I want to kill him.

I really want to kill the rat-faced lying little shit. Instead, I need to count to ten and calm the fuck down. It was my idea to give him a pass, to convince Danny that I could sort it my way. Which means that I have to stand here and pretend that the fact he's lying through his crooked fucking teeth is something we can work out.

I'm not complaining though. I refuse to complain. Complaining is for pussies. It's just that I always wanted a respectable life and there was fuck all respectable about this - about being fed bullshit from lying cunts like Eddie fucking Cartwright. Instead I'd traded respectable for being respected. Which I'm not complaining about either. People respected me because the consequences of not respecting me were normally painful. And being respected is a consolation I'm happy to live with for now. Mainly because I was the sort of person that felt as though I was dropped into a life I didn't belong to, or even deserve, and that soon enough my real life would come walking through the door wondering where the fuck I'd been for the last thirty years. It would work out. Everything happens like it's meant to. That's what I tell myself anyway.

"I told you Jay, I don't know where the hell he is," Eddie says not meeting my eyes. I take another deep breath. He's white and sweating. He's lying.

"Yeah yeah I heard that Ed. But you smell of bullshit to be honest." I tell him as I look over at Kev. He has a smirk on his face that would make your blood run cold. Not mine - I'd seen it too many times for it to have any effect - but Eddie looks like he's about to piss himself. Which was understandable. Kev had that effect on people. He wore the kind quiet malice that tells you he could smash your skull in with his fists without even breaking a sweat. His typical expression was the kind that told you that everything you were afraid was about to happen, is in fact about to happen. He's a violent fucking psychopath to be honest. But he's my best mate. 'Don't get on the wrong side of Kevin Fillon - he's a fucking psycho,' folk say. But then, folk say that about me too.

"He said he was going to Spain Jay. That was what two weeks ago?" he runs a hand over the back of his neck and drops his eyes again. "That's the last I heard from him."

I close my eyes on a sigh. I'm fucking tired. I hear Kev's knuckles crack and I look back at Eddie who pales a little more. Spain. Spain sounds perfect. I really need a holiday. And a new life. Yeah a new life would be better. Get on with it then. Why the fuck are you still taking out Danny's trash for him?

"So you do know where he is then? He's in Spain?" I rub at my forehead feeling totally knackered all of a sudden. Eddies shoulders drop and he looks at the floor. "Tell me something Ed, why would Tony go to Spain when he knows I'm looking for him? That Danny's looking for him? When he owes Danny 20k? Why would he do that?" I know why he'd do that. Eddie knows too. We're playing a game here. A game Eddie is shit at. I rub the bit between my temples as the headache starts to creep in.

"Why don't you ask him that?" Eddie's voice is louder, braver. Clearly he thinks he's more in control of this situation than he actually is. Danny wanted a bullet in him. Kev offered to do it. I'd talked them both down. Mainly because I don't find that kind of solution benefits anybody. It's just a mess that needs cleaning up and no one is any better off financially. Kev moves forward to speak, his huge muscled shoulders pulled back in a fighters stance.

"And how do you suppose we ask him ourselves Ed? You got a number for him over there? An address?" Kev barks crossing the room to where Eddies sitting on the dining chair. I can tell Kev wants to throttle him and to be honest I don't think I'd have the energy to stop him if he did. I pull a chair over and sit down facing Eddie leaning forward on my knees. I rub my hands over my face a few times, I feel like slapping it but it wouldn't look right in front of other people. That's an in front of the mirror thing. Alone.

"Ed. Is Tony in Spain or not? It's getting late and I got places I need to be so let's stop fucking about yeah? Try telling the truth, just this once. Because If I have to come back here after I find out you've been bullshitting me, you won't like how we sort that," I say, trying for my reasonable voice. It takes less effort than the other one.

"I'd never bullshit you Jay. I swear. All I know is he told me he was heading out to a mates place near Malaga. He never told me where exactly, or why," Eddie looks from me to Kev who's now standing behind the lying wanker shifting about on the cheap dining chair. He dwarfs him. Eclipsing Eddie's 5ft 5 form in his massive bulking 6ft one. Kevin was built like an angry tank.

I look about the tired kitchen as I think. I hate this fucking house. It reminds me of terrible parties and desperate girls who think because I fuck them from behind over the bathroom sink it means something to me. That they mean something to me. They don't. They never will. Countless, nameless faces that all blur into one. I wish I could forget the desperate look on their faces afterwards when I pretend to put their number in my phone.

