Bending Steele

Chapter Twenty-Two

He trailed three car lengths behind the silver Aston Martin One-77 as it dipped and weaved smoothly through traffic. Fucking Steele, leave it to him to drive a limited edition car through the streets of Brooklyn as if he was out for a Sunday drive. He glared at the taillights of the fancy car he'd been following for the last half hour.

Slamming on the horn of his shit brown Buick LeSabre, he flicked off another fucking taxi as it tried to cut him off. The 2005 piece of shit had seen better days and smelled like mothballs, but it had the one feature he was looking for. A nice, big, roomy trunk. The kind you could store a body in. If that fucking cunt ever showed up for work again, he'd be able to find out just how nicely it would accommodate one.

The old lady had wanted way too much for it, but, in the end, he managed to sweet talk her into giving him a deal. His resources were dwindling and buying the car hadn't helped, but it was essential. It was also inconspicuous as fuck, which allowed him to tail Steele for the last few days unnoticed by his goons and to be able to sit parked outside the Kit Cat Club without drawing attention from the asshole bouncers. It also provided a big enough backseat for him to sleep in, saving him the expense of having to retain a motel room every night.

He pumped on the squeaky breaks for another stoplight. The POS shuddering and convulsing under his ass as if it was in death throws, while Steele sat in luxurious comfort a few cars in front. He snorted. Taking a small bottle of Wild Turkey out of the glovebox, he unscrewed the cap and tilted it back. He let a good portion of the vile whiskey coat his throat while he continued to scowl at Steele's brake lights.

Steele sipped expensive liquor while he swigged down bottom rung gut rot. He took another mouthful of the swill before twisting the cap back on and throwing it in the passenger seat, wincing as he swallowed. It didn't matter. If he succeeded in his plans, he would not only have his revenge, but he would also be able to afford the finest booze on the planet.

Stepping on the gas, he eased back into his place behind Steele. Fifteen minutes later, they pulled into a side street which lead straight to suburbia hell. Traffic was lighter here, so he would have to be careful not to be noticed. He laughed harshly, as if the fucker would ever notice anything.

If there was one thing he had learned over the past few days, was the arrogant asshole was as predictable as hell.

Mr. I'm On Top of the Fucking World, lead a very boring life and he could set his watch to Adam's schedule, thanks to a chance encounter with his PA's assistant. He had followed the dumb shapely blond from work one evening to a bar downtown. It was a known watering hole for secretaries, assistants, accounting, IT guys...basically the lowest members of the totem pole of any corporation where they could bitch and complain about how unfair their pathetic lives were and how poorly their bosses treated them.

It had been fucking easy to infiltrate their little group and after several drinks, he convinced the her to accompany his back to his motel room. The sex had been a drunken slobbery affair, especially after he slipped her a couple roofies, but the information he downloaded off her PDA was worth it. He possessed a copy of Steele's calendar for the next two months. He was so pleased with his find, he had fucked the girl two more times while she was passed out just for the hell of it before he snuck out into the darkness. He grinned as he jumped a lane. I bet the bitch felt that in the morning, he thought cutting off a delivery truck.

Thanks to the blond whore, he knew when Steele went to work, when he went to lunch, what meetings he was attending...hell...he even knew when the fucker went for his run. He knew every fucking detail, except this one. When Steele hadn't taken the normal route back to his penthouse, it peaked his interest and he was willing to waste the cost of the fuel to find out what the son of a bitch was up to.