15. LEO

I felt sorry for him, but I knew I shouldn't have felt sympathy. He was someone I would actively walk away from if I knew how batshit they were. Not only was he someone on a murderous killing spree to find out who killed his father, but he was being fuelled by his mother, there was just something about the way this family functioned and organised itself that made me wonder just how long I was going to stick around. Perhaps for as long as he found me useful.

"You like pie?" Samuel asked as we rode the lift to his flat. "I think she said that's beef, and the other is apple. I can order in some custard." He stared at me, silent, selectively becoming a mute as if he'd ordered me to. "Well?" he asked, once more, his face pinched into a glare, staring deeper into my soul. "If you don't like that, it's fine. I'm not going to force you to eat anything you don't want."

"I do—I do like them," I said, and they smelled quite nice. I was just scared. I'd seen how many pies she'd made. That had to have been a lot of meat. And I knew something that had a lot of meat on it. Humans. "She—she made a lot."

"She bakes when she's stressed," he said. "She always did. Pies, cakes, anything."

"Anything?" I asked as the lift doors opened. I wasn't sure I liked the sound of how he'd said that. She baked anything, so that could've been humans.

"Why?" he snickered. "You have another list of baked goods you like to eat?" We walked in the direction of the door. "She probably wouldn't even mind, actually."

I stayed quiet. I didn't want to overstep, and I didn't want to insult his mother. She seemed nice, although with a knife, I felt threatened. Perhaps because of how much she had the same menacing eyes as Samuel did when he had that knife in his hand before killing that man.

In the flat, I should've felt comfortable and at ease. Instead, I saw the trauma of last night unfold once more in front of me. The way I'd been standing in front of the mirror, to being dragged into his room, and then seeing the bar of cocaine.

"Let's talk about it," he said, grabbed two small glasses from the cabinet. He then grabbed a bottle of vodka. "Last night, I wasn't the nicest, and I certainly wasn't the best host."

Placing both the pies on the counter, I shook the thought away. It would be cannibalism to feed someone human meat, not only that, but I was sure there was some disease associated with it, and she didn't look like someone who would poison her son.

"Fine," he grumbled, pouring two shots of vodka. "Don't speak. Let me. I don't want you to think I'm the world's biggest asshole. I'm not. I'm not half as bad as some people make me out. The stories are always much worse than what the actual truth is."

"I—"

"Go on." He pushed the glass across to me.

"Last night, you—you said something."

"I saw you on the app," he blurted before shotting the vodka. His face didn't flinch. "I probably brought it up. Although even if I hadn't, it's not exactly rocket science to figure out. You're—"

"The app," my voice croaked, breaking in pitch. The Little Me app wasn't even something I'd used since I'd got my phone back. The last thing on my mind was looking for someone to be cute with. "You're on the app?"

Samuel pulled his suit jacket off and folded it over the counter. "Big bad criminals don't always have to be big bad criminals, do they?"

Yes, they did. That was who they were. I was a petty thief. I stole from those who could afford it. I noticed the prolonged silence and took the shot of vodka.

"Good," he said, waiting for me to place it on the counter he held the bottle, ready to pour another. "I didn't know that at first, when you robbed from me. I'm assuming you didn't either considering I've never once shown my face there."

"So, you—you have a type then?" I asked, gulping at the burning in my throat. "Can I have a water?"

"Yes, and yes," he said, walking around me in the kitchen to the refrigerator. "It's not so much that I have a type, more of a taste." He handed me a bottled water.

"A taste?"

"People don't stay, they get scared, being with me is a blessing and a curse. You've seen the blessings. Haven't you?" His eyes widened.

I gulped down the water. The blessings were probably the flat, and all the things he'd done for me while I was here, which was a gesture, but he was keeping me here, to work for him. "So, what do you want from me?"

"I mean, you still have to carry out duties as my assistant," he said. "I haven't forgiven you of that debt, and it was more than just money you took from me. You invaded my personal space, that type of debt seems steep."

I could've left already, I knew I could, and yet, there was something gluing me to him. Perhaps he it was a toxic glue, and my mind was spinning because of it, or maybe it was a genuine care now that I'd seen him express genuine human emotion.