Though I wish I could forget more than the women to be honest. In fact I'd keep the women, and forget all of the other shit. I guess that's the upside of having a bad memory - the ease with which you can forget.

Unfortunately I have great memory - I forget nothing.

Kevin cracks his knuckles again. Not because he needs the release, but because he thinks it makes people nervous. Eddie looks nervous.

"Okay, Okay. A place near Malaga. The Costa del Sol. Nice. I'll tell you what, presuming you're telling me the truth - which to be honest I doubt because when have you ever told the truth about anything Eddie? I'm gonna give you 24 hours to get your cousin's share of what he owes Danny and deliver it to me. If you don't then you and I are going to have a problem," I bite the longer nail of my index finger.

Technically Eddie will have the problem. I'll just have to help clean up the fucking mess. Which is going to piss me off because I have a lot on this week. I need to stop biting my nails. Never going to master the guitar at this rate. I drop my hand from my mouth and fix Eddie with a hard stare. "Am I lying Eddie?" I ask him. Eddie says nothing. Just looks around for a means of escape; he looks behind me, out the back door, through the hole in the laminate floor. "Am I fucking lying Ed?" I repeat. Finally, Eddie shakes his head. Not good enough. "Gonna need you to say it mate,"

"No Jay. You ain't lying." He says.

I stare at him for a moment wondering why I the hell I bothered my arse talking Danny and Kevin out of getting rid of him. I hate this pasty faced fuck. He's a snake - a coke-headed waster with a violent streak, mainly against women, and who contributes nothing to society as far as I can see. I clap my hands together and stand up.

"Good. Glad we cleared that up," I say. Eddie goes to stand up too but Kev plants his hands on his shoulders, stopping his ascent.

"So I'll call later and tell you where you'll bring Danny's cash. And I'm gonna add £5k on to it cause we've been here," I check my watch. "45 minutes longer than we needed to be and it's cut into my personal time," I stand up and tuck the chair back under the white dining table. No point making a mess.

"Come on Jay...This is fucking bullshit mate ...I don't have Tony's money -." Eddie starts.

"I'm not your fucking mate," I warn. "And it's not Tony's money Ed is it?" Eddie pales a little more and swallows. "This is something you're gonna have to take up with Tony. Not my problem, or Dan's as far as I can see." I sound reasonable. I am reasonable because this little shit doesn't know how close he came to being dead. Eddie shakes his head and puts is head in his hands. Probably the best place for it.

"Now we're going to head off, let you get started on your count," I move back in front of him and give a nod to Kev who looks like someone's just stolen his Lego. Though to be honest he's not really happy unless his knuckles are bruised and an ambulance has been phoned.

Suddenly, I hear a sharp click-clacking sound behind me and all eyes go over my shoulder. I turn around, though I know what it is before I do. Or who it is rather. Sharon - Eddies less than monogamous wife. Sharon is blonde with a tan as fake as her chest. She's the kind of woman I can't seem to get away from no matter how hard I try. She looks me up and down and then sticks her chest out, like I haven't already seen what's she's got in there. I say nothing to her and turn back round to her husband.

"Shaz wait in there will you," Eddie says. He's trying to sound like he's got everything under control, which I think we've already established he hasn't.

"What's going on Eddie?" she says. Sharon's voice sounds a bit like a fork scraping on a patterned plate. High pitched and sickening. It makes me wonder not for the first time what the fuck was I thinking with her. I could have gone somewhere else - anywhere else. In defense of my fucking a married woman, Eddie's been screwing a 19 year old lap dancer for the last year a half and Sharon looks all right on a good day. I'm having trouble seeing it right now though. But then I always have trouble seeing it, after.

"Are you thick? Just go in the other fucking room Sharon," Eddie snaps. It makes my nostrils flare. Why do guys always talk to their wives like shit? Like they can't stand the sight of them? I've never understood it. Yeah ok, Sharon isn't exactly the kind of woman who inspires worship I get that, but why marry them if you can't stand them?

Most guys I know want and need a woman for one thing, and I would include myself in that, but its one thing they can get almost anywhere in London if you put a bit of effort in, and if you cant be arsed putting the effort in then pay for it. Personally I don't need to put the effort in and still they're everywhere. So why marry them? One night is more than enough to get what you need and walk away, with everybody's pride still intact. I tend to go for the married ones because they're normally easier to brush off afterwards.

