by Breck, A. R.
“Why do you look sexy like this?”
She puckers her dark lips. “You like?”
“If we weren’t our of time, I’d show you how much. Get dressed so we can get going.” I slap her ass and she walks out to grab the outfit that was picked up for her this morning.
I look at myself in the mirror, nearly sneering at myself. I fucking hate dressing up and even more, I hate goop and random crap on my face. My face feels heavy, like a thick putty is cemented on my cheeks. It wasn’t my idea to dress up. It was West’s. But he’s smart to think like that. He also thought we needed to have either masks or makeup to cover our identity.
It was Jex’s idea to make us skeletons.
The makeup is shadowed to make my cheeks hollowed out. My nose is black, and small white teeth are painted along my black lips. I look badass, but I won’t admit it.
I wasn’t lying when I said Ivy looked sexy. Her makeup is more feminine. Softer around the edges. The teeth don’t look as brutal as mine, rather more subtle.
She said people dress up, well, she said the guests do. The slaves and workers don’t. Some of the buyers don’t, either. Others do. I asked her if our makeup was too much. She said it wasn’t. She said we looked perfect.
I’ll trust her.
“How do I look?” Ivy asks as she walks back in.
“Fuck.” I groan. “Really, Niles?” I shout. I hear a chuckle from out in the bedroom and grab onto the counter to stop myself from walking out there and punching him in the face.
I mean, fucking honestly, did he have to pick the most erotic, non-erotic outfit he can find? For something that is supposed to be a dress like Morticia from the Adams Family, he really went all out when he picked this dress out. I mean, I think Morticia and in no way do I think sexy, but as Ivy stands there in a high-necked dress that flows down past her feet, hugging her figure like it’s specifically tailored for her body, I suddenly have a new outlook on fucking Morticia.
Not only that, but we decided to do a temporary dye to Ivy’s hair, staining it an inky black tonight. The waves have been strained out and lays slicked back down the small of her back. She looks fucking breathtaking.
“Aziel? Do you like it?” She asks again.
I adjust myself in my pants like a damn child. “No. I don’t. Do you have to look like a damn siren in every outfit you wear? Jesus.” I groan.
She giggles. “You look pretty dapper yourself.” She comes and adjusts the bowtie on my shirt. I already dressed while Ivy was getting her makeup done.
Me? I don’t really know what I am. Something from the past, I guess. In a tuxedo, from the shiny leather black shoes up to the top hat. I have my hair slicked back as well, to try and be inconspicuous, but Niles apparently thought a top hat would help as well. My suit covers as many tattoos as possible. I can’t be noticed, and in this black suit with a fucking top hat, I think I’m doing a pretty good job.
“I feel like a dumbass.” I grumble.
She giggles. “You don’t look it. You’re hot as fuck.”
“Hot as fuck, eh?” I grab her by the ass and pull her towards me.
“Quit fucking around, Aziel. We’re leaving.” My dad barks from the doorway.
She turns to leave, but I grab her by the chin and pull her towards me. “You should know, Ivy…” My throat tightens around the sudden emotion clogging my throat. I don’t even know what I’m going to say, but a part of me feels like I need to get the words out before we start this tonight.
She stands on her tip toes and kisses my lips gently as to not ruin our makeup. “I know, Aziel. I feel the same.”
“No. You don’t understand. You don’t have to worry. No matter what happens, I’ll take him down tonight. You don’t deserve another night of misery. You deserve to be free, Ivy, and I’ll do everything I can to make that happen. But more than that, I’ll keep you safe.” I grip the silky material of her dress.
“I know you will, Aziel.” She clutches my tie and pulls me down to her. “I’m only free when I’m with you.” She whispers against my lips.
“And I’m only alive when I’m with you.” I murmur, sealing my lips to hers in a gentle kiss, feeling her soft curves press against my hard ones.
A part of me feels alive that this is finally about to be over. My blood hums as it pumps through my veins, anticipation of ending Santiago once and for all. Then there’s another part of me, a small part that wants to clutch Ivy in this bathroom and not let her go. A part of me that tells me to not leave. It’s a warning, I realize.
