by Sonya Jesus
Franco throws his head back in laughter, and I use the distraction to jerk. The leather doesn’t give much, but the ceiling does. This place is old, and when tearing down the walls, searching for the safes, we must have compromised the integrity of the structure. What is above this place?
Franco interrupts my thoughts. “Stone isn’t going to survive this assassination either, and when we get Romolo, there will be no one left but me.”
He hasn’t gotten them yet. “And what? You think The Commission is going to give you the clear?” I gear up for another jump just as he grabs a pair of scissors from the pocket and places it at 327’s collarbone.
Tip to neck.
"Franco!" I wail, as he repositions it toward her clothes. Images of him plunging it into her neck cause me to shiver, and I shut my eyes as he snips the material in two. When I open it again, her shirt is cut down the center and down the seam of her arms. Her top is bare, save for the bra I saw her put on this morning.
I need to get to her. The urgency fills me with power, and I redirect my weight to my lower half and pull the ceiling toward me, as if it could move. Two. Three. Four times.
“She really is exquisite,” Franco says, as he plucks the cut-up pieces of her clothes off of her. Lying down like this, with the hem of her panties just under the dip of her belly, all I can focus on is my kid and her barely-there pregnant belly, a heartbeat that’s half mine fluttering inside it.
It wrecks me. Dices and slices all of my insides until I feel gutted. He is going to make me watch him kill my son. Or daughter.
I’ll never know.
I’m not losing another kid.
He plucks a new scalpel from his tools. This one, a bit bigger.
My heart is in my throat, throbbing so hard I can’t even scream. My breaths are caught, and I suffocate on the pain of losing what I had sent away to protect.
But he bypasses her belly and runs the scalpel along her cheek, cutting the delicate skin below the bone. Relief momentarily overwhelms me as the blood drips out in small bursts and trails down to her softly parted lips.
"Wake up, Sleeping Beauty." His gaze is glued to mine. “What if we show her the ovaries she’ll never get to use?”
He doesn’t know. I glance over her body with a less zoned-in eye. She doesn’t look pregnant. I remember her saying something about her HCG levels being low and it not showing. Thank fuck. Even my kid is stealthy.
My body violently twists and turns. Not a single part of me is in control of anything anymore. I need to save them. My emotions are released in every movement, and the more I strain, the more amused Franco becomes.
"Not so in control, are you, Boss?" He spits out the last word, disgust flowing through his low, gritty voice. "You wanted me to find her, didn't you?"
I don't give him the satisfaction of answering. I tug on the restraints, hoping the constant force will cause the ceiling to cave. It might kill me, or it might be what I need to get to her.
"What?" He dips his finger into the trickle of blood and sticks out his tongue. Holding his bloody finger in the air, he brings it close to his mouth and makes a show of sucking on it. He moans and places his tongue on her cheek and licks along the superficial gash on her skin. Her blood coats his tongue, and he ambles toward me, pointing at it, before swallowing and rolling his neck, as if the pleasure rolls around inside his mouth.
"I'm going to rip your tongue out, Franco!" I threaten because he only left me with my words.
Franco smirks and taps on the glass with the bloody scalpel. "I'm going to rip your heart out first."
Scar’s voice fills the room—my room. “Six, Boss.”
Franco snaps his head to the side and presses the button, which cuts off any kind of noise coming from and into his operating room. He likes to be alone when he works.
He pulls out a syringe and sticks it into my girl’s arm, depressing it slowly.
Only my breaths overcome the silence as I struggle to add some flexibility to the suspension. The sheer force tears through the fibers in my muscles, and I internally howl in pain, as I repeat the action. The cement cracks and the ceiling pin drops a little.
Franco smacks my girl so hard her eyes fling open, and though I can’t hear him, his lips read, ‘Finally.’
“Franco, take me instead!” I shout again. “Kill me!”
Franco doesn’t flinch or even acknowledge my presence.
“He can’t hear you,” Scar’s voice comes over the intercom. “But I can…”
I don’t like the menacing tone.
“You, motherfucker. Your father was my father’s go-to man in here before he died, and you turn on us. For what? Money? Power? The Commission doesn’t take kindly to assassinating a whole family, and I doubt all this is sanctioned.”
“It’s not,” he confirms. “But it won’t matter very much longer.”
“What?” My gaze lands on the man through the window. “What are you talking about?”
“Listen. Watch.” A crackle comes on.
“Can he hear us?”
No response, just breathing.
Franco walks over to the intercom button and presses it on. “Breaky…can you hear me?”
I shout out obscenities, but Franco doesn’t seem to hear him. “Good. I like you to be seen and not heard.”