Don't get me wrong, I have desires to get married, have a family, and a normal respectable life with a woman. I have a picture of what that looks like, and even what she looks like, it's just not likely to happen anytime soon. Not while I'm hanging around places like the Cartwright's kitchen.

Eddie's exasperated expression when Sharon clicks back into the living room is almost conspiring. It's saying "women eh?? What they like??" Fucking tosser. I feel like telling him that I fucked his wife from behind in his bed upstairs - which I did - and that she came screaming my name - which she did - just to see the look drop from his pasty lying face. But I won't. Because I don't tell people my business.

"Ok, well then I guess we're done here," I say. "I'll phone you later. We'll meet in a public place don't worry. So 25K, 24 hours and we can go back to the way things were before. Well not entirely, but better than they are now. Dan'll be happier anyway," I say with a nod.

And Danny happier is safer for everyone involved. I'm pretty sure Danny will still put a bullet in Tony once he finds him, but Eddie, if he follows my simple instruction might just survive this.  I run my hand through my hair and nod again at Eddie who looks about 3 shades whiter than he did when we came in. Maybe he could go join Tony in the Costa. A tan would do him the world of good. Fuck, if I thought Tony was actually there I would volunteer to go find him myself - anything for some peace and quiet away from this shit. But then I remember that I can't because I really do have a lot on this week.

I give Kev a look to tell him that the party is over and his face drops. But he lets go of Eddie who stands and shakes off his shoulders looking pissed off and tense. Tough shit.

As I walk through to the living room, Sharon is leaning against the fireplace, arms folded, going for the kind of look that's meant to make me feel guilty I presume. Though whether its about her, or Eddie I have no idea.  Sharon has the kind of face that I imagine used to have men chasing her up and down Bromley high street 10 years ago - she was a dancer I think - tall and slender and blonde.  She's older now, but she still has something.  I give her a cursory glance as I pass and for some reason she decides it's enough encouragement to follow me to the front door.

"You didn't tell him did you?" she looks worried, scared even. That's because he's a wife beating scumbag who'd put her in hospital her if he knew. I stop moving and look round at her, my face scrunched up in confusion.

"Why the fuck would I tell him?" I shake my head and run a hand over my face, looking back towards the kitchen wondering why the hell Kevin is still in there.

"Oh ok," She says. She fluffs her hair a little. "We should do it again maybe?" The hope in her eyes is painful for me to look at. I rarely 'do it again' with anyone. In fact, I can count on one hand how many times I've done it again.

"I don't think so babe," I say looking away from her. Where the fuck is he? Kevin really can't be trusted not to break something, but as I get closer he comes out, shoveling crisps into his mouth from a large red bag. He's fucking unbelievable.

"You said it was nice?" She says quietly.  Her voice has a touch of woman scorned about it. I have to resist the urge to roll my eyes. Brilliant. Like I needed this right now. Or ever.

"I'm sure it was," I say, absently.  Nice is exactly the kind of non-committal thing I would say to them. I never say I'll call them and I never say lets do this again. Because my past experience with women has ensured I never want to. My past experience is of liars, hangers-on, and money grabbers. They always want something, they always lie to get it and then when you don't want to give it the claws come out. That's why I steer clear of any sort of relationship shit. I don't want to be an Eddie. I don't want a Sharon.

Eddie comes out behind Kevin, alive, and doesn't look to have anything broken either which is a bonus. Way to go Kev. I'd need to by him a milkshake on the back.

"I know where we can meet tomorrow Jay." Eddie says narrowing his eyes.

"Yeah, where's that Ed?" I ask. The pounding behind my eyes is worse now; I need to get out of this house. Then I need a run, or session on the bag and some loud music maybe. I don't need to hit someone. Definitely not that.

"How about that play park on Fosters Road? That's pretty public, specially around 3pm." His voice is bravado, amused. It's totally misjudged.

"Fosters Road is a bit out of your way Ed..." I say.  My voice is a warning, whilst internally I count to ten.

Eddie shrugs, looking smug. "Yeah but I know it. I know you know it. I could go out of my way.." He pulls his shoulders back and his mouth lifts up into a smirk. That does it. Something in my head snaps.