I clutch Ivy to me as I close my eyes, stomping out my worry. It has no place here. I refuse to allow it to suffocate us tonight.
Fuck the worry. It’s time to finish this.
21
Ivy
“You okay?” Aziel shouts over his shoulder at a stoplight. We’re about a block or two away from our destination. The sights are becoming more familiar to me, and with every piece of scenery that pulls from the depths of my brain, my blood pumps harder. I can feel my jaw clench and my limbs lock up.
I can hear the sounds of the party in the distance. The cars and voices chatting and speaking the familiar Spanish lilt that I’ve come to understand.
“I’m fine.” I choke out.
“Doesn’t seem like it.” He squeezes my wrist. “You grip me any harder and you’ll lose the circulation in your hands.”
I force myself to loosen my grip and we start driving again, parking far away from the entrance. A Harley bike is not something any of Santiago’s guests would arrive in, so we’re going to have to park a distance away and walk up to the entrance.
“Ready?” He asks as he turns off his bike. Reaching his hand towards me, he looks like the perfect gentleman with his arm extended in his tuxedo. His makeup is the only thing that throws off the dapper look. The sharp shadow of his jaw leading to his decayed looking teeth look alarming. Menacing. It pulls a heavy shiver through my body, undeterred.
“Time to move, Aziel.” Lynx says from behind him, the heavy roar of his own bike vibrating through my chest.
“Ready or not, I guess it’s time to go.” I wipe my clammy palms on the black silk of my dress. Glancing up and down the street, I see Pascal down on one corner and Cassius down the other. Jex has the black SUV ready to pull up and grab Santiago when necessary. Niles and West are already at the house, scoping out the perimeter and looking for anything that would alert them to call the mission off.
We’ve got this place surrounding with men. My fingers prickle in anticipation. I’m ready to end this once and for all.
“Something seems off, you bail. Got me, son?” Lynx grips the back of Aziel’s neck.
“I’ll be fine.” Aziel slaps his dad’s palm and pulls it off his neck.
Lynx shakes his head and revs his bike, pulling off slowly down the road as he heads towards Pascal.
Aziel grabs my hand, lacing his large fingers through my small ones as we walk up the street. The lights glow over the hill, the life of the party peaking at us from up ahead. It’s well past sundown, which means the party must have started only a short while ago. People will mingle and drink, talking with other buyers before the announcer takes the stage to start the bidding. There is no formal dinner during Día de los Muertos. Hors d'oeuvres and appetizers will be served throughout the night by waiters and waitresses, most of them slaves.
The thought makes me think of Alexia.
Alexia.
Nerves grip my stomach, and I’m sure I won’t be able to stomach any sort of food tonight.
We don’t say a word as we walk towards the house, which doesn’t help my anxiety. The only sound I can hear is the clap, clap of my heels as I walk up the street. I take a deep breath, and I swear I can smell the fear of the girls inside that mansion up ahead.
Or maybe it’s just my own.
There is no breeze this evening. No dance or bend of the bushes and trees. It’s all still as the night. As if the trees are as petrified as I am.
&nb
sp; “This is it.” Aziel mumbles.
I pull him to a quick stop. “Wait. Your voice.”
The dark circles around his eyes pull downward. “What about my voice?”
“It’s too… familiar. You have to like… add an accent. Add a Texan accent or something. Can you do that?”
“’Course I can, darlin’.” His teeth show between the teeth painted around his lips, and another shiver breaks out along my spine.
Fucking creepy.
“Santiago has friends in Texas. That’s how he gets people over the border. If people ask where we’re from, just say south Texas. But stay far away from Santiago. He’ll ask too many questions.”
Aziel nods. “Got it. Let’s go.” He pulls me the rest of the way towards the house.
