Break Me Beautifully

by Nora Flite

  "This is Leona Hark," Bradford explains. "She made all the art at the show tonight."

  "No shit?" another man wearing a long trench coat chuckles. "Little sugar-tits here is who we have to thank?"

  Behind me I feel Marshall's anger. His breath comes out like dragon smoke on the back of my neck. "Watch your damn mouth, Burgh."

  Burgh shifts forward on the couch, adjusting his black trench coat. The pistol strapped to his hip gleams in the Edison lights overhead. He's looking over my shoulder at Marshall, avoiding me entirely, and I think I'm in the middle of something only they know about. "Good to see your merry face, Klintock," he says smoothly.

  "I'd be merrier if I could break your nose."

  Burgh scowls, and Min walks in with a tray carrying a bucket of champagne and a large bottle of something dark and amber. "Gentlemen," Bradford says, clasping his hands at his chest. "Relax, no need to fight. Let's drink and divide out the spoils. Money should bring joy!"

  "Here, here," Seya says.

  Min places the tray on a side table by the open door. I take a moment to gauge the other men in the room who haven't spoken. They're standing against the wall with their wide hands folded over their belt buckles. They're as big as Marshall, maybe bigger, with square jaws and tan skin. One has a scar across his forehead, but they look similar enough for me to believe they're related. Two large silver cases lay on the floor between their feet. I've seen enough heist movies to know what's inside, but Bradford catches me looking. "Your share is there," he assures me. "Here, let's have a look." He snaps his fingers, summoning the men towards us. Seya and Burgh shift on the couch to watch eagerly. Seya's face is swaddled in wafts of smoke, but the veil doesn't hide his hungry sneer.

  With a grunt, the cases are set on the table and attracts the men like magnets. I, however, want to sway backwards, but I feel Marshall’s presence looming behind me. He hasn’t budged since entering the room.

  "Shut the door," Bradford mutters, not lifting his eyes from the cases. Min rushes to do so. "I love this part," he groans, bending to flick the clasps. With one hand on each lid he pushes the cases open, exposing the contents inside to a chorus of whistles.

  Crisp stacks of hundred-dollar bills fill the cases. I'm used to wealth, but it's always been a simple credit card I could carry in my wallet, or a transaction my parents would make on their phones. This is different.

  This is dirty money.

  There's a loud pop that makes me scream. Covering my ears, I jolt backwards, bumping into Marshall's welcome heat. His hands come down on my shoulders, calming me before I have the sense to recall I'm supposed to hate his guts.

  "It's fine," he says to me. "Look."

  Min has uncorked the champagne, filling glass after glass as the other men shake hands and slap their knees. This is the pinnacle of their evening. Their element. I don't belong here and I don't want to. I just want it to end.

  "Here," Min says, holding out a glass to me. She's smiling, but it doesn't reach her eyes. She tried to tell me. I realize when she spoke to me that day outside Marshall's car, she wanted to clue me in. What had she said? Whatever you make, he'll be happy. It's important that you finish the work. That's all that matters. Min was part of this scheme. Willingly or not, I wasn't sure. But she hadn't warned me to run away. She'd just bluntly informed me my work could have been soulless scribbles, and these men would have bought it.

  "Have a drink," Bradford calls to me.

  I eyeball the glass in Min's hands. "No thanks."

  "Don't be frigid, have some fun," Seya croons with a wink.

  "She doesn't drink," Marshall says, coming to my rescue. I stare up at him, amazed he remembers.

  "Whatever, more for us," Burgh snorts, taking some champagne from Min as she hurries to his side. "Come on, Bradford, dole it out. I was freaking out as I guarded these guys all the way from Halo's place."

  "Fuck, I was losing it before that. Halo puts me on edge more than you do, Klintock," Seya says.

  "That's why he's a capo and you aren't," Burgh laughs.

  "Bullshit. I could be a captain," Seya counters, waving smoke from his face towards Burgh until he starts coughing. "Halo's just intense as hell."

  "Imagine it," Bradford muses, eyeing Marshall with a sly grin, "someone scarier than our Devil, and his name is angelic in nature. It's sort of artsy. I bet you appreciate the poetry of that, Leona, hm?"

