by Jarica James
“Come here, we only want to see if you’d make a good fit for our… business. No one wants to hurt you,” he said, but I was focused on counting. Five. There were five men here to face a child. Pathetic.
Remember your training, Sana.
At that thought, I forced out a tear, the men’s eyes heating in a way that nearly made me nauseous. On the outside, I was a shaking, crying child, but on the inside, I was calculating and reading the room, waiting for my opening. My hand was clutching the knife so hard it hurt, but I wasn’t willing to relax, my body ready to strike as soon as I could.
“There's a good girl. Come here, sweetie,” the man said, holding his hand out to me and putting on a kind smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. It was my one and only shot at a surprise attack, and I wasn’t going to let them win. I forced my shoulders to relax and reached forward slowly, expecting him to yank me to him, and he didn’t disappoint. Using the momentum against him, I slammed the knife into his throat, cutting his windpipe. His eyes went wide as he gurgled, dropping me when he slumped to the floor. I wiped at the blood on my face and looked at the others, all of them cursing but preparing themselves for a fight.
“She’s a fucking child! Come on, guys,” one of them jeered, stepping forward and dodging the knife as he snatched me up. Unfortunately for him, I’d been trained to attack from every hold, even with my shoulders gripped tight by a man who was towering over me. Lifting my arm, I slammed the knife into his eyes, embedding it as deep as I could before wrenching it back out. The scream that tore from his throat was loud and feral, but somehow he managed to pull me down with him as he fell, one of his buddies lunging toward us and slipping on my first kill’s blood. With an ungainly stagger, he dropped on top of me, my knife hitting him in the gut. Asshole #3 let out a high-pitched scream that resounded in the room.
Knowing that alone wouldn’t kill him, I used all of my strength to twist the knife to the side, its sharp serrated edge cutting through muscle and tissue as it went. Oh, this will be so messy. Blood poured from the wound, soaking through my thin, white nightgown as he gurgled for air, choking as his lungs filled.
Three down, two to go.
As if on cue, the dying man was lifted off of me, and I clung to the slippery knife like my life depended on it… because it did. My newest assailant was furious, his teeth clenched as he leaned down and grabbed me. Guess I wouldn’t be happy either, seeing my buddies killed by a little girl. Before I could take a breath I was thrown into the wall, my air knocked out of me by the rough concrete.
“How fucking dare you! Get her grandfather in here; he’s a dead man,” he growled to his companion. The lackey headed for the other door, trying to yank it open, but they were locked in with me.
“It’s fucking locked. This was a setup!” he yelled, distracting the man in front of me. I was already on my feet and rushing at him before either of them noticed, knife in hand. He caught me and tried to throw me over his shoulder, but I used the assistance to my advantage and sliced across his throat, another spray of blood coating me like a macabre live action painting. We both dropped, and I finished the cut, digging as deep as my small arms could force the blade.
“Oh fuck no, prime merchandise or not, you’re going to die now,” the last guy promised, reaching into his boot and pulling out a knife. It was smaller than mine, but from the bright lighting I could tell it was sharpened to a fine point, definitely enough to do damage if I gave him the chance. “Come here, you little bitch!”
“No,” I said calmly, facing off with him and watching his every tic, breath, and movement, waiting for another opening. This was life and death, and I would come out alive, no matter what I had to do. I’d seen enough murder and mayhem in my time to handle this. Honestly, I’d seen worse.
The man prowled around me, circling me like a tiger with its prey, but he was still underestimating me, which was stupid, given that I’d just murdered four of his comrades. I watched as he edged closer and closer, hoping I could pull this off with everything in me.
When he lunged forward, I tried to jump away, but his knife was embedded in my bicep. The force of his strike and the painful sting made me drop my knife. He laughed gleefully as he reached for my bigger weapon and stalked forward, morbid glee in his eyes as he lifted his hand, getting ready to slam it into my heart.
“Forgive me,” I whispered, using my good hand to yank out the blade and roll away, ignoring the searing pain and blood seeping out of the wound. When he turned my way, shocked at the movement, I slammed his knife into his neck, hitting right on target, and his body slumped down to join the others.
