"Please give me time."
Nixon felt his anger rising as he looked at the old man begging before him. He wasn't the kind of man to be merciful and the act of begging just gave him plain disrespect.
"Time?" he growled, disgusted. The old man in front of him flinched back in horror. "I'm not a very patient man, Mr. Cross. I will not tolerate this failure on your part."
"Look, I promise I will fix this. If you can just give me a few days—"
"Don't promise something you can't keep," he bit back. This man had the audacity to ask for more time when it had been years since he hadn't paid him back. Despite his anger, Nixon remained calm and serious. Deep down, he knew he was about to lose his anger. He wanted to rip this man into pieces. Rip his head off and get this over and done with.
The huge amount of money he owed him was somewhere lost and forgotten. His time was over and he wasn't even halfway into paying his full debt. Nixon honestly didn't care anymore, He was making that lot of money almost every month.
But he had rules that must be followed. Everyone knew he could be a generous man who lends money no matter how much was needed. The rule was simple: return the money in time. In this case, giving more time would be inexcusable.
He was always true to his words.
"Please," the old man begged, almost bursting to tears.
This was the kind of behavior he would never tolerate. He wasted his time to come here and watch this old man begging on his knees. He didn't want to see anymore of this nonsense.
He wasn't a man of mercy, everyone knew that. Men like him disgusted him. They knew what they were getting themselves into and they deserved what they got. People called him an evil beast behind his back and he agreed. He didn't get this far because he was kind or honorable. No, his men chose him because he was ruthless and unbeatable. In the real world, the strongest always wins.
"How would you like to die, Mr. Cross?" Nixon asked, standing up and looking down at him.
The old man looked up at him and shivered in fear. "I would like to die peacefully, Boss, in my sleeping bed when I'm older."
"You are older," he replied, stating the obvious.
"I don't have much, but I will pay you more than I owe."
Nixon almost laughed. The old man was insane. Nixon didn't have time for senseless words and empty promises. Old men died quickly. In this case, he was pretty sure the old man would die before he could even pay his debt, and the debt would pass on to his children.
Just then, a soft voice spoke, "Would you like some tea, sir?
Instinctively, he turned his head and followed the voice. There he saw a girl standing at the staircase. Her sky blue eyes caught hers and she froze on her steps. Her brown hair cascaded down her shoulders in curls. She was wearing a blue dress, which drew out her frame, and her little feet were stuck in doll shoes.
She had that curious look upon her face as she wandered her eyes all over his features, observing him. He could feel she found him attractive. She was so beautiful and innocent that It made him want to take her away with him, away from here. Stealing her would be the easy part. But would that make her love him? Would that make her accept who he was?
It seemed the girl was deep in thought until she finally decided to walk down the steps of the staircase. She had a tray on her hands. Nixon almost laughed. Was she planning to serve him tea right when he was just about to end the old man? He might have found it funny but he couldn't take his eyes off her, and he could see just how much this was making her uncomfortable.
When she reached the bottom, she moved to place the tray on the small glass table in front of him. "Tea, sir?" she asked politely with a sweet voice.
Innocent girl, he thought, judging by the way she greeted him. Anyone who knew him would know it's a grievous offense to not respect the boss. It could even result to death. But this woman, she was innocent from the ways of his world.
"Isabelle," the old man called, his voice quivering, as if warning her from the dangers he could bring.
She stood up straight and turned to look at him. "Yes, papa?"
"I'd like some tea, Isabelle," Nixon spoke up, bringing her attention back to him. He leaned back comfortably in his seat, watching her.
She seemed surprised, and her cheeks turned prettily red. She proceeded to pour him tea. Then she gracefully offered him the cup. Standing up straight, she gave him a sweet smile, and it almost softened his cold heart.
Her innocence and simplicity intrigued him. The girl seemed to be aware of the situation, that her father owed him a huge amount of money and why he had come here. He hoped she knew as well, he always gets what he wants, no matter what the price is.
Soon as he finished his tea, he looked at the old man with a glare. "Keep your end of the bargain, Mr. Cross. Your time's up and I want something else in return."
"I don't have much, Boss. I have nothing—"
Nixon slammed his fist on the small glass table in front of him. The glass shattered and broke into pieces. His sight had darkened and he watched as the old man flinched back in horror.
"I want her."