  Not at all, I think, because I don't want to imagine anymore awful people. In this world, maybe angels are scarier than devils. I could believe it. "Please, let's just get this over with," I mumble.

  "You said it," Burgh agrees, slapping the couch. "I'm itching for my share."

  "You'll get yours," Bradford chuckles. Scrutinizing the cash, he carefully collects a few stacks. He looks right at me, turning my blood cold. "She's first. As a welcome gesture to our little operation." The money looks like a stack of bricks. He offers one packed hand towards me, then looks over my shoulder, gesturing at Marshall with the other chunk. "You never disappoint, Klintock. You find the most reliable, talented, believable artists for the Lucardo family. If you keep playing it right, you could move higher in the ranks."

  "I know," he says flatly.

  "Why are you so quiet?" Bradford asks me. He shakes the money at me. "I've never seen someone this miserable over getting rich without breaking a sweat."

  "You're wrong," I say. I look up at him through my lashes. "I sweat and suffered over every stroke of paint on those canvases."

  Bradford's grin twitches. "Well, good for you. You earned your money as much as any of us, Leona." He shoves it against my chest. "Take it."

  Clutching my purse with my sketchbook in it, I glare at his greasy face. "No. I don't want it. I just want to go home."

  "Leona, take it," Marshall says firmly.

  "You heard him, girl. Take it," Bradford grunts.

  "I don't want it. I don't want any part of this!"

  "You think you have a choice?" Bradford snaps. I glower at him, fighting every urge I have to flinch or back down. "The second we met, your fate was sealed. I thought you'd be happy, but fine, I'll settle for you being a reluctant participant." His nostrils flare as his voice rises. "No one walks away from the mafia, girl. Not while we still need them."

  "I thought you were giving me an opportunity," I say, vitriol dripping from my tongue. "I was so nervous meeting you. I had no reason to be. You're not some impressive art critic. You're just a pathetic little man."

  Before I can do anything, Bradford smacks me across the cheek with the stack of bills. I flinch, holding my face, glaring at him hotly. Something rumbles over my head, like a rocket preparing to launch from the Earth. Marshall is snarling.

  He shoves around me, the first time he's left his position, storming aggressively into Bradford's space. His arm shoots forward to grip the front of the other man's shirt before he can retreat. "Don't you dare touch her!" he seethes, pushing his nose close to Bradford's.

  There's a small motion behind them. Seya and Burgh, their hands on their guns, their smiles taut, like they're entertained but waiting to see if they shouldn't be. Min is unfazed as she hovers over the table of drinks. I can taste the tension in the air, but the only person showing any emotion is Marshall.

  He's furious. Beyond furious. His hand stark white as he tightly clenches Bradford's shirt, the tattoos standing out on his bloodless skin.

  "Marshall," I say, eyeing the guns, filling with fear that he'll do something that will get him killed. "It's okay. I'm okay."

  "You heard her," Bradford says sweetly, still clenching the cash in his fists. "Don't do anything you'd regret, Klintock. You know you can't kill me. Benson Lucardo would come down on you like a hammer for harming one of his most lucrative ventures."

  "Don't be so sure Benson wouldn't let me rip your throat out," Marshall says, his eyes flashing. "He's let me kill people when I asked him nicely before. He likes me more than he likes you."

  There. I spot the sweat dripping do
wn Bradford's temple.

  Benson Lucardo. The Underboss Marshall told me about.

  Seya and Burgh aren't smiling anymore. "Yo, Klintock, back off," Burgh says.

  "Yeah. Our boss likes this operation Bradford runs. Chill it," Seya agrees.

  With a sharp shove that makes Bradford retreat a few steps, Marshall turns his back on the group. It's an act of boldness. A broadcast that he has no fear they'll shoot him when he's vulnerable.

  I don't know if the men have put away their weapons because I've made my own fatal mistake. I'm looking right at Marshall's face. I see the simmering intensity in his eyes, how the black is richer than ever, deeper than the void, and focused on me.

  Always me.

  "You shouldn't have done that," I whisper for his ears only.

  His beautiful lips that have kissed me so much and not enough shape into a defeated smile that caresses my heart. "I didn't have a choice," he whispers back.