"What the fuck did you just say to me???" I feel my face contort of it's own freewill, my eyes narrow and harden on him. My question makes out like I didn't hear him properly but I did. That's why my feet are carrying me across the room towards his pasty lying fucking face. It's why he's backing into the kitchen, cowering. His misplaced smirk is still there but its fading. He thinks he has something on me. That he's taken a bit of the control back. He hasn't. Not even fucking close.

I watch as Eddie reaches into the knife stand and pulls out a black handled blade. He's not quick enough and I stamp on the side of his right calf hard and he goes down on it, the sound of bone crushing beneath my feet is a comfort to my ears.
The knife stand topples uselessly out of reach on the vinyl floor, spilling knives everywhere, but nowhere near him. He's shouting something but I can't hear him because the pounding rage in my ears and behind my eyes is way too loud. I can't see anything except his cowering body as my feet pound into it again and again.
He's not that small but he looks tiny as he huddles in the corner of his kitchen under my feet. What the fuck did he think was going to happen? Did the piece of shit really think he had an inkling of leverage over me?

Kevin is somewhere to my right no doubt watching, waiting for his chance to jump in but that's not going to happen now. Now he'll need to stand there and just enjoy the show. The kind of show I know he enjoys. I can hear Sharon's high-pitched screaming but again it's far away and there are a lot of other noises that are louder. My foot cracking Eddie's ribs and face for example, his groans of pain on each thrust of my boot on his body.

Then I feel something pinch at my neck. I ignore it initially. My red rage isn't even partially penetrated by it. But then it gets really quiet all of a sudden, Sharon stops screaming and Eddie stops shouting, and moving. I look round at Kev who's staring at me wide-eyed as he holds a shaking Sharon tight against his chest, one arm tight around her throat, the other around her body to capture her arms. She looks terrified but she's not looking at Eddie who's silent and still on the floor - she's looking at me.

Suddenly I feel heat and a warm wetness begin to spread down my back and chest. Then I feel a draught on my neck, like someone's blowing on it. When I look down and see a dark stain growing wider and brighter down the front of my top I bring my hand up to my neck. The draughty sting at my neck is hot and wet.

"Jay, oh my god. I'm so sorry.... I...didn't ...you were going to kill him. You wouldn't stop." Her voice is panicked, barely there. I snap my eyes up to her to find her looking very pale and very very sorry. She should be.

The next 10 minutes happen in a haze, as though I'm drunk, which I'm not. I'm losing blood though, fast. Because a woman I slept with and didn't call afterwards just stabbed me in the neck. I've also most likely kicked her husband into a coma. It was probably fair to say that I was off the Cartwright's Christmas card list.

This was not how the night was supposed to turn out. I'm normally the calm one, in comparison to Kev anyway. I was normally the yin to Kevin's yang. Not tonight.

Paul gets called in from the car and drives Eddie to the hospital before he dies and I make even more of a mess. Then Kevin and I walk, or stumble, the short distance to the Doctors surgery two streets over from Eddies place. I can't go to the same hospital as Eddie and explain why I've got a hole in my neck. Coppers asking questions is not something I, Eddie or Danny need. Sharon assures us the surgery runs a late drop in, and by the sound of her desperately apologetic and terrified voice I'm inclined to believe her.

She actually stabbed me. Unbelievable. I almost respect her for it. She protected her man, though no doubt with a little woman-scorned thrown in for good measure. A woman prepared to kill for her man. Or maim at least. She wasn't the woman I'd judged her to be. I was actually impressed in a weird twisted way. From her perspective I guess I deserved it.

I feel sick, and cold and weak and like I'm about to fall over but the adrenalin is still pumping as Kevin helps me up the front steps of a converted townhouse which has a sign saying 'Eastwoode Doctors Surgery' on a white board in the garden.  There's definitely a light on inside but the door is locked when we try the handle. Great. Though, the hole in my neck can't be too bad, she couldn't have nicked an artery otherwise I'd be dead by now.

Kev bangs on the door as I hold my hand to my neck to stop any more blood escaping. It's not flooding out but it's a slow consistent pour.

"We'll get them to fix you up and then we'll fuck off before they get a chance to call anyone," He says. He sounds relaxed, not in the slightest bit concerned by the hole in my neck. It can't be that bad. Though Kevin has a habit of looking relaxed in the face of utter destruction so I can't exactly use it as a measure.

