fuck what you tell him; just make sure you make me look good."
"You want me to give you a reference?" Nate managed to choke out. "Don't you have a rape case pending?"
Colin laughed. "When I explained to Nina what was involved in going to court, she didn't want to go through all that. I offered her cash to keep her mouth shut and she took it."
"And Abby?"
That laugh again. "If Abby wanted this dredged up, don't you think she'd have taken it up herself?"
Nate was silent.
But you," Colin drawled, "You're the real enigma here. What did you think you were doing, you stupid little fuck?"