  Seya crushes his cigar in his empty glass and takes a sip from the fresh one Min gave him. "Enough drama already. I'm taking my share. I've got places to be." He fishes a handful of bills from Bradford’s case. Burgh hunches off the sofa to join in.

  Another pop cracks through the air. More champagne, I think. But Marshall grabs me tight against his chest, throws us both to the rug so fast my vision blurs. My purse and sketchbook fly from my arms, my cheek scrapes on the rough floor. My hair flies in front of my face, leaving me struggling to make sense of what I'm seeing.

  The door is kicked open. Black boots parade inside, voices shouting all at once. "Don't move! Nobody, move!" One of the new men—they all look the same in their helmets and goggles and charcoal uniforms—aims a handgun at Bradford. Seya and Burgh throw up their arms.

  "What the fuck?" Bradford stammers, the money he'd tried to force on me still clenched in his fist. "Why are the cops here? What the fuck is this going on?"

  "Freeze!" someone else roars. "Hands in the air!"

  I start to lift my head, but Marshall constricts harder until I can barely move. His message is obvious: don't budge an inch. Be still. So I am. Every part of me—except my heart—freezes in place.

  "Seriously, what's this about?" Bradford scoffs. "Who let you in here? Do you have a warrant?"

  "Grab that," an officer says, gesturing at the cases. Burgh shuts his eyes and makes a face as the cases are snapped shut and carried from the room. He speaks into a device clipped to his bullet proof vest. "It's clear down here, we got them."

  "Got what? You don't have shit!" Bradford crows. "I didn't do anything wrong!"

  "Shut the hell up," Seya hisses. "Just shut your mouth."

  "Fuck you, Seya. Hey! Officer! Do you have any clue who I am? What the hell are you arresting me for?"

  A woman muscles into the room, her weapon trained on Bradford. She's not wearing any headgear, but otherwise her outfit is the same. "You're under arrest for money laundering."

  Bradford pulls a face and laughs. "Excuse me? This is all above board."

  "Hands behind your back," she demands, snatching his wrist with the money, twisting his arm behind him. He grimaces, the money fluttering from his flexing fingers, and I can't lie, I delight in his distress. It's hard not to after what he put me through.

  My joy evaporates when I'm suddenly ripped off the floor and separated from Marshall. "Hey!" I gasp, my arms twisted to my spine, metal choking my wrists. My inability to stretch out and touch the only person who offered me protection creates a growing sense of foreboding. I'm supposed to be pissed at him, but in this room he's my only ally, my only source of safety. Yes, he might betray me again, but the saying goes “the Devil you know” for a reason.

  He stares at me with a faint, secret smile. Then he's bound in cuffs, two cops carting him from the room on the heels of Seya and Burgh.

  "Wait! Marshall! Marshall!" But he's gone. "What are you doing to me?" I ask frantically, tugging on my restraints.

  "Didn't you hear?" the female cop replies coldly. "You're under arrest. All of you."

  Chapter 16.

  No one speaks to me during the drive to the police station. I try a few times, but there's no response. I don't know what happened to any of the others, but I expect we're all going to the same place. When I'm carted through the front doors of the police station, pulled down a hall, then abandoned in a tiny windowless room with nothing except a tiny table and two chairs, I'm not so sure anymore.

  I didn't see Marshall anywhere. I didn't see Bradford or Seya or Burgh or Min, either. Sitting there with my shoulders aching, my hands going numb in their cuffs, I feel more alone than ever.

  How could he do this to me?Fear lands in my guts and compresses my chest, like someone is putting all their weight on my lungs, forcing the air out of me. This is more than sadness. This is dejection, defeat. I messed up. That's the truth of it. Just a few weeks ago I left my family home thinking I was making my way into a bright new future. A strange future, sure, one that was maybe even a bit scary, but I'd been positive it would be for the best. I'd come out on the other side transformed for the better.

  And here I was.

  Broken.

  He broke me.

  Marshall Klintock, my wicked mafia devil. He changed me from my root to my stem and I'd never be the same. He used you, I remind myself cynically. I was a pawn for his scheme. Now I was paying for his betrayal. I'm going to end up in jail, just like my brother.

