Chapter 63: A Golden Pie
A slow, cold smile curled the corner of April’s lips—a physical, almost involuntary reaction to the sheer, existential danger radiating off the red-haired man.
The paralyzed fear inside her didn’t make her weak; it made her hyper-alert.
He had just mentioned her wanting to haggle, mocking her for bringing up prices while bound to an iron chair. But his common sense didn’t operate like an average person’s. To a man possessed by the pursuit of wealth, traditional threats and standard hostage protocols meant nothing. Money was his language, his logic, and his god.
And that was her opening. That was her leverage.
If she was going to survive an encounter with a literal monster, she had to weaponize their shared obsession with wealth. Because if she failed, if she couldn’t make herself uniquely profitable to him right now, she may never leave this place alive.
This was the high-stakes game the system wanted her to play.
April leaned back against the iron chair, tilting her chin up to meet his wild, chaotic gaze with absolute composure.
"I don’t haggle, Mr. Collins," April said, her voice dropping into a sharp, calculating tone that perfectly matched his energy. "I provide premium services for premium rates. And judging by the size of your operation... you can certainly afford me."
"Oh?" Nat’s eyes lit up, a dangerous spark flickering in the darkness. "You know who I am?"
"Your features are anything but foreign," April replied evenly. "In fact, they actually make you stand out more."
Nat leaned over, his forehead nearly touching hers, his breath warm against her skin. He brought his hands up, his fingers brushing against her neck with a maniacal, testing grip. "Well, what else do you know about me? Do you believe I strangle my hostages before I find their worth, or after?"
The gesture instantly reminded her of Alexander. It seemed rich men who didn’t believe in the supernatural always wanted to see an immediate future trick.
"It doesn’t work that way, Mr. Collins," April said, not flinching as his fingers tightened slightly on her throat. "If fortune telling were that convenient, I wouldn’t be sitting in this chair right now as your captive, and we wouldn’t have met."
Nat stared at her for a beat, his grip loosening before he finally relented. "Hm. True." He let out a soft hum, looking at her like a kid about to watch a magic show for the first time. Excitement danced in his eyes. "So is this some kind of thing that has to do with fate?"
"I believe it definitely has to do with fate," April said, locking eyes with him. "Because you, Nat Collins, have got yourself a golden pie. So tell me... do you want a piece of this pie, or do you just want to throw it out to rot in the hands of the unworthy?"
Inwardly, April knew there was no way she could have gotten Nat Collins’ personal attention so easily on her own this early on when she’s never crossed his path or even the path of his underlyings.
He had definitely been commissioned to capture her. Her highest guess? Harvey Greels had paid an astronomical amount of money to him just to get her.
Thankfully, Nat Collins didn’t play by moral or business ethics. He would turn down Harvey in a heartbeat if it meant securing a much bigger profit for himself.
Nat looked at her for a second, then chuckled deeply. "This is fun."
He dragged a nearby iron chair across the concrete floor. The metal scraped piercingly until he slammed it down directly in front of her. Throwing his leg over it, he sat down backwards, leaning his arms on the backrest facing her.
"So tell me, what kind of golden pie are you?"
April inwardly sighed. At least now she had his full attention.
"The kind that bleeds gold," she stated, metaphorically. "Mr. Collins, I’d like to believe you, and I chase the exact same goal in life," she said.
"What’s that?"
"Money. Wealth. We can never seem to get enough of it," April purred, her eyes glowing almost fanatically, showing him she wasn’t scared in the slightest and that there was the same desire in her heart as his. "And just like you would do anything to increase the resources in your arsenal, I would do the same. I go by one rule: if you’re not paying the price, I’m not opening my mouth. I will entertain you, but you have to pay me."
Nat narrowed his eyes, the playfulness vanishing for a fraction of a second. "You’re tough. Or maybe you’re just stupid. I could kill you right now and just go about my day."
"Yes, you could," April nodded smoothly. "But you’re curious, right? A seer who tells the future... a seer who can read stock prices before they even show a single fluctuation on the boards. A seer who can ensure you never lose a single cent in a trade."
Nat’s eyes twitched.
Yes. That was the exact reaction she was hoping for.
If there was one thing a financial predator like Nat Collins needed a seer for, it was to eliminate the painful unpredictability of the stock market. Even with his near-perfect predictions, the market was a pain in the ass.
"If you kill me now," April mused, leaning forward as much as her bonds allowed, "life goes on. But you stand to lose so much more..." She whispered.
It was tempting. It was incredibly tempting to Nat Collins. But a part of him still wondered if she was just spilling a bunch of bullshit to buy time. Not that it mattered—she couldn’t get away, and absolutely no one could find this hideout.
Still, he had never played a day in his life cautiously. When the stakes were high, he found the game much more fun.
"Fine," Nat said, a smirk widening on his face. "I want to believe ya. I want to see your little magic trick if it can line my pockets. But I need to be sure I’m not pumping a hot air balloon, only to have it deflated later."
"So you want a free trial to see me in action? Is that it?"
Nat tilted his head, smirking. "Well, yeah."
"That’s possible," April replied. "But first, untie me."
Nat paused, his dark eyes narrowing into sharp, dangerous slits. "And why exactly should I do that?"
"How else am I supposed to perform a magic trick with no hands?" April countered, raising her bound wrists slightly behind her back with an expectant look. "Unless you want me to summon the future with my toes, I suggest you give me some breathing room."
