Chapter Twenty Five
“Turn here.”
“But that doesn’t lead anywhere. It’s just an old service road,” Razor fumed. They’d been driving for what seemed like forever and he was completely lost, late at night on an old country road in the middle of nowhere. Great.
“Just do it, man. Trust me.”
Razor turned off the rural country road and abruptly hit his brakes as a thick fog began swirling around the car. “What the hell? I can’t see where I’m going. I hope you know what you’re doing, Sic. My GPS is acting weird and I’ve got no idea where we are.”
“S’all good, man. This is the right way. He don’t like people knowing how to find him. Just drive.”
“What, does he have fog machines set up along the way to keep people from recognizing anything?”
“It ain’t fog, man,” Sic said. “I don’t know what it is, but it happens every time. GPS don’t work up here. Just drive. Feel that?” The car hit a rough patch of pavement that set Razor’s teeth on edge. “That bump means we gotta turn left up here. Do it now.”
“I’m not fucking turning if I can’t see where I’m going!”
Sic turned somber eyes to his associate. “You need to fuckin’ turn, man. You don’t get second chances around here. Do it now.”
“Fuck my life,” Razor muttered as he blindly turned left and continued down a driveway that seemed to go on forever. Eventually, the fog lifted and the atmosphere around them changed, becoming strangely still and rife with a malevolent energy. Up ahead was a wrought iron gate with an intercom. “Are we even still in Louisville?” Razor asked no one in particular.
Sic smiled cryptically as the car approached the gate. “Well, you’s always somewhere, right? I’ve learned not to worry about the details when it comes to the boss man. We’re wherever he wants us to be, man. Leave it at that.”
The atmosphere shifted when the car came to a stop in front of the gate. Some things just gave Razor the heebie-jeebies, and this was proving to be one of them. Though he was intrigued with the dark side of life, there was something about this place, something that was making him wonder if he had been wise to agree to this meeting, as if he’d had a choice.
Up until now, the jobs and hits he had been given had been passed along to him by his passenger, Sic. They usually met in coffee shops and outdoor cafes. Neither had worried about the etiquette of making their meetings personal and he only knew the man by the name Sic.
All Razor knew was that, right or wrong, the guy quoted things verbatim, so Razor assumed that was the reason for the spelling of his name being ‘Sic’ and not ‘Sick’. Of course, ‘sick’ didn’t even mean ‘sick’ anymore; in current, trendy slang, it was another word for ‘cool’. He wasn’t sure how cool this Sic guy was. All he knew was that something was off about him.
Though Razor wasn’t a man given to bouts of fear, apprehension unfurled in his gut. He couldn’t help but wonder…if Sic was truly sick in the head–in the traditional sense of the word–and took his orders directly from the boss man, then how depraved was the boss man going to be? That was the thing about getting involved with the big boys: blood in–blood out. Razor had killed a man in that alley and now these two had their hooks in him. Bottom line: people who knew your secrets were dangerous.
He stopped the car before they got to the intercom. He turned toward Sic who seemed unconcerned with their questionable circumstances. “Sic, what’s the deal with the boss wanting to meet me? Why aren’t we meeting with Damien? Why the main boss man? Damien’s who sent me to kill Randy.”
“Damien was just a mouthpiece passing down an order from Phenex. What, is the whole vibe of the place getting to you? Hey man, don’t worry. Phenex is a bit weird but s’all good. Normally he don’t want nobody at his crib. Just think, rather than meeting some low-level flunky, you’re getting to meet the head man himself. You should feel honored.”
Honored didn’t quite describe how Razor was feeling at the moment at the boss’ invitation to his crib. Sic’s almost too easygoing demeanor did nothing to put Razor’s mind at ease. More than once he’d been with the man during a kill and had seen the insatiable gleam in his eyes that craved more, more, more. Sic got off on seeing people brutally victimized at his boss’ command. Whereas others might be compelled to turn away from the blood and gore, Sic practically lapped it up like a cat with cream.