  The door handle jiggles. I don't lift my eyes, I'm too depressed. Footsteps shuffle across the cement floor, a shadow blotting the overhead light. "Are you okay?"

  I snap my head up because that voice makes no sense. "Katy?" I ask in disbelief. "What ... how are you here?"

  My older sister smiles kindly at me. She's wearing faded jeans, red heels, and a dark blue jacket meant for the cold weather. Her hair is hidden under a woven red cap that covers her ears. She looks so much like her normal self that I can't make sense of it at first. I've snapped, completely lost the fucking plot, because how else could she be here? She's supposed to be on our Georgia estate. A phone call away, not an arm’s length.

  "Whoa! Leona, wait, careful!" she shouts, rushing to catch me before I topple from the chair to my face on the floor. I forgot I had handcuffs on. "Jesus! Hey! Someone, come unlock these!"

  In a daze I gape at my sister's concerned face. I'm numb everywhere, barely aware of the officer who hurried inside and unlocked my cuffs. My shoulders twinge in pain as I pull my arms around, but I don't care. I ignore the fire-hot pins and needles because I need to touch her face, her arms, to hug her while she hugs me. "Are you real?" I ask.

  "Of course I am!"

  "Katy, when did you get here?"

  She hesitates, then holds me tighter, her hand on the back of my head. "I've been here for weeks."

  Oh, yes, I'm definitely going crazy. "That's impossible."

  "I think I have a lot of explaining to do," she says gently. "Here, sit, I'll get some water." She starts to leave but I snatch her wrist. Katy blinks at me, her smile tender. "It's fine, Leona. Everything is fine. I promise."

  "The last person who promised me anything was a liar," I mumble. Her eyebrows scrunch, but I release her. She leaves the room, talking to someone just outside. A minute later she sits across the table from me with two bottles of water. I take one wordlessly even though I'm buzzing with a hundred questions that keep getting tangled in my throat, not able to exit cleanly. I startle when she touches my hands. "Leona, I'm sorry. You must be so lost right now," she begins.

  "I am. I feel very in the dark."

  "I hope you don't hate me too much when I tell you that's good."

  "What?" I squint at her. "What are you talking about?"

  "It was to protect you. If you knew what the plan was, you'd be in danger."

  I rip my hands away like I've grazed something scalding hot. "The plan? What the hell are you telling me, Katy?"

  She pulls her hat off of her head, shaking her short hair, nervously fluffing it w
ith her hands. "I had to do it. I know you'll understand. I love Willbur so much, and when everything else failed, when all the people with their suits and ties and expensive retainers said he was guilty ..."

  "Willbur?" I blurt out. "What does he have to do with me getting arrested?"

  "You aren't in trouble," she assures me, eyes all wide and mouth agape. "Sorry! I should have made that clear first!"

  "I was arrested! I didn't imagine being handcuffed and driven here!"

  "No, no, of course. That's what I mean about how we had to keep it all from you. No offense but you're a terrible liar, you could never fool me or anyone when you were hiding some secret and—"

  "Stop. Stop." I slap the table, the sensation painful as it radiates through my skin, but it wakes me up, clears my head. "You said we. Who's we?"

  "Marshall, of course."

  The ringing in my ears grows until I can see her lips moving but hear nothing. Marshall? She was working with Marshall because of our brother? I grasp my skull to keep it from splitting apart. "From the beginning," I manage to say, my jaw tense as I force the words out. "Tell me everything."

  "Of course. Of course I will," she says soothingly. I'm not fucking soothed. "It started when Willbur met Bradford Mink. He'd gone to some club—you know how he likes to drink and party—and Bradford was there. For whatever reason he invited Willbur into his VIP room. The way Willbur tells it, he got wasted, and he got talked into giving two of the girls a ride home. Bradford asked him to do it as a favor. He offered money, but Willbur didn't want it, he said he felt good being seen as useful." She pauses, frowning so deep it makes dimples in her chin.

  I know what she's thinking; our brother is like the rest of us, feeling useless and ignored and wanting to be appreciated. Our parents have done a number on us, for sure.

  "Anyway," Katy goes on, "Someone tried to talk Willbur out of it. Marshall Klintock."