"And I know, I know," he said, taking another shot of vodka. "You could've left already, and I'll tell you why you haven't." He leaned in close. His scent, that was another reason, it was divine, like someone was lifting me off my feet. "You haven't left because this is the most luxury you've ever had. Those sheets on that bed, you'll never feel finer. Those products in the bathroom, expensive. And these views, incredible."

Ok. Perhaps I'd missed those off my list. I was materialistic, and he'd caught onto that. I liked expensive things; I enjoyed selling them. "Also, because you said you could help me," I whispered with his face close to mine. "And—and—"

"That's right," he said, moving his head away as if to tease me with how close he'd been. "You want to travel the world. You want to explore. And yes, I can help you with that, I told you, I'm not always a big bad criminal." He walked to the window view outside.

"What about killer?" I asked.

He chuckled. "I'm always that, I suppose, but I already promised I'd never hurt you."

"Do you mean that?"

"Yes." He turned, concerned with the question. "Why?"

Here went everything. After a deep breath, I allowed myself to explode. "You sell drugs. My mum's an addict. You're the reason she's the way she is. You, and money. She's a drop in how much you've made, but you're the reason I grew up the way I did. So, you've already hurt me." My words trembled off my lips. I broke down on the floor.

He picked me up and carried me to the sofa as I cried. My head on his lap. He stroked my face and head. "Maybe we shouldn't do shots," he said. "I don't want to see you upset. People might think I've done something to you."

I couldn't string a sentence together. It wasn't like he was the one directly going to my mum and giving her the drugs. I just needed someone to blame, and right now, he was that person, but it changed. Most of the time I blamed a father I never knew, as did she. I was still hurt though.

"I can see who's selling to her and stop them," he said. "If you want me to, I can make sure she never gets anything else from me again."

It was a nice offer, but I couldn't exactly tell him what to do about his business, and if my mother was cut off like that, she'd probably come to me again, and I wasn't emotionally prepared for her. Plus, she'd probably do worse things to get those drugs, I didn't want that on my shoulders.

"Can you just—" I grabbed his hand and placed it on my head. "Just do that."

I stared at the unlit fireplace as he stroked my head, his finger drawing lines and patterns down my cheeks. The shirt was uncomfortable, I didn't want to be laid on his knee in these stiff, wrinkled clothes. And I didn't even want to be dressed in those clothes he'd had tailored to fit me either. I didn't like suits.

"That's enough now," he said. "You're still my assistant. I'm not going to blur the lines."

Sitting upright, I looked at him, my eyes pink and raw from tears. "Blur the lines?"

"I'm not going to treat you like I would someone I was sleeping with," he said, tilting his head. He looked me over. "And I don't know if that's what you'd even want anyway."

"You're right," I said. "Just because you know about me, and—"

"Well, you also know more about me too," he added.

That was true. We both knew about each other, more than we had. I didn't know if I liked the entire pictures I saw of him, but I knew it comforted me to have a full picture of him now rather than the fragments I'd seen.

He stood and snapped his fingers. "We have a killer to find, catch, and kill."

"We?"

"You're my assistant, you'll assist me."

"In the—"

"No, you're not a killer, you're a thief," he said, snapping his fingers at me again. "A conman in training. And I'm going to use that."

I stood, feeling awkward. "How?"

"We're going to start with finding out who walked their dog near the house," he said. "It could be anyone. But I know they had a dog, or a cat. But no, the neighbours saw a dog." He rolled his eyes. "The neighbour's kids saw it. If they weren't children, I'd have been submitting them to further questions." A devilish smile crossed his face. "Obviously, I'm not a monster, so I won't."

"What will you do?"

"What will we do? You mean."

I hadn't intended on doing much more than taking notes, although the urge to pickpocket was real. "Ok."

"Clean up, we're going back to the office," he said. "Then we'll see what happens. If there was a dog on the street. We'll see it on the street footage."

After that small cry, I was hungry, even for the pies I'd been assuming had been dead people. "You need me for that?"

"You have other plans?" He raised his brows; it was a good question.

I just wanted to sit in bed now, get comfy and watch TV on my iPad. "Well—"

"The answer if no, you're only plans are with me," he said. "Unless, of course, no—" he paused, biting into his smiling lip. "You wanted to get closer to me. You did just lay on my lap."

That could've been part of it. I wanted to get closer. He was a man in proximity. More than that, he was a man in charge, with demands and control, that was basically what I'd been looking for on the Little Me app.