by Belle Aurora
Raising the barrel of the gun to his forehead, I breathe deeply and close my eyes.
I exhale.
The shot rings out.
Smiling like a dork, I’m giddy at getting some girl-time in. I really need it after this week’s occurrences.
Nikki and I have a weekly standing date at a local café. Somewhere we can meet during the week and spend our lunch hour yakking away. I don’t necessarily like today’s subject.
She stirs her coffee and avoids my eyes, looking guilty. “I don’t know anything about this guy and that worries me. I-” Cough, “I’ve asked around and—”
I cut her off with a gasp, “Nikki, you didn’t!”
Placing her hands up in a placating way, she adds, “I can’t let me best friend go out with just anyone now, can I? It’s beside the point, babe, because I couldn’t come up with a damn thing. People know of him. People know about him. And people would rather swallow razor blades than gossip about Twitch. Meaning: he’s not only scary, but the man keeps his shit tighter than a Vatican priest.”
I’m not sure what to do with this information.
So I do nothing. And something.
I change the subject. “You do realize that it’s only two weeks ‘til your birthday, right?”
Completely on to me, she rolls her eyes, “Yes, mum, I do, but don’t even try to change the subject, girlie.” Smiling a sly smile, she whispers, “What’s he like?”
She’s dying to know. I can feel the want coming off of her in waves.
Thinking, I sigh and melt into my chair. “When it’s good, it’s the best and most beautiful thing I’ve ever experienced. So good, that it makes me feel bad for people who haven’t had the honor.” She smiles big and I add, “But when it’s bad…it’s bad, Nikki. A goddamn Greek tragedy. It’s horrific. And really fucking scary.” Stirring the coffee that no longer needs to be stirred, I whisper, “He scares me.”
I watch as the smile falls from her face. She now wears a look of anxiety.
Reaching across the table to take her hand in mine, I tell her honestly, “But those good times…” I sigh dreamily. “I’ll take the bad just so I can have the good. Because the good is outstanding. So, if you must know, I’m going with the flow and taking it as it comes.”
Nikki still looks worried, but her eyes have turned dreamy.
That’s what I love about Nikki. She’s a total romantic at heart.
“Okay, girlie. You’re smarter than anyone I know, so even though I worry about you, I know you’ll do what’s right for you. But promise me one thing: if it gets too intense, you’ll get out, regardless of how good the good is.”
I immediately reply, “I promise.”
And then I wonder why I just lied to my best friend’s face.
The kid’s got another five minutes to get here or he’s fucking fired.
And that would be a shitty way to start your first day.
He hasn’t called, even though he’s running late, and I’m officially pissed off. If he doesn’t know he’s in deep shit, he’ll soon find out when he gets here.
Suddenly my phone chirps.
Lexi: How’s Michael’s first day going? Please be nice to him. He’s a good kid, Twitch.
My anger fizzles marginally.
I don’t know how she does it, but she just does. My own form of anger management.
And she’s afraid of you.
That sudden unwelcome thought pulls a furrow from my brow.
Me: I would tell you if he showed up.
Her reply is immediate.
Lexi: Please don’t do anything rash. I’m on it.
Just as I hit reply, my office door opens and in comes Michael, head down, trudging into my office.
I quickly type to Lexi.
Me: He’s here. Stand down, mama bear.
Standing, I tell him, “Nice of you to finally sho—” My words cut off mid-speak when he walks closer to me and I notice the fat lip. Standing, I meet him halfway; my brow bunches as I use my fingers to gently lift his chin. Steeling his jaw, he closes his eyes tightly and allows me to inspect him.
One black eye, a broken nose, and a busted lip.
Shit.
Someone took their fists to him. They knocked him around good. I wonder how bad his body looks right now, but I won’t ask. I’ll leave him with what he has left of his dignity. The kid has done what I asked and bought himself new clothes and got a neat, short haircut. The new jeans are ripped, his new sneakers scuffed, and his bright white polo shirt is blood-stained and filthy.