Franco speaks to 327, “You may not feel it, but you’re blinking and breathing, and your heart is beating, and soon you will feel every delicious cut…” He glances at me. “I was just telling your girlfriend how she’s under drug-induced paralysis. Right after we chloroformed her, we shot her up with a cocktail of substances that inhibit her nerve impulses, temporarily, of course.” He brings his face close to hers and says, “Medical-grade shit, just for you. But I just shot her up with something to counteract that stuff. I want her to scream out so you can hear her pain.”
One of the doctors at the clinic must have given it to him. They always supply the drugs we need.
Drugged, but not unconscious, 327’s watery eyes flicker in my direction. Her head doesn’t move. The tears inundate her eyes and trickle out. Unable to fight and fully aware of the paralysis, she pleads with me.
Or maybe I plead with myself.
Her eyes are glued to me, and I hold her gaze. He can hear everything, and if I tell her how much I love her, he’ll make it worse, so I resign to not having any words and speaking with my body. “Hold on,” I mouth over and over, hoping she thinks to read my lips. Then I show her I’m willing to break every bone in my body to save them.
My family.
I yank again, loosening the pin a bit more.
And again. A little more give.
Like a doll, Franco bends her at the knees and spreads her legs apart. He takes a stool, I had not seen before, and sits beside her. The blade glistens in the overhead light, but he’s doing this all for show.
Someone must be pulling the strings.
The door to the room swings open, and Scar is back, dragging a kicking and screaming woman inside.
Kelsie.
26
Blink
Breaker
“Don’t look so surprised,” Franco says to me as Scar escorts her in.
Rather, drags her in.
“You thought I killed her, didn’t you?” Franco gleams as he points toward the buckets. “Not Kelsie…”
“Obviously,” she spits out, irking The Butcher. He drops the instrument on the table and rushes for her. He gets up close and shoves his face right next to her ear, but doesn’t whisper.
No, he wants me to hear it.
“You should be angry at your brother.” I catch the glimpse of shock in her eyes right before he says, “He’s the one who told me to have some fun with you and teach you a lesson.” He cups her chin and snaps her head in my direction. “See, I got him. Just like I said I would.”
I’ve seen Kelsie loathe someone, and that’s not what it looks like. Despite the hate she’s shooting my way, there’s still something salvageable b
etween us. If we get out of here.
“I’m sorry,” I mouth to her, and to my sister, I demand, “Hold on.”
Kelsie’s eyes harden on me, but then she blinks for a beat too long.
Long hold and a double blink.
Morris code for the eyes. Our signal. Fuck you. Yes.
Hope surges through me. “Franco!”
He releases her and rolls his head to me. “I’m bored with the threats, so if that’s what you’re going to do, shut up. I lost at the fourth.”
Scar winks at me.
Guess he won. “We both know your plan is to kill me,” I say to Franco and Scar, but glance at Kelsie.
Three blinks. No.
“So at least tell me something: if Kelsie didn’t tell you, and Stone didn’t tell you about my illegitimacy, then who did? Romolo?”
Three blinks. No.
“You did,” Franco says with a righteous attitude, confiscating all my attention.
“I never told you that,” I spit out, as I replay the last year in my head. Not even drunk. Those are the kind of secrets not even truth serum can get out of you.
He reaches into his back pocket and produces a phone, his phone. The same standard-issue one we give out.
“Rom got one, just like this, when you upgraded him and shot the guy who was supposed to leak information back to me.”
“Good thing I shot him then.”
Franco bobs his head in agreement. “He was loyal to me, but Rom was different. I had to be smart about how to use him, so I bugged his phone.” He laughs at the surprise on my face.
The moments Rom was with me flood my memory. Porky, Addie, the safes. 327.
But I had his phone for a while. He gave it to me.
“No…” Franco shakes his head. “Don’t doubt the guy. He had no idea. Plus, phones always tick off the scanners, so don’t be pissed at the lack of security. It wasn’t Rom’s fault. They were designed to shut off when the phone was off.”
The detector when I burned the couch.
“Touching really,” Franco says and turns to 327. He grabs the straps at the center of the slab to bind her. “Those papers he gave you?” She doesn’t answer, but he stops for emphasis. “Those aren’t made in a day, not good ones anyway. I knew he was going to let you go before he did.”
I yank again. Really pissed at myself. How could I have been so blind? I had Romolo pick those up after Kelsie and Stone came from California. He had access to everything Rom heard if the phone was on. Fuck.
“You don’t get papers like those just in case. I mean, if I were a romantic, I’d be gushing all over the emotion in the gesture. But I’m not a fucking romantic, and all it did was solidify my decision. You don’t deserve to be Don Breaker. A don wouldn’t have hesitated to pull the trigger all those times. You’re weak. She was right.” He waves at the intercom. “Let’s see what he has to say.”
Scar brings Kelsie closer to turn the other way on.