I knew I’d be in here for a while; Eros would let me soak in the massacre for hours, just to try and harden my will more than it already had been. It wasn’t enough to just fight off and kill five grown men; no, my grandfather would want to see a steely spine and stoicism in the face of the carnage I’d wrought. Tearing a strip from one of the men’s shirts, I wrapped my arm and went to the corner, sliding down to the floor and blindly staring at the blood painting the floor scarlet. My entire body trembled as I tried to shove away the awful scene before me despite knowing that small indulgence of weakness would not be overlooked by Eros.
“Otsana!” My name echoed around me, Keir’s harsh tone wrenching me out of the memory. I blinked rapidly, reorienting myself as I glanced down at the vaguely familiar man. Thanks to my all too bloody trip down memory lane, I realized he must have been a brother or son of the first man I’d killed in that room. Their features were far too similar to be anything otherwise. There was no way they’d have known I was responsible for those deaths, not unless Grandfather Eros had made it so. Goddamn it. Normal grandfathers brag about their granddaughter’s dance recitals, not their first body count.
“Sana?” This time it was Gabe’s voice coming from further away, and I glanced over to see Keir and Kyrell holding him back. Killian was in front of me, looking startled, his eyes darting back and forth between me and the body on the ground.
“I’m okay,” I told Gabe, but I was facing Killian, who looked at me with wild eyes that saw through me too much for comfort. I couldn’t bring myself to tell them the truth, my grandfather’s lessons holding me too tightly in their iron grip. Priamos didn’t say they would be okay; a Priamos had to just be okay.
“I’ve already got cleanup on the way, Baby Girl. Don’t worry about that trash. Now, tell me what the fuck happened,” he ordered, but I couldn’t do anything but shake my head and blink at him, each brief closing of my eyes threatening to send me into the darkness of another memory. I shouldn't be surprised how quickly they handled situations, but it did make me wonder how long I’d been frozen.
“I met his father… once,” I explained. Pain seared in my palm, and I hissed, realizing I had a death grip on my gun, the barrel digging into my hand. Using my other hand to hold the gun, I uncurled my fingers and flexed it, clicking on the safety before tucking it back in the harness. Unable to avoid it any longer, I looked up at Killian. His eyes were deadly, giving away his building anger even though he was clearly trying to rein it in and make sure I wasn’t hurt. Sure, the Adrostos were cold-blooded killers, but they’d never liked it when I was upset or harmed.
For a moment, I wavered on my feet, the adrenaline crash hitting me hard as my body trembled. It was a show of weakness, but no matter how hard I tried to stop it, my body refused to hold on to that tiny shred of dignity. “Fuck, I’m fine. Go away.” My words were harsh and angry, but my voice wavered, and his eyebrows dipped down in such obvious concern that I knew it hadn’t gone unnoticed.
“She needs to go home. Who’s meeting cleanup?”
“No one,” Keir said, already walking toward us with two unfamiliar men behind him as another ushered Gabe away, flashing him what looked like a fake badge… that or the guys had friends in high places. Given what I’d seen of them so far, the second was very likely. “We take her back to our place and have a little chat.”
“No,�
� I said, but Keir swiped a finger over my face, showing me the blood adorning my pale skin.
“Yes.” That was all he said before I was suddenly thrown over his shoulder and carried away, my body still too shaky to fight back. Unable to do anything else, I allowed him to carry me, trying to not let the darkness consume me.
“What was that?!” Killian demanded as he paced back and forth in front of me. They’d at least given me a glass of whiskey and a blanket before interrogations began, and I gave in to the urge to pull the blanket tight around me. I guess this is considered romance for a mob boss.
“It was PTSD,” Kyrell surmised from the chair across from me, nodding at me with a look of respect.