Letting his chin go, I place my hands on my hips and sigh, “What happened, boy?”
He speaks without emotion, “I was told to give you this.”
Reaching into his back pocket, he pulls out a folded piece of paper, smeared with droplets of blood. I take the paper and search his face. Blood trickles down his broken nose and drips onto the Persian rug in my office. As soon as he feels it, he places his hand under his nose, catching the blood, and he whispers fearfully, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
Walking over to my desk, I pull a handful of tissue out of the box and hand it to him. He takes it with a shaking hand and I ask, truly confused, “You scared of me?”
Placing the bunched tissue on his nose, he answers, “Should I be?”
Honesty. “Yes.”
Nodding, he looks me in the eyes. “Okay. That’s good then. I am scared of you.”
I like this kid. His smart mouth would normally annoy me. But with him, it doesn’t. Unfolding the note, I look down and read.
You want a war, you got one.
I know the answer before I ask, but I feel I have to confirm this. War is a big deal. To some.
“This from Hamid or Frank?”
Frank’s a pussy. He would never do something like this. His power was handed down from his father. I know for a fact he doesn’t want the position he was given. I mean, he is a mob prince. He’s an Italian mob prince who’s in love with a Russian mob princess. If I were him, I’d fucking shoot myself.
Michael looks at me through wide eyes and I sigh, “Hamid, you stupid fucker.”
This is definitely more Hamid’s speed. He works off fear tactics. Which is not unlike myself, but my presence alone instils that in the people around me. I don’t ever have to prove it. And if I do, they usually lose. Their lives, I mean. Hamid is an Iranian, sly fucking rat. He’d attack you while your back is turned. The guy is power hungry. Fuck drugs. Power is his drug of choice. And one day, it’ll be the death of him.
Narrowing my eyes at my new PA, I ask in interest, “If you had a choice to do something to Hamid without there being any consequences, what would you do?”
Michael’s eyes darken a shade. “I’d take his eye out. With something rusty. And blunt.”
My lips tip up at the side. I knew I liked this kid.
Pulling out my phone, I ignore the message received and call Happy. As soon as he answers, I keep my eyes on Michael and tell my business partner, “We got an issue that needs to be dealt with. Pronto.”
Happy responds, “What’s up?”
“We’re taking the kid off site for…” I smirk, “…training. We need ten men. Armed with something visible. Something big.”
Happy laughs, “Oh shit. Someone’s gonna get fucked up.”
Smiling, I bite the tip of my tongue. “Hell yeah. You down with that?”
Happy turns serious, “You know I got your back, bro. Always.”
And he does. I don’t know where I’d be without Happy or Julius.
I simply respond, “Ten minutes.”
Placing the corner of my phone in the dip in my chin, I hold it there a moment, lips pursed in thought. Pointing the phone at Michael, I tell him, “Get your face sorted. We start training in ten minutes.”
The look of disbelief on his face is funny. So funny that I chuckle, walk over to him, and clap him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. You’re gonna love it.”
I walk out of my office
wearing a grin.
Taking three SUV’s over to the warehouse being used to package Hamid’s gear puts on enough of a show that the man comes out to greet us himself.
Hamid stands at the delivery dock wearing a cocky smirk, black slacks, and a black shirt. His hair spiked in a youthful style, there is nothing about this man that would lead to you guessing his background. His pale skin, green almond-shaped eyes, average height, and black hair shows nothing of his Iranian culture.
As all three cars come to a stop, and all ten visibly-armed men, plus one beaten adolescent exit the vehicles, I swear he begins to sweat.
He should be.
He’ll remember today for as long as he lives.
Waiting for my men to form a line behind me, I click my fingers at Michael, then point to my side. He joins me quickly enough. Happy stands on his free side, forming a protective barrier around my newest employee.
As soon as Hamid sees this, he knows he’s made a mistake. His eyes flash, then narrow in confusion, then widen as he swallows hard.
