Disengaged: A Dangerously Forbidden Love Affair

by Jamie Magee

Besides, I could feel her. I was always aware of her. She was awake in the far corner of the bed with her knees drawn upward. I wasn’t so sure how long she’d been like that, only that she looked as broken as she needed to right then.

  “Big day,” Channing said blankly to me.

  I hit the guard that tried to pull me up. It was my typical reaction to those fucks, which is why both Channing and the other guard drew on me. Both the girls flinched, Ember yelped. I was slow to stand, rebellious as ever.

  Channing nodded to the head whore and on command she reached for Ember and pulled her to go with her. I only had a split second to look Ember in the eye. When I did, I begged with all I was that she’d listen to me this time, that no matter what, she’d choose me, run to me...trust me.

  TWENTY

  Ember

  I was going to die today. I know my state of mind, or whatever was holding me together, was allowing me to accept my fate easier than I should have. I know it’s unnatural not to fear the end, or the pain it would bring. But I saw no other possible way. Fearing something I cannot control is a waste of emotions I’m not in a position to spare.

  My fractured mind kept pulling on the dark positives. I’d never have to deal with the grief of my father’s death. I’d never have to unlock the sick experiences I’d endured over the last few days. There were a lot of never have to’s.

  I told myself I was being brave, but I heard the voice inside my head that I didn’t want to listen to tell me death was a coward’s way out. But what could I truly do to change this? Slayton, the boy who was always ten steps ahead. The one who could see the demons I could not, had all but outright promised our end.

  Was it poetic for the pair of us to go down in a blaze of glory? Young hearts that never had the chance...almost lovers. No, it was cruel, heartless. It was a dead end that should never happen to someone like me. Someone who never meant any harm, who was just going about their business. It should never happen to someone like Slayton. Someone who never wanted the life he had and did the best he could with it. Someone who protected me when he didn’t have to.

  I felt him last night. I felt his defeat. He couldn’t undo what had happened to me, and he could not stop what was coming for me. It was an awakening I never wanted to be faced with. I wanted to hate him for his resolve, but I couldn’t. I wanted to tell him I loved him...but I couldn’t. I was going to have to show him. He’d know when I ran to him, when we fell side by side by the bullets that were sure to pierce through us—or at the very least, me—my actions would speak louder than my words ever had.

  Blaze of glory...

  I had a nightmare the night before. At first, I slept in a null darkness, content to know I could feel him at my side. Then my serenity was shattered as I watched him in the ring, the blows, and the blood. I kept yelling for him in the dream, yelling at everyone but no one would listen to me. I don’t know what I was trying to say or if it would have even mattered, only that the dream was rich with foreboding, the sickening kind.

  I wanted to rush to his side this morning, hide by him and get it over with right then and there in that room. I didn’t because I knew those assholes would have killed me, and forced him to fight anyway. I wasn’t leaving this earth without him at my side if I could help it.

  The second I walked away with the blond who had gotten me ready the day before, I became petrified that I wouldn’t make it back to the glass box, that I’d be locked away and once again leave Slayton standing there with an empty outstretched hand.

  I didn’t say a word as she led me down all the halls. She cussed every guard that had something smart to say to us, or who reached for me. It was worse when we made it to where the other girls were. Boiling hate started to rise to the top of my emotions as I listened to them call me everything they were: cheap, trashy, begging for it. I’m sure I would have had my chance to let my hate erupt, get a few licks in if the blond didn’t do it for me.

  After she trash talked a cluster of the girls, the others backed down, but a few still glared.

  “You’ll never get on that fucking plane with him, you nasty bitch,” one of them yelled after me.

  I almost felt sorry for those girls, for the fact that somehow they had landed here, fighting for fucks they thought they could take because they knew it would score them drugs or gifts they were after. They were more than lost, they were broken—the worst kind, the kind where they didn’t even know they were.