“Who caused it? I’ll fucking kill them,” Keir ground out from his spot near the bar cart, his glass shattering between his fingers and blood spilling onto the shards below. He cursed and winced as the alcohol spilled onto the open wound. Instead of cleaning it up, he just watched the blood drip, the sight apparently comforting to him, his shoulders relaxing as he watched it cascade down to the floor. Damn, these men had grown up to be psychos in their own ways. Good thing psycho was my type. Well, would be if I were actually going to let them claim me.
Which I’m not.
“Good lord, Keir, go clean up,” Ky said, looking pained by the growing mess on the carpet. As soon as he walked away, I got up and grabbed some tissues from the end table and the small waste bin nearby, cleaning up the mess.
“As much as I love seeing your ass in the air like that, Kitten, don’t do that,” Ky ordered, standing and walking out of the room. A few moments later, he came back with a spray bottle and a stained rag.
“What’s in it?” I asked, watching as the mixture bubbled when it hit the floor, the blood tinting the bubbles red before he started to scrub.
“Can’t tell you. It’s an old Grandma Adrostos recipe,” Killian joked, though the ensuing silence underscored the truth beneath his retort. Rolling my eyes, I climbed back on the couch, the distraction already helping me calm down. I felt so stupid for leaving myself vulnerable like that; it could have cost me my life… though that might not have been the worst thing.
Unable to stop it, I let out a yawn and snuggled into the plush couch, my eyes drifting closed despite trying to avoid it.
What felt like hours later, I woke to the sound of yelling. Startled, I was off the couch and grabbing for my dagger, only to remember where I was and that it was safely tucked in my boots by the front door. Blinking around at the pristine, classy apartment, I noticed it was night now. The dim light from a nearby lamp was all that illuminated the minimalist decor. The whole room had a similar vibe to the club’s lounge, though it was black, white, and silver this time.
Before I could explore, the front door slammed closed and the voices died out, but I was far too curious at this point to not follow. Moving as quietly as possible, I secured my dagger, pulled on my boots, and followed the guys out into the foyer, staying out of sight until the elevator closed. The icons above the doors flicked on and off until stopping on the basement level.
Not wanting to give myself away, I looked for the fire stairs, which weren’t hard to find since the lobby to their floor was fairly small in comparison, and started my descent. My feet echoed on the cement stairs as I climbed steadily down the six floors to the basement. The heavy metal door was unlocked, which was honestly a miracle in a place like this. Or a mistake that’ll be paid for with someone’s life. Mafia men weren’t known for being trusting. Unfortunately for me, no sooner had it closed behind me than someone walked out of the opposite door, eyes locking on me immediately. Before I could even grab for my gun, his was trained on me. Once again, I cursed myself for not having mine out, but I didn’t think I’d need it in their fucking building.
“How the fuck did you get in here?!” he yelled, his loud voice echoing off of the cement walls.
“I’m—” I started to explain, but he lunged forward, his gun slamming into my cheek and sending me flying into the wall. It hurt like a bitch, but it was the perfect opportunity to grab my gun, which I had out of my harness, the safety off, by the time he registered it. “If you would have let me speak,” I said, licking at the blood trickling onto my lip and growling, “I would have told you I was with the triplets, you fucking dick.”
“They didn’t tell me anyone was here. Don’t fucking lie to me, you little whore!” he screamed as his finger hit the trigger. I dodged away just fast enough for it to graze my arm instead of my chest. Before he could try again, I took aim and hit the trigger, my aim perfect despite the awkward angle and quick decision. Within seconds, the life was draining out of his eyes, and the idiot was dead before he even hit the floor. He’s lucky it was by my hand. The second he struck me, he signed his own death notice, and the triplets wouldn’t have been nearly as nice as I was. I froze as the blood started to pool around his limp body, ears straining for any noise that would indicate incoming backup, but it was silent. Deciding it was safe, I crouched down and grabbed his gun, holding it in my other hand as I carefully opened the door, stepping into the next empty room. Well, mostly empty. There was only a desk on the other side and a small hallway not far from it. Bypassing the desk that I assumed was a guard station, I went down the hall. There were two rooms, but the first appeared to be for storage, a bunch of cleaning supplies inside. I closed it and went for the second, peering in the window first.