We approach the nervous man. He greets us, “Salam, Twitch. Happy. To what do I owe this pleasure?” His thick accent a reminder that he’s only lived in Australia a few short years.
This pisses me off. My eye twitches as I grit my teeth and say in dead calm, “You declared war. And beat my personal assistant, making him late for his first day. I think you know exactly why I’m here, Hamid. You dare greet us with the Persian word for peace?”
Yeah, that’s right, fuckhead. I know what salam means.
Hamid’s smile falls. “I did not realize he was an employee of yours. The boy—”
Michael cuts him off, “Actually, boss, it’s the first thing I told him.”
And I want to burst into laughter at the look of discomfit on Hamid’s face. Truly, I’m not as angry as I could be, but this man needs a lesson in what happens when you fuck with me and mine.
You have to be prepared for war should you declare it.
“Is this true?” I ask Hamid.
Glaring at Michael, he answers, “I thought the boy was lying to get out of work. I also believed you were poaching my men, starting with this one.” His fingers motion in Michael’s direction. “Obviously, I was wrong. I apologize.”
Nodding, I gesture to the warehouse. “I think we need to talk about more than just that. Don’t you?”
Not trusting my calm tone, his eyes narrow on me for only a moment before he smiles, “Of course. Please come in.”
He leads us to the warehouse office where he turns and states, “It would be wise to leave your men outside. I would not like my mules to be discouraged by thinking something was wrong.”
Mules. This is what some drug manufacturers call the people packing their gear, as well as taking it over to assigned dealers. Seeing as the men being here was all for looks anyways, I nod to Happy, who tells them all to wait outside for us.
Michael tries to stay behind with the men, but I nod to my side. He scuttles over with his head down. When Happy joins us, Hamid asks, “A drink, perhaps?”
I scowl at him. He watches me for a full minute before he smirks and takes a seat behind his desk. “All this animosity over a child?”
The three of us stand in front of his desk. Happy pipes up, “All this animosity over war.”
Hamid waves a dismissive hand, “That was before I realized you weren’t poaching my men.”
I state, “Patrick says hello.”
Hamid blanches. The fact that I had to get rid of one of my men because of this asshole grinds my gears. He sputters, “W-what do you mean?”
Ignoring his attempt at playing dumb, I tell him, “Of course, where he is right now, it’ll be hard for you to contact him again.” I tilt my head and narrow my eyes at him. “Very hard. You could say that he’s gone…underground…for a while.”
Happy adds, “A very long while. He might never even resurface.”
Hamid’s false bravado disappears and a look of worry crosses his face. “I did not go to him. He came to me! And he said nothing of which I didn’t already know. Now, we have spoken, and I have apologized; there is no need for this. We can go our separate ways and forget about it.” Although he tries to make it sound like a statement, it comes out more as a plea.
Happy and I look at each other a long moment before Happy nods in my direction. I smirk internally. Walking around the desk, I speak as I go, “You know what? I think you’re right. I don’t think Patrick told you anything you didn’t already know. But I do think you knew exactly why Michael was leaving you. And I don’t think you liked losing a man to me, did you?”
Hamid scowls. I push further. “Did you?”
He responds with an acid tongue. “It does not matter, Twitch. It is over. There will be no war. I will not apologize a second time. I think it’s time for you and your men to leave.”
Finally reaching the back of his chair, I lean forward over his head and whisper loud enough for all four of us to hear, “All’s fair in love and war.”
As quick as a snake strike, my forearm goes around his neck and tightens enough to cut off his air. Happy doesn’t react, but Michael whispers, “Holy shit.”
Hamid reaches up and claws at my arms. It gets him nowhere. And this is the point where I look over at Happy and jerk my chin towards him. He comes forward as I lift Hamid by his neck out of his chair and stand him up. Happy comes from behind him and takes my place by putting Hamid in a chokehold. Breathing deeply, I tell Hamid, “You know, I wish people wouldn’t force me to do things like this.” Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my ivory switchblade and extend the blade. “Unfortunately, you leave me no choice with your blatant disrespect. And I’ve let that go on too long. So today will be your one and only lesson from me.”