  When the blond closed the door to the same room she had taken me to the day before, I decided the girls in the hall didn’t deserve my sympathy, not as much as the girl lying on the mattress in the back corner. The one I watched being raped at my side last night. When it went down, I was too busy trying to comprehend what the fuck Slayton was doing to me, how he could do such a thing. I was confused, and she was being ripped to shreds.

  Her arms were black and blue, so were her legs. Her face was swollen from the tears, maybe even from being pressed into the wall. Packs of ice were between her legs as she lay passed out, still but trembling. Beyond her the room was empty.

  The chick handling me went to a drawer and came back with the same pain pills she gave me the day before. “I’ll score you something stronger if you swear to me you can perform on it,” she leaned in, holding the same look of suspicion in her gaze. “You don’t strike me as a user.”

  My hands were shaking so badly that when I reached for the prescription Tylenol, I dropped them. When I went down for them, she joined me and clasped my hands. She didn’t say a word, but her stare said it all. She was telling me I was a survivor. I’d make it. I assumed she had seen enough girls that had crossed her path to know the difference. I didn’t have the heart to tell her she was wrong. So wrong.

  “Clean up, we don’t have much time.”

  “I’m—I’m going back?” my voice cracked with hope, but I’m sure she thought it was with fear.

  Her eyes welled a bit. “Yeah.” She stood and walked away before I had the chance to cover an expression that might have looked like relief.

  Cleaning the lube the water didn’t wash away the night before, rubbing the splatters of blood away, and scrubbing my face and neck that was stained with black makeup, was all done on autopilot. My mind was filtering back through my life, as far as I could remember.

  I was standing in my darkest hour, but I felt my lips twitching to smile every now and again as something precious flashed through my thoughts. The memories were not all of my blameless childhood, the life I lost with my grandmother. There were a lot with my dad. All his good days that I swear he saved just for me, for the visits to us.

  My most priceless memories of all were with Slayton, as absurd as that sounded. I felt alive at his side. Really alive. I expected every second, every day, to be our last and savored it like it was. I studied him, every single addictively haunting feature of his body. So much so I knew there were times when we moved in sync. Like an unseen force connected us.

  I had my fingers pressed to my bare lips, recounting every kiss, feeling the rush of them all over again, when the blond nudged me out of my thoughts. Wordlessly, she directed me to sit on the edge of the bath and I did. Like the night before, when she darkened the makeup I’d applied. There were no masks tonight, but there were fake lashes; so long it was hard to see through them when I held my gaze low. With them and my bright red lips and defined strokes of blush, I might as well have had a mask on. I didn’t recognize myself.

  Our outfits were the same as the night before, only this time, fishnet stockings were added. Before we left the bathroom, she tucked a pill in the band of my left leg. “If it hurts, or you feel yourself freak, take it.”

  I was already there on both accounts, but I wasn’t taking shit. I wanted to be aware of my last moments. I needed to feel them.

  Outside of the bathroom, one of the girls from the night before was standing there; the other two with her were new faces. The new girls were a bit too calm. I’m sure they thought they wanted to be there
. Either that, or they were thinking that their chances of getting picked were low since there would only be one winner when the night was said and done. What they didn’t know was beyond the gladiators there was a room full of men, and just below, there were hundreds.

  The blond was giving us the breakdown of how to act, how not to, the same speech I’d heard before when there was a bang on the door just before it burst opened. I jumped back, flighty as ever. It was only the guards, but that didn’t calm me down, not when I noticed one of them was the one outside of Slayton’s door the night before.

  “This one is still standing,” he said as he walked around me. When he was behind me, I felt his hands dip between my thighs. The blond shoved him away with a curse before I had a chance to figure out what the right reaction was.

  The other guard barked out an order, and then we were led out. The walk down the hall was just as daunting as the night before. I kept my eyes peeled for Sugar, sure she’d make hell for me.

  “Lose someone?” the blond asked me under her breath.

  “Sugar,” I answered before I even bothered to think if saying I knew that hooker was a good or bad idea.

  The blond shot her stare to me, then looked forward when the guard glanced back at us.