The scene in front of me was gruesome. A man was braced to the chair in the middle of the cement room, bloody and nearly unrecognizable. Keir cut into his flesh with a look of sadistic delight on his face. It was a scene I’d lived before and one I had tried to forget. It was easy to simply ‘forget’ the darker side to them, but this was a glaring sign I couldn’t ignore. It hit too close to home, and I wanted no part of it. The Priamos and Adrostos families might be driven by different motivations, but the blood on their hands and the demons in their hearts were all too similar and a price I wasn't sure my soul could afford to pay. I need to get out of here.
Swallowing back my anger and frustration, I ducked down before they saw me and retraced my steps, heading for the stairs and taking them to the first floor. Taking advantage of the empty entryway, I hurried out through the main doors.
Fuck.
Noting my surroundings, I realized that they clearly lived across town, the area around me unrecognizable. It was still and quiet outside, unlike my own neighborhood or even the nicer ones by the club, but then again, when you had an actual torture chamber downstairs, you needed the utmost discretion.
Pulling out my phone, I called for an Uber, happy to see the wait was only five minutes. If I was lucky, they’d be down there longer than that. When the Charger pulled up, I checked the plates and climbed in the back, happy when he didn’t speak outside of a quick hello. Either the darkness hid my split cheek, he was discreet enough not to ask, or he had no desire to invite drama into his life. I didn’t know which one, but I was glad that I didn’t have to come up with some fumbling explanation for my latest injury.
Otsana: I had to leave. I don’t want this life, so I’m out. Sorry about your guy… but he started it.
Part of me should probably care that I was leaving again, knowing they’d follow this time, but the bratty side of me didn’t give a fuck. I'd left that life behind, and seeing that torture session was a glaring reminder that I’d have to pay dearly for these years of freedom.
When the Uber stopped outside of my apartment, I hurried into the decrepit entryway, eager to get behind locked doors. I could practically feel them stalking me and needed some semblance of safety. Especially after today. Someone had come and fixed the keypad, so I entered my code, rushing inside and up to my floor as quickly as possible without seeming like a psycho. It was a fine line that I knew well.
Once the lock on my apartment door clicked behind me, I let out a sigh of relief... until the light flicked on and a familiar figure stepped forward, arms crossed and anger in their eyes.
/>
Killian
“Let’s wrap this up as quickly as possible,” Kyrell said as we watched Keir lean in, knife in one hand and our victim, Steven’s tongue between the gloved fingers of the other. The guy was working with Victor and deserved everything he had coming. He’d always held a grudge against Timothy, so his involvement wasn’t a shock, and the fact that Victor had squealed before he was killed, only sealed his fate.
Victor using his own brother was beyond fucked up; we were mafia, but we were also fucking loyal to our family. His betrayal was a disgrace to the entire Adrostos bloodline, which was why we’d let his own father decide his fate. Uncle T had us torture Victor as he watched, which couldn’t have been easy, but as soon as the traitor told us the details, Uncle T put a gun to his son’s face and pulled the trigger without even a word of goodbye.
Victor being murdered by his own father was poetic justice all on its own.
Before I could respond to Ky, my phone went off. Pulling it out, I read the notification, my blood running cold. Not again. Nope, she was fucking lying to herself if she thought she’d get to run away again.
“She’s gone,” I said, my voice sounding hollow as I tried to fight off the rage building within me. “She says she doesn’t want this life, so she left. And sorry about our guy?” The last part confused me until I realized Terrance was the only man we had in the building this time of night. Fuck, she must have gotten into the basement somehow. Damnit, now we need a replacement guard. If bodies kept piling up like this, we’d need to expand the damn family.
“She what?” Keir asked, his voice like ice, detached and full of barely suppressed madness.
“She’s gone,” I confirmed even though I knew it was a rhetorical question. My gaze turned to Kyrell, whose fist had tightened around the brass knuckles in his grip, the metal cutting in until blood slowly dripped onto the floor.
