Chapter 3 - Harry | Progress

479 12 43
                                    

"The greater part of progress is the desire to progress."
- Seneca the Younger

"- Seneca the Younger

Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.

****

You really do meet the most interesting people at horse racing tracks. Like a certain Antonio Francesco who unfortunately didn't show up for his court date and is now one of the names on my long list.

I strode relaxed through the seats of the spectator grandstand, dark sunglasses on my nose and a bag of popcorn in my hand.

I had already found out Antonio's seat number 20 minutes ago through an old contact, a racetrack employee who had helped me out a lot when I needed it, and was now on my way to take him with me.

I was wearing black pants and a half unbuttoned white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, which made parts of my tattoos peek out. My black nail polish was already chipping and my silver rings on each finger contrasted with my tanned skin.

The few women who were at the track threw interested glances in my direction, but I didn't pay any attention to them, they would only bore me anyway.

A challenge would be a good change for once.

It's not that I don't have anyone to fuck, the long list of contacts in my phone just waiting for a call from me clearly speak against it, but rather that I have enough of the same fucking shit every time.

They beg way too fast and too easily without me having to make them or ask them... there's just no fun and what's sex without a certain thrill to it?

It's just always the same thing and I'm not up for it anymore. However, it is easier to just message someone on my contact list, even if they usually only score a 7 out of 10 on the satisfaction scale, than to look for that special challenge. It's exhausting.

The horses were about to start their race now, so I didn't worry about my target suddenly disappearing, because he wants to know if he's winning or losing, so of course he's going to stay for now.

This idiot bet all his money on a horse named Rock and I'm pretty sure he got himself into debt today. I mean who bets on a fucking horse named Rock?

Well, I don't care, I'm just here to take him and deliver him to a police station so I can collect my money.

Gambling and betting is only for people who are too stupid to do anything real with their money.

So no wonder the scumbags I hunt like to be here. But that only makes my job easier, because after all this time I know every corner of this racetrack.

Pretence || H.SWhere stories live. Discover now