  “In pieces. Not comin’ back.”

  Nervously I glanced to my side at her. Her eyes said ‘sorry for your loss’ but her lips said something completely different, “She was sucking dicks because she ran her mouth, passed lies ‘round making fucked rumors.” She looked forward again. “There are no second chances here.”

  I tried to remain expressionless, but it was hard. I wanted to know what Sugar had said and to who. More importantly, what that meant for me right now. It didn’t matter that I knew the end of this story, what mattered was how I got there.

  When the door to the room of the box was opened, I felt justifiable fear slide down my spine. When Malcolm didn’t look my way, or act like he was waiting on me, I let myself calm down a bit, but not much. Channing was staring me down. As usual, an unreadable expression was strapped across his face.

  He was my wild card. That man knew me, he put me on a platter for Slayton then pulled me from his room this morning. Channing was either benevolent enough to give Slayton and me a goodbye, as fucked as that was, or he was malevolent and liked to toy with his prey right up until the slaughter.

  I didn’t like how we were seated tonight. We were still on our knees on display before the crowd below like crowned jewels, but I wasn’t near the staircase I’d imagined myself running down a million times over that day. I was the furthest from it.

  Plotting to get closer to that opening, focusing on all of my obstacles that I could see, distracted me from the biggest threats. I never noticed Malcolm had sat behind me, or that Channing was in the chair he’d kept the night before, the closest to my exit. I wasn’t aware of them until they halfway applauded the fight that had just ended. The savage from the night before, one they were calling Red, had won.

  Red was gruesome in the ring. This was the second time I’d watched him fight, and I already knew I hated his rhythm. His first blows were always to the chest—right to the heart—so hard I wondered how the other guy was still standing. Next, he went for the sides. Then it was the head. Once his victim was down he’d pound their skull until it cracked and blood pooled onto the stone floor.

  I could feel others in the box settling, focusing in on the bets for the next fight—Slayton’s.

  “Back to back fights. Can he take it?” one man asked.

  Malcolm laughed. “I’ve yet to figure out what he can’t take.” He settled his dark mirth. “I’m thinking he might be nice and loose tonight.” He turned the girl’s face that was next to me toward him then said. “Which one was it, Channing? Use her to get him amped.”

  I balled my fists and prayed so hard that I barely heard Channing utter one dark word, “Come.”

  Rising to my feet and walking to him, even though he was sitting next to the exit I was determined to make it to wasn’t easy. It was terrifying. I couldn’t remember even half the time I ‘performed’ on him nights before—I’d had little time to even process it. The kinder part of me kept saying what I told Slayton, Channing had taken as much of the demeaning aspect out of the experience as he could have. Still, I was high as hell, and none of this was right. I couldn’t find the trust for him that my shattered instinct told me I should have.

  I was sure Channing had read the suicide mission I was on in my eyes when he didn’t tell me to kneel in front of him but instructed me with a nod to sit on his lap. Leaning back onto his broad chest, the smell of liquor and his cologne, the feel of his hand landing high on my hip, had my mind triggering dark memories I didn’t want to remember and couldn’t think about right then.

  All my escape plans were going up in smoke as I felt not only how tight his hold was on me, but also one of his guns pressing into my side.

  No matter how I felt about him, survival mode for me kicked in when the side doors opened. I pressed harder against him. The gladiator, Red, didn’t come in, but other men did—those I’d seen guarding the now dead gladiator Red had fought.

  Cash passed a few hands, and so did girls. The girl I was beside before was pulled up by Malcolm and passed back to others. Not even minutes later the orgy started. Apparently, the time it took to remove the last body, clean his blood and pump up the rest of the crowd was too long to hold their attention.

  I expected a threat, even a taunt from Channing, but he said nothing to me. He and Malcolm talked about how much cash had been taken and who the heavy betters were. Malcolm gave him a list of hits he wanted made on Unicorns. It was just another day for them.