"And what if it's just a cleaner inside?" I choke out. This was a bad idea. I should have gone to the fucking hospital. I should have called Sharon after I fucked her.

"We'll see if she has superglue and masking tape." He says with a laugh, relaxed as ever. It's comforting. He bangs again before I finally hear the lock turn from inside.

When it opens I decide not to risk looking up and have anyone see my face directly. I need to get fixed and out of here before this shit gets any messier. It's already far too messy. I shouldn't have lost it like that. I've normally got way more control than that. I need to have more control than that.

Then she speaks. My body relaxes instantly. 

She confirms she's a doctor before ushering us both inside. Her voice is calm and low, and sort of husky and reminds me of the soft contented purr of a cat. She sounds young from what I can tell, and well spoken. Her tone is professional but somehow still manages to be sexy at the same time. From money I reckon. I want to look up and see the face that goes with the voice but I don't want to risk her seeing me, or at least being able to identify me with any certainty later on. Safer for everyone that way. Instead I look down at my hands, which are covered with blood, the knuckles aching and throbbing. They'll be worse later, once the adrenalin fades away. Everything will be worse later. Dan is not going to be happy about how this went. I still don't regret kicking the lying shit's head in though.

I keep my eyes down and see creamy smooth bare legs leading down into expensive looking purple high heels. They're suede I think. I seriously must be half dead because I'm not thinking straight - what the fuck do I know about women's shoes? Though the legs make me wonder if the face is as fit as the body. She says something about an ambulance and I shake my head and say no and Kev clarifies it in his own distinct growl. Ambulances lead to police, especially in this kind of circumstance - the knife wound to the flesh circumstance.

Plus, for some reason I want her to fix me.

She sits me on the table and presses something soft, a scarf maybe, into my neck. It smells of flowers and soap powder and it feels soothing and warm against the draught at my shoulder. She orders Kev to hold it tight against me and goes off toward another room.

"No calling anybody. No cops, no ambulance, no one. You fucking hear me?" Kev says harshly. Way too harshly. Not fucking on. When I hear the sound of her walking away I glance up and see the back of a tall, dark haired woman with an amazing arse walk into an office across from us.

"Watch the tone Kev yeah?" I choke out. "She's helping. No need to fucking terrify her to death."

"Just making sure she doesn't call the pigs Jay," He grunts.

"She won't." I tell him. I honestly have no idea why I'm so sure of this, but I am. "So calm down yeah?" I fix Kev with a hard stare until he gets me.

When I hear the door open a second later, I look back down even though everything in me is straining to look at her. The thing she has pressed at my neck is cream, or was, and has purple flowers on it. She comes back and sits next to me on the table, putting a leather bag on the floor between us. It's a proper doctor's bag - brown hard worn leather. For some reason, as she leans down to open it I look at her left hand. No wedding ring. She has a sliver band with a green stone on her left forefinger but that's it. Her nails aren't painted, just neat and manicured, and her fingers are long and slender. What the fuck am I doing? Is this what happens when you can't see a chicks face, you get turned on by her hands? Am I turned on? No, I'm just lightheaded from blood loss. Then her hand goes to my neck and she speaks again. Closer to my ear this time. Fuck. Is she doing that on purpose? Talking like that?

"When did this happen?" She asks me in a soft almost whisper. I look up at Kev, keeping my head turned away from her.

"Why the fuck does it matter? About 15 minutes ago," He grunts taking his phone out. I really don't like the way he's speaking to her. She deserves more respect than that, than the women he's used to speaking to.

"With what?" she asks in the same soft tone, seemingly undisturbed by him. He says nothing and looks at me. I nod. She's digging around in her bag, pulling out a small case, a packet of something, some gloves.

"A kitchen knife." he says. She opens the small black case, which holds a syringe.

"Was it clean?"

"How the fuck should I know?" he snaps.

I feel and hear her take a deep breath. "Okay. Well I think the bleeding is slowing anyway. But I need to inject you with this," she says to me. "It's just an antibiotic. It'll help stop any infection," Her calm tone comforts me. At least she doesn't seem to think I'll drop dead any minute now.

"Do you have any other injuries?" She asks me quietly. I keep focused on my hands and shake my head. "Well that's good I suppose. Just this scratch to deal with then," She says softly, reassuringly. I notice then why her voice sounds like nothing I've heard before. It's cause she says words how they're supposed to be said, her tongue rolling around each word slowly, pronouncing every letter of every word correctly. I let my mind linger on thoughts of her tongue for a moment.