Sic shared one more bit of advice. “Oh, one more thing: Phenex always stays in the shadows. The house is real dark, ya never can really see the dude. Ya know? I don’t know, man, maybe he don’t want nobody knowing what he looks like so they can’t identify him.”
“That makes no fucking sense, Sic. The man wouldn’t have let us on his property if he was worried about us snitching on him about jobs he gives us. Maybe he’s scarred or something.”
Sic’s face was grim and his voice muted as he shook his head. “Nah. That ain’t it, man. I’ve kinda seen him and he looks weird, yeah, but he ain’t scarred or nothing.”
“What do you mean by weird?”
“His skin is real pale, like it almost glows or something. His whole look and his presence are just, I don’t know. He’s just different. You’ll see. Let’s get this over with so we can get the hell outta here. You’re not gonna want to stick around, trust me.”
Razor rubbed at his eyes restlessly, taking a deep breath before he spoke again. “I don’t get you, Sic. Your grammar sucks, yet when you quote quotes you quote them verbatim.”
“That’s why I spell my name S-i-c, and not S-i-c-k.”
“Yeah…I kind of guessed that already.”
“Who died and made you the fuckin’ grammar police anyway? Just pull up to the damn gate already,” Sic huffed.
They pulled up to the gate and pushed a button on a small intercom unit. A well-mannered man’s voice inquired, “May I ask who’s calling, please?”
“Yeah, Lurch. It’s me,” Sic answered, pounding his fist against the dashboard as he laughed at his own joke.
It was a full minute before the gate finally moved. As the motor quietly hummed and the panels slid open, Razor glared at his companion and observed, “Man, what the fuck are you trying to do?! I don’t think he’s amused.”
If anything felt like it was going to lurch right now, it was Razor’s stomach. The heavy weight of fear settled over him as they eased toward the house. He wondered if he would ever leave. No matter how he tried to tell himself he’d be alright once this meeting was over, his gut wasn’t listening. He instinctively knew that this meeting was going to change his life, and not necessarily for the better.
Sic waited until they were parked to speak. “Look man, you’re gonna have to lighten up. You look like you’ve seen a ghost and you haven’t even met the man yet. You don’t want to offend him by giving the impression you think he’s going to do something to you. This is the third time I’ve been here and he’s never tried to hurt me, never even laid a hand on me.”
“Yeah, well, maybe third time’s a charm.”
“Real funny. Now come on and let’s get this shit over with.”
Sic was stepping from the car before Razor had the chance to put it in reverse, gun it, and get the hell out of there. He took a deep breath, convinced himself it was just a simple meeting and decided to just go for it, whether he was afraid or not. It wouldn’t be the first time, or the last.
The walk up the front steps seemed like it was happening in slow motion. Everything in Razor was crying out for him to run. The wait after ringing the doorbell was even worse and he wanted to reach out and smack Sic for calling the butler Lurch back at the gate. Even Razor knew pissing off the help was always a good way to ensure a bridge was burned. Clearly Sic had a knack for not just burning bridges but blowing the fuckers up. Razor wasn’t in the habit of associating with people who could ruin his career. Now he was dependent on a smartass, whether he liked it or not.
“Yeah, he fucking loves it when I call him Lurch,” Sic snickered as he
leaned his rail-thin frame against the doorframe. He was unusually tall, and his painfully thin build gave him an almost cartoonish appearance.
After what seemed like an eternity, the door opened. It made a creaking sound that sent a chill up Razor’s spine.
“Yo, whassup, Lurch?” Sic said before the man had a chance to greet us.
“The name is Winston.” The tall, slender, immaculately dressed man looked down his nose at Sic, as if he were a piece of gum stuck to the sole of his shoe. “May I ask who’s calling, please?”
“Winston, Schminston. It’s Sic and my man Razor. Now, where’s the boss man?”
“Lord Phenex is expecting you. You will follow me, please.” Winston turned on his heel, seeming determined to stick to his script and not acknowledge Sic’s childish banter. He moved with the air of a man of good breeding whose objectives in life did not include lowering himself to the level of those he considered beneath him. “Sir requests that you await his presence in his study. He is occupied at the moment with matters of a pressing nature in his adjoining office but will see you when he…finishes.” He spoke without breaking stride, leading them up a grand staircase and through a maze of hallways that were lined with ornate black sconces. It only added to the haunted Gothic mansion vibe.