Once we reach the bottom of the oversized driveway, my ears start ringing. My heart beats like a heavy drum, rattling against my rib cage with each beat. Guards stand up at the top of the circular driveway, serving as a valet and assisting with escorting guests into the home.
I squeeze Aziel’s hand as hard as I can. “I can’t do this. I can’t do this.” I wheeze. I feel like someone is gripping my esophagus and squeezing with all their might. I can barely catch a breath with every step we take. Aziel starts up the driveway, pulling me along beside him.
“Why? What’s wrong?” He asks but continues his path towards the entrance.
“We’ll never get away with it. We can just turn and run. Flee the country. I don’t care where we go. I’ll go to fucking mars. I just can’t go in here.” I whisper, each breath scratching at my dry throat.
He continues walking, his gait relaxed and powerful. In no way does he look stressed or tense. If only I could have his confidence.
“Listen, Ivy.” He whispers. “It’s too late to run. See those men up there? They’ve already seen us. If we turn and walk away, it’s about an eighty percent chance we’ll be followed. We’ll probably be killed. You think we won’t survive if we go in there? We won’t survive if we stay out here. We might as well try, yeah?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know.”
“It’s too late.” He whispers, his tone coming out low but strong. “Don’t fuck this up. You fuck this up, not only will we be killed, but hundreds and hundreds of girls for however long will be sold by this motherfucker. We have a chance to stop him, tonight. Let’s finish it.”
“I’m not ready to die.” I choke.
“You won’t die. I won’t let you.” He gives my hand a squeeze.
We make it to the top of the long circular driveway. An oversized stone fountain sits in the middle with a naked woman crouched on her knees. She is nude except for the fabric she has pulled in front of her legs. Her head is tilted forward, in agony or despair. The statue has always unnerved me. A servant is what she looks like. A slave.
A black Saab pulls away, and one of the large guards, I think his name is Alec, escorts a beautiful woman and man up to the door. They have masks that make them look like sparrows covering the top half of their face. I can barely hear their French accent, and a frown pulls at my lips. They crossed countries for this. They deserve to rot as much as Santiago does.
The one who is not escorting them to the door gives us a sharp look. “Feliz Día de los Muertos. ¿Cómo te llamas?” Happy Día de los Muertos. What is your name?
“We’re the Benton’s.”
Alec frowns. “¿De dónde eres?” Where are you from?
“We are from Texas.” I use the most Texan accent I can find.
Alex nods, although unease still sits in him.
“You must not remember us from last year. My husband here was shy a few hundred thousand dollars of buying that little blonde that was so popular.”
His face relaxes and he lets out a little grunt.
We all remember the little blonde that had the house betting the most I have ever seen. She was a seventeen-year-old girl from North Carolina. She was beautiful, one of the most stunning girls I’ve ever met. The party fawned over her instantly, and the winner was an older Russian man with the last name Slavik.
“Todavía tengo sueños de agacharme sobre esa perra rubia.” I still have dreams about bending over that blonde bitch.
I withhold the grimace that wants to take over my face and let out a sharp chuckle, humming to his words even though I want to strangle him.
A Range Rover pulls up, and Alec walks to the door and opens it for us. “Disfruta de tu noche.” Enjoy your night.
We smile and walk inside the extravagant entrance. The front entry is through a rounded door that leads to a spacious entryway. The tile floor is original and uniquely patterned, each square telling its own story of time. Two large blue vases sit on either side of the door with large, green plants spilling out the tops of them. This place is much different from the clubhouse. At the clubhouse, Halloween decorations were placed in every crevice and curve of the place. At this mansion, things are much more subtle. There are small candles placed along the wall, creating a low-lit walkway. Some decorated skeletons are placed in corners, with colorful flowers decorating the head and body. Día de los Muertos is not a trick or treat holiday in Mexico, it’s a celebration of lives lost.
My heels clack on the tiled floor as we walk down the hall and into the main room. People flow in and out of various rooms. To the left is the kitchen, with waitstaff wandering through the constant revolving door with plates of foot and flutes of champaign poised on top. I recognize many waitstaff and have to force myself to keep my eyes averted as to not draw any attention to myself.