Ok, I'm definitely turned on. I imagine her screaming my name on that accent with that tone as I fuck her and I have to shift my legs together and away in case she notices what's happening between them. What the hell is wrong with me? I haven't even seen her face, I'm bleeding, maybe to death, and I'm semi hard just from the sound of her voice. Does that even happen? Maybe after you get stabbed in the neck it does.

She slides on a pair of white latex gloves and a second later I feel the sharp point of the needle pierce the crook of my shoulder.

"Are you able to hold this for a moment?" she asks me in that same calm tone. This time it has authority in it. I do what I'm told and slide my hand up to take the scarf, grazing hers as I do. "I'm going to cut away your top now," She tells me. I nod, having to try very hard to stop myself from looking at her. I wonder where she's from? Berkshire? Surrey? A fair distance from the bow bells anyway that's for sure. A fair distance from your league too.

Kev is hissing some shit down the phone in hushed tones, presumably at Paul, and so I focus on that instead. Instead of her. Instead of the increasing throbbing between my legs, and the proximity of her and the faint floral scent coming from her. But then, her hand grazes my thigh accidently and I almost groan out loud. Fucking hell.  I flinch reflexively away from her touch. It's the opposite of what I want to do.

"Do you need something for the pain?" she asks softly. I imagine it's the tone she would use to tell you she loved you. I imagine the kind of wanker she says that to. I fucking hate that wanker.

I look back down at her legs, which are creamy smooth and pale like cream. I really am a piece of shit. She's helping me. She's selflessly caring for me and I'm ogling her like she's a fucking lap dancer. Classy Jay. Really fucking classy. Only how can I be ogling her when I haven't even seen her face? Okay, enough of this shit. Who gives a fuck if she sees me? I'm never gonna see her again anyway, nor her me. I need to see her face.

I lift my head up but she's turned away from me, focused on the hole in my neck, the one inflicted by some violent irrational bitch that is definitely more my league. I wonder if it's fitting that Sharon fucks me up and I get to be fixed by this pristine, classy, elegant wet dream.

The first look I get of her is of the side of her neck and her face and its smooth, flawless, cared for pale skin. It makes me wonder if her whole body is like that. I picture her sprawled naked on my bed and then I picture fucking her from behind, hard.

Suddenly I want to touch her there, on the side of her face, and then her hair. Then I want to smooth it back to see her neck before touching my mouth to it. It's reddish I notice, her hair; a rich dark red, not brown, and it's redder where the light hits it. It's tied up at the sides but its long and thick and falls way past her shoulders. I wonder how it smells.

Her nose is small and turned in at the end. Her nose? Seriously? When have I ever looked at a chick's nose? When have I ever looked at a chick's hands either? Her mouth is pink and set in a straight line as she concentrates. I picture it wrapped around my cock.

Now that image I don't actually feel bad about because I could die any moment and having that as my final image is only fair. Her sucking my cock with that mouth. Jesus fucking Christ. I'll think about that later, in the shower, presuming I live through this. Then, because I'm just staring at her and not answering her, she looks round at me.

And then it's really over.

Something flashes across her eyes and they widen for a split second before relaxing again. They're smart and warm and a bright pale green colour I've never seen before. She has small beauty spot under her right eye as well as a sprinkling of light freckles on her nose and forehead. Perfection. She's beautiful. I want her. I want her to look at me like she needs me, like she wants me. The way women normally look at me. The way I normally wish they wouldn't. I'd do anything to get a woman like her to look at me like that. 

No actually, not a woman like her - her.

My heart feels like its going to beat out of my chest and I am hard for her. Actually hard. I'm staring at a fully clothed woman who's sewing my neck back together and I have a fucking hard on. I laugh inwardly. It's pathetic. I'm pathetic.

As I stare at her, the thought suddenly occurs to me that I have no fucking clue how to go about getting a girl like her. It's not like I mind a bit of hard work but what would make a woman like her even look at me? Unless I'm bleeding all over her in her place of work of course.

Getting what I want has never been much of an issue for me though.  And if I don't get it, then normally I take it.

Yeah, I'll get her. Fuck it, I might even keep her for a bit.

I need a fucking plan.