Winston led them into a darkened parlor furnished with vintage red velvet furniture and heavy brocade blackout curtains. Razor and Sic stepped inside and jumped in alarm when the door closed decisively behind them.
“Well, shit. What do we do now?” Razor muttered as his hand hovered over his thundering heart.
“Just enjoy the view, I guess,” Sic replied absently as he turned his head this way and that, looking around. Razor walked over to a window and peeped behind the curtain to look outside. Fucking fog again. He couldn’t see a thing. He dropped the curtain back into place and turned away to take a closer look at the study.
Candelabras were lit in strategic corners of the large room on heavy wood pieces of furniture. A heavy, wrought iron chandelier hung from the ceiling. Rather than lightbulbs, it was lit by a multitude of candles that flickered wildly, causing an odd shadow effect on the walls. It was as if countless figures in another dimension were dancing sensually together to a rhythm only they could hear.
The silence was broken by a rustling noise and what sounded like a grunt followed by a gasp. Both men looked questioningly at each other before glancing around in search of the source of the sound. A door was ajar and likely led to the office the butler had mentioned, the site of the mysterious ‘pressing business’.
The odd vocalizations continued, intermittently paired with a rhythmic sound that could only be one thing.
“What the fuck?” Razor whispered.
“Not quite,” Sic snickered and gestured for Razor to step closer so they could listen. Typically, Razor wouldn’t have dreamed of intruding, but the door was ajar, after all.
A man’s low voice could just be heard. “Give me your fucking mouth. Suck. Harder.” On and on it went, the steady slurping sounds continuing until finally the man gave a prolonged groan, then, “Unnnnh, yes, yes. Fuck.” Ragged breathing, then a harsh exhale. “There, I think we’ve exhausted that option, wouldn’t you agree?” A sarcastic, deep chuckle, then, “But what do you care, eh? Turn around and face the wall. Don’t look at me. Ass up. Now, spread. Wider.” Then the unmistakable, rapid-fire sound of a hand repeatedly smacking against flesh and not being shy about it. “Just…there. Finally. Don’t move. Yes, yes, fuck, fuck, unh, that’s it.”
The harsh thrusting continued for some time as Razor looked anywhere but at Sic, who seemed to be taking more than a little interest in the hard-on Razor was trying to will back down. Razor could hardly help his body’s reaction with the equivalent of a porn audiotrack coming from the next room.
The stranger’s voice chimed in again, still quite commanding and yet more urgent now as he gritted out, “Yes. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
At last, a long, raspy exhale and Phenex’s pressing business appeared to be concluded. There was more rustling and then a clipped, “We’re done here. Go to Winston.”
Razor and Sic stepped away from the door and did their best to adopt neutral expressions. But it wasn’t easy when a pale, naked woman emerged from the office and walked slowly toward the doorway they had entered only moments before, where Winston, apparently, waited for her.
She was the strangest sight Razor had ever seen. Pale, ashen skin; lips with a slightly blue cast; vacant eyes rimmed with dark shadows that could easily have been mistaken for bruising; long, matted hair; and not a stitch of clothes covering her slim figure. As she passed them on her way to the door, they saw the only bit of color on her body in the mosaic of red handprints that covered her ass cheeks. Between her legs were all the glistening, telltale signs of recently concluded sex.
Her empty eyes stared straight ahead as she passed Winston without breaking stride. He exited and closed the door after him without a word or a look at the two men.
Razor shook his head and glanced at Sic, who seemed to be thinking similar thoughts. Those eyes. Those beautiful…dead…eyes. She had dead eyes. Not the vacant, lifeless eyes of a drug addict or someone who was mentally ill. No, this otherwise beautiful woman was, without question, dead.
Dead.
What the hell was going on? Razor wondered as he checked the room for additional exits. It appeared he was limited to the one door they had used when they arrived.
“Welcome.” A figure stepped from the office doorway but remained in the shadows where it could be seen, but not clearly.
