Escape

“You commented on revenge” Hope changed the subject, not wanting to get lost. “What would it be?”

Castiel grinned, leaning back on the table as he raised his wrists close to her face, letting his elbows rest against the table. The criminal came close, very close to the journalist's face, who froze with the sudden approach, unable to move a muscle.

He laughed some more, laughing out of context, and walked away, his eyes gleaming in Hope's direction. The handcuffs failed, and he pointed at Hope with one of his forefingers, forming a gun with his hand right after, also using his middle finger.

Hope looked down at Castiel's hand, finding the year he was born tattooed on his fingers. She remained expressionless, her eyes falsely cold.

“If I tell you… I'll have to kill you,” he whispered.

“And would you use your fingers?” Hope had to make fun of his.

“Intelligent.” He returned to normal, laughing, convinced that “I could strangle you.”

“I thought I was dealing with a drug dealer, not a psychopath.” She smiled the same way. She was protected, was counting on it to use so much boldness to talk to this man.

The inmate threw back his head, and part of his orange uniform showed a chunk of his neck tattooed with several unpainted roses.

“I like you” Castiel commented at last.

Hope clears his throat and speaks again.

“You started dealing at twenty-one, and that's common sense among people and the paper, which raises a big question: how did you get to this empire at such a young age?”

“Oh, a lot of effort and loyalty.” Castiel smiled nostalgically, “and stealing some territories.”

“One of them being from the late Kentin?”

They exchanged defiant glances.

“Exactly” Castiel licked his lips again, speaking slowly, with a subliminal message shining in his gaze.

“Right, in your photos on social networks on your social networks, and now under my eyes, I can see tattoos. Is it a brand of your mafia, or just a taste?”

“There's a mark, yes.”

“Angel wings?”

Hope pressed the pen in his hand when he realized he released an implicit statement from the photos he saw the day before. Castiel raised one of his eyebrows, tipping his head to the side, and Hope kept his gaze, pretending he wasn't intimidated by it. But she was.

“A pistol”

The journalist agreed with a nod and marked another question on her file. Castiel cleft his teeth, hated the idea of seeing the girl surrender to his gaze to check the leaf, as if he did not feel fear, or inferiority. Everyone saw him as dangerous, the king of crime, but this particular journalist... She was too professional, Castiel would say.

Or proud, it was one of the alternatives in his mind.

“You are being charged with several crimes, however, has never been cited for murder. You've never killed anyone, Mr. Reed?”

“Killing is a very strong word” He commented, looking at the quiet face of the girl, “would not do that.”

“But you're aware that you can help a person ruin their own life, isn't it?” The pen was on the side of the question they were supposed to ask but couldn't get out of that topic.

He didn't have a conscience?

“Help? Yes, I can. But I know it's their choice.” He went down his eyes to Hope's mouth, “Which, by the way, is a choice wonderful.”

Hope wanted to drop another irony, but was paraded by her professional sense, which made him look down and go to the next question. Castiel closed his eyes, feeling challenged by the girl.

“Do you have a relationship?”

“Tell me if I'm sociable?”

“Married.”

The criminal smiled maliciously.

“Why is that? Are you interested?” Cynical, that's what he was.

“Do you want to get married someday?” In the eyes of the journalist, they expressed nothing but curiosity.

“I don't think I'll ever get married.”

Hope pressed his lips together and swallowed, looking down again. Castiel held back a new smile, watching the journalist's neck, pale and very pure. He wondered if that girl in front of him was a virgin, or if it touched someone else with evil intentions.

She looked too pure for that. Real, palpable purity, and Castiel definitely loved pure people.

I loved to ruin them.

“Do you regret what you did?” Hope had the lowest voice without realizing it.

“I have a degree in business administration, I speak several languages. I tried to know what I do” Castiel bit the smile that wanted to grow on his lips “And let's face it, the jets, the luxury cars, the giant apartments, the freedom. It buys my regret.”

“Freedom? You're in a penitentiary now.”

For a moment the mobster thought he had heard wrong, he didn't believe the words that came out of this girl's mouth. Wasn't she afraid of danger?

Castiel flashed finding the statement funny, it really was a comical irony. He stared into the girl's eyes concealing the subliminal humor, as if to rebuke her, but he was just laughing inside the other's boldness.

“What time is it?” asked Castiel.

“Nine-twenty at night.”

“Um... So, in less than... five minutes I'll be loose.”

“Pardon?” Hope raised his eyebrows.

Castiel raised both trapped wrists and pointed up with the index finger, asking Hope to listen. The girl was silent, listening to whatever it is. Sounds of propellers, loud voices, rush... Shots. The journalist opened her eyes as much as he could, observing Castiel's amusing expression.

The mobster put his hands under the table again and Hope heard the common sound of handcuffs opening, and soon the metal fell on the icy floor, echoing too loudly for the journalist. She was stopped, she wasn't going to do anything to stop Castiel's plans, she couldn't have the physical condition for a fight with a guy like that, and that wasn't a fight her wanted to buy. And she feels curious what was going to happen in five minutes.

Hope saw Castiel show more than loose handcuffs, revealing a pistol. Below the table, within that time her was with Castiel, there was a pistol there. A lethal weapon.

Hope's heart failed, but it still didn't move, following Castiel with his eyes.

Sloppy, the criminal got up and turned around the table, stopping next to Hope. The journalist did not turn her face to him, continued irreducible and completely paralyzed. She had a mobster by his side with a gun, she couldn't think well in that situation.

His breath was stuck in his throat.

“You're a good girl, honey.” Castiel touched the journalist's face and only then did Hope look at him, “the good girls go to heaven, but I want to meet you in hell when I die.”

Then he kissed Hope, plucking a surprise afar from the girl, who automatically held Castiel's hair, kissing him with desire and hunger, almost getting up to grab him better.

So, I made you sin, sweetie; Castiel concluded in his thoughts, passing the message of Hope through language.

Hope grumbled tearfully as Castiel pulled his hair back, his face facing the ceiling entirely. She delighted in his tongue making waves inside his mouth, feeling a vibration all over his body.

She sighed when he was finally released, looking at Castiel with tears in his eyes. Was freaking out inside, especially blaming yourself for having enjoyed kissing a mobster so much.

“Don't worry about the shots, before I die, I hope I can fuck you, sweetie.” He winked with one eye.

Castiel took two steps behind the door and kicked her very hard, and easily, at once broke into it as if it were the least resistant wood that existed. The journalist took a deep breath, the air came trembling into her lung. He set his posture and turned off the recorder and organized his briefcase.

She looked at the door that was now thrown across the hall, slowly blinked, thinking; What about the bad boys, Castiel?