Lack of air makes the pressure build in his now-maroon-colored face. He chokes out, fear in his eyes, “What are you going to do?”
Looking into his left eye, then his right, I state robotically, “An eye for an eye.”
Happy’s hold on his throat tightens, he shoves a balled handkerchief into his mouth, and covers it with his free hand. Hamid struggles against his hold, his loud cries muffled. The man is petrified. I could let him go right now. It would be a lesson taught to him, but that lesson would be soon forgotten. I want this fucker to wake up every morning with me on his mind.
I want him to remember me for the rest of his miserable life.
Clinically, I tell Happy, “Hold him still. I don’t want to take them both out.”
Hamid’s eyes widen a moment before he struggles harder and closes his eyes, tears rolling out of the corners. When I hear trickling, I look down to see the man has pissed himself. The smell of ammonia strong in the air, I glare at him. “Motherfucker. Let’s do this.”
A cut here.
Hamid screams until he’s hoarse, muffled by Happy’s makeshift gag.
A slice here.
He whimpers. His body shakes uncontrollably, going into a state of shock. His hands claw at air.
A gouge there.
His breathing heavies and his body stills, alerting me to the fact that he’s passed out.
Damn. Lucky son of a bitch.
What should probably be sad is that I feel little to nothing about doing this. There is no twinge in the back of my head telling me to stop. No emotion. There is just…nothing. My mind and I are completely at ease doing this to someone we believe is at fault. Someone who needs to be taught a lesson.
When I’m satisfied with my handiwork, I walk over to the door at the side of the office and open it. The bathroom is small, but it’ll do. I don’t like his blood on me.
Washing and washing and washing until I’m sure my hands are clean, I walk back out to the office to see Michael leaning over Hamid’s ashen face and twitching body, taking in his now-gaping eye socket with wide eyes. Happy stands to the side, also watching carefully to see what Michael will do.
Michael asks an empty, “Will he die?”
I answer
softly, “No. But he’ll wish he did.”
The boy looks up at me, “Did you do this for—” He looks embarrassed. “For me?”
“Partly,” I tell him. And it’s the truth. No one fucks with my employees. But Hamid had it coming. If it wasn’t me, it would’ve been someone else. He’s lucky it was me, because he will live another day to be the rat he is.
Michael nods. I look over to Happy, his eyes still trained on the boy, an impressed look on his face.
Yes. He’ll do nicely.
Pulling out my wallet, I remove my business card from it and walk over to the desk to write a note for Hamid when he comes to.
Declaring war was a mistake. For the record…I won.
I always win.
Walking over his limp body, I let the card flutter down onto his chest and walk towards the exit, men in tow. As we approach the SUV, I hail one of Hamid’s goons and state, “You want your boss to live, you’ll call an ambulance. Right now.”
His eyes widen before he runs towards the office. My men packed up and ready to leave, we roll out to the sounds of hell breaking loose.
Turning to Michael, who sits next to me, he watches me through wide eyes.
I smirk and tousle his hair.
Yes.
The boy will do fine.
Turning the key to unlock my unit, I wonder why Twitch never responded to my message asking if Michael is okay.
Face bunched in confusion, I hang up my coat, set down my bag on the breakfast bar, and walk towards my room. Stopping mid-step halfway down the hall, I listen closely.
The shower runs.
“Twitch?” I call out.
A familiar voice calls out, “No, baby. It’s me.” Dave. My smile dies as soon as he adds, “And we’re going to talk about why you think that strange man is in your shower as soon as I get out.”
Shit.
My phone pings.
Nikki: Girls night! Whoo! Be there soon x
Girls night? Tonight? There’s no way I would’ve forgotten something like that.
Having had a shower this morning, I dress in sweats and a tank, then spray the crap out of myself with deodorant.