  The only exception was it sounded like Channing was staying behind to close up business, and Malcolm was leaving that night. I doubted he would have spoken in such detail about what had happened, and what he wanted to happen otherwise.

  Something strange happened during their discussions. I grasped hope. Not only was Malcolm sure Slayton was going to win the next two fights, but he was also packing me up as a chew toy so to speak. I’d sparked a response in his prized fighter, and lived to tell about it. Making me a temporary asset when it came to Slayton’s care.

  I let myself believe Slayton had seen this coming, was counting on it. He wasn’t telling me to run to my death last night, he was telling me to move across this room to him. He wanted to make sure I was within arm’s reach so I could leave with him.

  Hope is a fickle bitch. One second, I was ready for my doom. The next, I was excited I could count on another sunrise. The very next thought filled me with dread when I understood I didn’t know where I was flying to, but nights like this were promised to come—my hell wasn’t over.

  I didn’t have time to go deep with those thoughts. I sensed the room coming into focus again, somewhat. The crowd was roaring as Slayton came in from one side and another guy came in from the opposite side. I couldn’t help it; I leaned toward Slayton’s direction. I might’ve stood and gone to the glass—if not down those stairs—if Channing had not clutched me tighter making sure I felt the butt of his gun grinding into my hip.

  The fight wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be. The asshole he was fighting got a swing in, more than one. Because he did, the crowd went wild. I saw cash moving from hand to hand as they all pressed closer to see the match go down. Slayton gained his balance and went wild with his hits. His dark hair, the long locks it had become, was blackening with sweat.

  I cringed with every hit he took and every hit he delivered. Each and every time Channing held me tighter.

  The rational emotion when you watch a man go down to his knees, when you know the reaper is calling his name should not be relief. You should not be rejoicing eternally as the love of your life literally beats a man to death before your eyes.

  What have I become?

  TWENTY-ONE

  As Slayton’s opponent drew his last breath and the crowd went wild, I almos
t yelled with them. I hated myself for my reaction. I hated these people for the look on Slayton’s face, the distaste I saw lingering there. It only became worse when he looked at the box searching for Malcolm, then his glare slithered to Channing.

  Malcolm laughed at Slayton’s lethal expression. “Yeah, we’re for sure taking you, sunshine. Fuck with him, Channing.”

  I tensed. Not only did I not want Slayton fucked with, I didn’t want to be the tool to do so. Channing leaned forward a bit then reached to part my legs, and I fought him. At least, I did in my own rebellious way, a way that let him know I was not good with this, but still kept me in this room. He pressed his fingers so hard into my flesh I nearly grunted in pain. I tried to slide back in my mind, go somewhere else like I always did when I felt the evil that had been hunting me for days biting at my heels. I couldn’t. I had to stay focused and catch every clue, every silent message in Slayton’s eyes. I locked my attention on Slayton as Channing moved my back to his front then draped each of my knees on either side of his. I was spread wide.

  As if having my cunt wide open to anyone who was bothering to look up wasn’t bad enough, Channing’s hands were sliding down the inside of my thighs as his lips met my neck. All I felt was pure anguish. The look in Slayton’s eyes was brutal anger. It caused my eyes to well. Slayton was pulled away before a single tear dropped, but Channing didn’t stop his touches.

  “Ah, yes. We found a hot switch, keep to it, son,” Malcolm, said to Channing right before someone came over and said something to him.

  Channing did. I had no choice but to let myself slip back in my mind as I felt his hands running under my dress, brushing across everywhere I didn’t want him to be. Absently, when Slayton was led out again, I wondered why my chest felt so cold now that Channing wasn’t touching me, but I wouldn’t let myself go there. I figured out I had formed some fucked bond with this asshole.

  I had too much else to focus on right then, like Slayton going anywhere near the savage they kept calling Red. The asshole was still covered in the blood of his last victim. He was promising the death of Slayton, yelling it. Every defensive bone in my body kicked into action as I had the most insane urge to rush down there and put that asshole in his place.