The set up pt 18

“Mr. Kennedy, are you okay?” Serenity asked. At 17, she was in her first year of being an intern on capitol hill and assigned to Spencer Kennedy’s office. The strikingly beautiful young blonde had already found out the hard way that Spencer gets what he wants. Forced to perform sexual favors for the older man, she found herself falling for Spencer. It would prove to be the dumbest move she had ever made.

Lifting his head from his desk, his face as white as the walls, the first thing he reached for was the bottle of bourbon sitting on his desk. “Pour me a glass and get the fuck out of my office,” Spencer growled. His words laced with anger, the thought of being put in the spotlight angered him. If this came out, his career’s ruined. Spencer is not prepared to allow that to happen. Losing respect and the Kennedy money would break Spencer and cast a shadow on his reputation. A textbook Narcissist, none of this was his fault. People hated him for how perfect he was.

“But,” Serenity cried.

Looking at the female as though he would rather put a brick to her forehead then hear her speak one more time, Spencer felt nothing but disgust for the crying brat. The one downfall of fucking them young was that they fell in love too quickly. “Pour the drink and get out. I’m indisposed for the day,” he said. Breathing heavy, his eyes on the cell phone screen, he deleted the photos before she could see them.

Serenity looked over with a heart-crushing expression, poured the drink, and excused herself from the office. “Mr. Kennedy is fine. False alarm,” she said. She was smiling as she walked off, the entire office looking to one another confused. No one questioned it, but their faces showed that they were worried about the young girl’s mental health.

A few moments later, with the door locked, Spencer made a call to a private detective service he used in the past. J.J Chalmers Detective agency was known for discretion, and in the past, he used it to track not only his daughter but his wife. Amelia had a bad habit of fucking the lower class, and Spencer often cleaned up the mess she left behind. “Spencer Kennedy here. I need a trace put on my phone. The call came in twenty minutes ago from a restricted line. I need to know the exact location of where the call came from, he said. After being told it would take a few moments and they would call him back, Spencer made it known it was top security, and no one was to know about this.

“Mr. Kennedy, you know how we work. Anything you say or do stays between us. I assure you; no one will know the information but you,” said the agent. “I will call you back at your Los Angeles office the moment we know anything,” he said.

Standing at the window, his head against the pane of glass, Spencer felt something he had never known. Fear! His eyes closed, waiting when the phone rang, he couldn’t answer it fast enough. “Spencer Kennedy. You better have the information for me,” he said.

“Mr. Kennedy. We’ve traced the call, Sir. It was made from a cell phone registered to your wife. The location could only be traced to a warehouse in the Port of Los Angeles. We can’t get anything more than that right now, but we’re still trying,” he said as the phone went dead on Spencer’s end.

“That fucking cunt is dead,” he growled. Grabbing the glass, downing it all, the fury was written all over his face. Keys in hand, he barreled out of the office, ignoring the questions from his assistant.

“Mr. Kennedy, your appointment is.” her voice trailed off as he disappeared from her sight. Shrugging her shoulder, Serenity looked to the man waiting, her face filled with confusion. “Mr. Kennedy has a family emergency. I will reschedule you,” she said.

Hustling from the building, this wasn’t Washington, and Spencer had no clue how to maneuver around the city as he did back home. “Where the fuck is the Port of Los Angeles,” he yelled. Passerby’s on the street looked at him like he was insane. As a last resort, Spencer looked to a group of men on the corner, day laborers. “Fucking Mexicans,” he growled. “Hey, Paco, I have five hundred bucks for one of you to drive me to the waterfront. No sooner had he mentioned money did one of the men rushed him, grabbing the keys and motioning for him to get in. He tossed blood in a shark tank, and before all of them crammed in the car, they needed to leave.

“Come on, man, before they flip the fucking car and steal your shoes. Let’s go, Gringo,” said the Hispanic male.

Spencer rushed, getting into the back seat of the car, he held tight as the male floored the car, sending the other laborers rushing for safety. “I need to get to the Port of Los Angeles. Hurry, and I will make it a grand,” said Spencer. Paying no attention to the driver, he called Amelia, only to reach voicemail. “You are a fucking no good cunt. I’m going to cut your fucking head off and fuck your skull. Threaten me again, you lazy fucking whore. I will fucking clean your asshole out with Drano. You fucked with the wrong man, Amelia,” he growled.

“You need a drink. No woman is worth that,” the driver said. “If you want her gone, give me ten grand, and I will take her to Mexico,” he added, smiling.

“Shut the fuck up and drive. I’m going to take pleasure in making this dirty bitch suffer. This is a long time coming,” said Spencer. Leaning back, looking out the window, this was low even for Amelia. If she had his Granddaughter, there would be nothing left of her. That child was his!

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