Content Warning: Domestic Abuse, Misogyny, Drug References, Adult Content, Pervasive Language
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"Corrie, get the fucking door," George T barked from the sumptuous couch.
"OK, George," she answered sweetly.
Hastening across the luxurious apartment, she silently kicked herself for not moving fast enough. Though, the doorbell had only just rung, and the couch was closer than the kitchen where she'd been unloading the dishwasher. Of course, George and Damian were watching their show, so they couldn't be expected to answer the door.
Really, Corrie thought, she was happy to do whatever George needed. After all, he was going to help her become a real actress (not like... before). George was an important man, with all kinds of connections. He even knew Cassie Goth. He'd gone to school with her.
"Hello. Can I help you?" Corrie asked, opening the door.
"Damn girl, I bet you could," the bald man said, look her over. Raising his voice, he added, "Right now, though, you can tell that lowlife street pusher, George T, that he's got company."
"'Lowlife street pusher?' There's only one man left who's stupid enough to call me that in my own home," George called.
Leaping up, George crossed the room to grasp the bald man's hand.
Behind him, Damian stood and exchanged menacing looks with the big, blonde man who followed the bald man inside.
"Max fucking V," George said to the bald man. "How the fuck did you get into the country?"
"I can smuggle enough coke to keep you in business," Max V replied. "It ain't too hard to get a couple of people in."
"What's with the new muscle?" George asked, nodding at the blonde man. "Where's Wolfgang?"
"He's working," Max V said simply. "This is Crowe."
"Come on in," George said. "Sit. Corrie, move your dumb ass and get us some beers."
"Sure thing, George," Corrie said quickly, rushing to the fridge.
"I'm good, thanks," Max replied.
"I don't drink... beer," Crowe said with a small grin.
"Every damn time," Max traded a grin with his muscle. Corrie spotted the private joke between the two men, even if she didn't understand it.
"Well, I want a fucking beer," George said, taking a seat at the table.
"So, Wolfgang's 'working' and you're at my door," George said once he had his beer. "I think can safely fucking say you're not here because you got sick of tequila and señoritas. So, to what to I owe the fucking pleasure?"
Quietly, Corrie settled herself on one of the kitchen stools. Better to stay close, she thought, in case George needed anything else.
"Marco called me," Max replied. "He wants me to do some rat catching."
"No shit, the Mariah B thing?" George chuckled. "Yeah... not only did Carla G fuck that up, she fucked up so bad it hit the news. What do I always tell you, Damian? Never send a whore to do a man's job."
"Carla was careless," Max said levelly. "She underestimated what she was up against."
"What? 'Riah B's just another one of Marco's dumb whores," George scoffed. "The man ought do a better job of keeping his bitches under control."
"I'll tell him you said that," Max grinned coldly.
"Tell him," George snarled. "The fuck I care. He's only boss of the Family because the cold bastard, Grey, made it happen. We'll see how long he holds onto it when word gets out that one of his bitches sent ol'Nick away."
"And if Marco falls, you'll be there to take his place, won't you?" Max said softly.
"You said it, not me," George smiled back at him.
"Won't that be an interesting day," Max replied.
"Until then, I've got a job to do," Max continued. "'Riah B... and her girl, Miranda Goth."
"Miranda Goth?" Corrie said excitedly. "Cassie's daughter? I heard that her father was a... well, that he worked for the Landgraabs... but that Miranda, and Cassie and Gwen, Miranda's other mom, all secretly work for the Agency... like her grandma, Bela... and that they all took down the Landgraabs together and..."
"Corrie!" George barked. "Shut the fuck up!"
"So, Cassie's brat," George growled, turning back to Max. "Figure's she'd turn out to be a dyke like her mom pretends to be. You got a history there. You grabbed the brat once... and lost her."
"I trusted the wrong person with a job," Max said. "I don't plan to make that mistake again... or to underestimate Miranda."
"What can that little dyke do?" George sneered.
"You know better," Max said significantly, his eyes dropping to the burn scars peeking out from George's shirt sleeve.
Corrie knew those scars covered his arm, and much of his body. She'd asked George once how he'd gotten them. He'd gotten really angry and hit her some. She'd never asked again.
"What do you need?" George asked after a long silence.
"Eyes," Max said simply. "I know the two of them slipped out of Tartosa. My gut says they came back into the country. I've got a few places to look, but they're going to hide deep. You've got people. You owe me a favor or two from back in the day... and you've got your own history with the Goth family." His eyes settled on the scars again. "Have your people keep their eyes open. Let me know if they see anything useful."
"And then?" George asked.
"Well, like I said, that will be an interesting day," Max said with his cold smile.
"Alright Max," George said, rising. "I'll put the word out."
"Thought you'd see it my way," Max replied, taking his hand.
"Damian will show you out," George said. "I'll be in touch."
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"I don't trust him," Crowe rumbled once they reached the street.
"That's 'cause you're not an idiot." Max smiled. "Old Georgie's a lying treacherous son of bitch... but then, he is a criminal."
"There used to be a code," Crowe said sternly. "It set the Families apart from common ruffians."
"Anyone ever tell you you're old fashioned?" Max grinned. "George has the connections we need... and he's invested. He's got a grudge against the Goth ladies. It'll motivate him. Besides, if anything goes wrong, he can take the fall... and I won't feel the least little bit bad about it, code or no code."
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"Who the fuck told you to talk!" George shouted.
"I'm sorry, babe," Corrie said. "I... I got excited. You know I'm a big Cassie fan."
"Fucking bitch," George snarled. "I don't want to hear it!"
"I'm sorry," Corrie whimpered.
"You don't repeat a word of what you just heard," George snapped.
"No George, of course not," Corrie said desperately. "I won't say anything."
"You're damn right you won't say anything," George said. "And you won't say a damn thing when I have a meeting. Never again. Your whore mouth is only good for one thing. Remember that!"
"Yes, George," Corrie said shakily. "Yes, I know that."
It's my fault, Corrie thought. I shouldn't have said anything. I should have kept my mouth shut. I should have known better.
He's going to make me a real actress, she reminded herself. I'm going to be a real actress.
I won't have to do this forever.
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