To the right of the room is a hallway that leads to suites where some guests will stay the evening. There is also an office where Santiago handles his work when he stays here. The hallway to the right also leads to a terrace with an outdoor patio and eating area.
The guests are dressed in all different tastes. Some have masks painted on their face much like we do. Others are dressed in colorful dresses and outfits, large vibrant flowers placed throughout the breast and arm area of the costume. This has always been a beautiful holiday in Mexico, whether I was a prisoner during it or not.
Aziel keeps his hand on my waist as we walk through the main room. Small circular tables and chairs are spread far enough apart throughout the room to keep it intimate enough if the couples prefer. But the tables fill most of the room, save for the small space for people to dance. That wooden square area usually stays vacant until the late hours of the night, when alcohol has warmed the veins enough and people finally let loose.
Or celebrate their purchase.
Ugh.
Every time I notice someone who knows me by name, I lower my gaze and keep it cast to the floor. I may not look like myself, but on the off chance that someone recognize my appearance, this will be a huge game over for all of us.
I pull Aziel over to an empty table near the right hallways. This table is not usually reserved like the ones on the left side of the room. Those tables are reserved for Santiago’s plus one (me), Mr. Lourve from France, Mr. and Mrs. Slavik, and Mr. Sullivan from Ireland. There’s also the gentleman from New York and some guy from Canada, but I don’t recall their names. Aziel pulls out the chair for me and I slide into the highbacked, wooden chair. An ivory table cloth covers the table, with a skull centerpiece and two matching ivory candles on each side. A single rose sits in front of the skull and candles. I reach out, grabbing onto it and brushing my thumb across the silky red petals. I realize that is the sweet scent that is in the room. So far, everything has been the same.
From the guards, to the decorations, to the table placements.
Except for this rose.
I bring it up to my nose, closing my eyes as I breathe in the thick red wine smell. Lilah loves Roses. Why did he put them here?
“What’s going on?” Aziel takes a seat in his chair, adjusting his coat as he scoots in close to me. He mumbles his words lowly, as to not have anyone hear him.
I set the rose down, placing it in the exact same po
sition as I found it. “I’m not quite sure.”
He lifts his eyebrow.
“I’m fine.” I mouth to him.
He nods, raising his hand as a waitress walks by. Her name is Shantell, and she was Alexia’s good friend. She was not in Tijuana when it was overrun. She is a nice girl but hardened to this lifestyle. She is past trying to escape, rather, having adjusted to her new world.
“Sir? What may I get for you?” Shantell asks, a lilt of sex in her tone. Her floral scent clings to my nostrils in the same way possessiveness clings to my insides.
“I’ll take a scotch.” Aziel says with a twang in his words.
“And you, Miss?” I glance up at Shantell with distaste in my gaze. Her eyes narrow back and then widen in confusion. “You look… familiar. Do I know you?”
I lower my gaze, shocked at her brazen tongue. We are forbidden from asking questions or speaking out of turn. If Santiago had heard her speak or question us, her tongue would have been ripped from her mouth.
“She’ll take a sangria. Thank you.” He waves her off perfectly, like he’s sat her and ordered around slaves a million times before.
I can feel the heat of Shantell’s gaze on the top of my head for a few moments, then her heels click as she walks towards the kitchen.
I keep my face lowered, only shifting my eyes to meet Aziel’s. “This was a bad idea.”
Aziel lifts a hand and brushes my cheek. “I should have known. Once someone looks into these eyes, they’re impossible to forget.”
My lip pulls up. “For such a dark man, you say some swoony things.”
A dimple pops out in his shadowed cheek. My heart trips over itself, skipping a beat.
“I am a dark man, but you bring out the light in me.”
I look down at the skull on the tablecloth and send a prayer to my parents. I don’t want anything to happen to me or Aziel. Please keep us safe.
“What do we do? If she noticed me, anyone might. Not only that, but she might tell someone.”