Razor looked over at Sic who was nervously sitting ramrod straight in an effort to show respect, not quite as cocky as he had been moments ago with the butler. “Uh, thank you for having us, sir.”
“Indeed,” he said with a sly smile. “Phenex; you will call me Phenex.” Though he was still turned in Sic’s direction as if studying him and relishing the fear that was rolling off of him, he spoke to Razor. “It is good to meet you, Razor. I’m certainly impressed with your work. I’m assuming your ability with blades is how you inherited your nickname. Oh, dear. You don’t look at all well. Is there a problem?”
“No, no,” he blurted. “Nope, no problem. No problem at all.” He thought the shadowy figure smiled slightly.
“Good, good. I see you noticed Esmeralda. Not much personality,” he commented with a wicked smirk, “but all the important parts still work. She’s been with me for quite a while now. She exists, for want of a better word, only for my pleasure. I find my needs are increasingly simple as time marches on. As much as I enjoy a skillful mouth, I find that conversation is overrated.”
“Yes, sir, it is, but–”
“Oh, forgive me. Would you care to partake?” he asked easily, almost as an afterthought. “I can easily have her return. I’d be delighted to wait. Even more delighted to watch. It would be no trouble.”
“Um, no. No, but thank you all the same.”
“If you’re sure?”
“Yes. So sure.”
“Very well. Then let us attend to the matter at hand.” Phenex turned away from the men and moved toward a large Cherrywood desk. He reached for a small item Razor couldn’t see clearly. When Phenex turned back around, a billow of smoke wafted around him giving him the appearance of a spirit enveloped in an ethereal mist.
Razor decided Sic was right; this guy was odd. A pungent aroma filled their nostrils as Phenex leaned against the desk and idly blew out a series of perfect smoke rings. One after another, the puffs of smoke moved like little soldiers across the room and began to swirl around Razor and Sic like a small whirlwind. As the sickeningly sweet smoke settled in the men’s lungs, their senses dulled and their awareness of the world around them began to shift and, eventually, recede.
Razor’s inhibitions abandoned him entirely as he sank onto a low settee by the window. His vision became blurry and Phenex seemed to hover above him, his eyes alight with greedy anticipation. His hair was black an
d fell down almost to his shoulders from a widow’s peak. His skin was oddly pale and his ruby red lips gave him the appearance of either a man who had never seen the light of day or, worse yet, a vampire. A slow smile spread across Phenex’s face and the red lips moved as if in slow-motion as he remarked, “Really. How amusing.” Then he was gone, but Razor could hear him speaking in low tones as if from far away.
“Winston……required ……will take but a moment……”
Razor closed his eyes and clutched the edges of the settee to keep the room from spinning. He couldn’t make sense of the muted conversation happening nearby, and he decided he didn’t care. He felt exceptionally good, except for the dizziness. But even that was getting better as time passed.
“……Ah, there you are……back at it, I’m afraid……”
Razor felt something sliding along his legs, up his thighs and then back down. He frowned and tried to swat it away but his arms wouldn’t cooperate. The velvet upholstery abruptly felt soft and warm against his ass. He didn’t think his dick had ever been harder in his life. His junk was being manhandled rather roughly, and he fucking loved it. He opened his eyes and blinked repeatedly, but his vision remained soft around the edges.
He saw Phenex leaning against the corner of the desk, only feet away from the settee where Razor was being pleasured by some unknown creature with a fan-fucking-tastic mouth. He grinned slyly down at Razor and leaned in as he blew out a fresh series of smoke rings. Razor jerked and coughed, and promptly groaned at the mind-blowing friction the abrupt movement caused as the mystery-mouth continued to work him over.
Phenex was similarly occupied. As the last smoke ring dissipated around Razor’s head, Phenex sighed contentedly and let his own head loll back, humming deeply as his free hand moved Sic’s head up and down at an easy pace. “Yes, that’s it…” he murmured silkily. “Do it the way I showed you. Yes, like that. Now,” he grunted harshly and grimaced for a long moment before his posture relaxed once again.
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