“She who? Kelsie?” I ask.
Three blinks from Kelsie. No.
The person in the buckets. Boss. The fertility clinics. Power. Money—he sold himself to the highest bidder. “Someone paid you to do this.”
Two blinks from Kelsie. Yes.
He’s not going to replace the Beneventis; he’s going to frame us and start a mafia war.
“Who?” I growl into the phone.
“You’ll know soon enough. But first…”
Scar yanks Kelsie’s head back by her hair and drops her in a chair before tying her hands to the wooden bars. If looks could kill, I’d be blasted into tiny pieces, but I take some solace from the fact she looks a mess and her clothes are ripped. That means he didn’t do anything yet.
Franco brings the blade over to Kelsie while Scar holds her head back, exposing her neck. He runs the sharp edge of the scalpel over Kelsie’s throat. “I could add just a little more pressure here, and slice through the cartilage and cut into your larynx.”
She swallows, and Franco watches the saliva move down her throat. “I don’t really need you to speak, but I kind of like when you threaten me,” he hisses and smashes his lips against her mouth.
He howls in pain when she chomps down on his lip and doesn’t let go. Franco’s hand tightens around her throat and squeezes until she doesn’t have the strength to bite down anymore. She momentarily surrenders and gasps for air.
Franco moves his hand to wipe the blood off her lip and then wipes his own on the back of his hand. Pleased with himself, he simpers and rubs his hand down the front of his pants. “You made 327 choose between the three of us, remember, Breaker?”
What is he planning?
“Since you liked playing the game of choice so much. Let’s play a round. Kelsie or 327?”
He doesn’t say what the outcome is or what I’m choosing them for, so I ask, “For what exactly?”
“Does it make a difference?” He rubs himself again and glances at Scar.
I glance at Kelsie for some help.
One long blink. Fuck you.
Great. Thanks a lot, Kelsie.
Scar releases Kelsie and takes a step back. He plucks his phone out of his pocket and says, “Someone is here, Boss.”
Stone.
“Go!” Scar glances at me for a split second before leaving us alone. “Let’s speed this up, shall we?” Franco hisses. “Since we have three here, how about Fuck, Marry, Kill?”
“You’re disgusting,” Kelsie shouts toward him. “Even the dead chick over there wouldn’t fuck you.”
Why would I give a shit about the other girl?
Oh. Magdalena. The three women in my life.
Franco drags Kelsie’s chair over to the buckets. “Do you see a head here?” Kelsie doesn’t look. “Just because she doesn’t have a body, doesn’t mean I can’t fuck her mouth.”
Gross.
“But don’t worry. Of all the women who’ve passed through here, you’re the only one who can get me off while still breathing.”
Kelsie turns her head toward him. “Come at me with your dick one more time, and I won’t miss the femoral.”
Her eyes cautiously flicker over to me.
Femoral. That’s precise for her. His limp? I bounce my gaze between them. No, her legs.
Her legs are free.
327 stirs, and Franco snaps his head toward her. Kelsie plasters both her legs on the floor and springs to her feet, twisting her upper body to gain momentum before swinging in his direction. The legs of the chair hit him at an angle, toppling him back.
He regains his composure and lunges for her, but she sidesteps and smashes her body against the wall. The chair breaks after repeated hits, and she frees her hands.
The door to the viewing room swings open.
Scar?
Scar’s finger is on his lips as he shows me the key. I remain calm but gear myself for another trick.
He frees my feet just as Franco whacks a piece of the chair across Kelsie’s head. She glances at me and falls to the ground.
My hands are free.
27
Escape
327
I can’t move my arms and legs, but the tips of my fingers prickle and the tip of my nose tingles. My right cheek aches, but I’m unable to taste anything or move my tongue, and the cool air in the room dries something wet on my cheek.
Breaker’s eyes are on the commotion going on behind me, but it soon enters my line of vision.
Kelsie falls to the ground on her knees. The blow to her head must have rattled her because she wobbles and tries to get up, but she can’t. He strikes her back, and she falls flat on the floor. I jitter, hoping to bring the feeling back to my fingers and realize he didn’t get a chance to strap me down.
Help her, I demand of my muscles as I wiggle around. When I got to the Farm, I was shoved into a room with Kelsie. Turns out The Butcher had picked up Hayden, Kelsie’s boyfriend, and forced Kelsie to drug me, or watch him die. We didn’t get to talk much, but before she injected me, she whisp
ered Scar was on their side, for now. I don’t want to know why or how he plays into all of this, but I’m glad someone is helping Breaker.
Now I have to help Kelsie. I use whatever strength I can muster to cough. The noise is enough to momentarily distract Franco, who no doubt had forgotten about me. His face fills with fury as he bolts toward me.
“Run!” Kelsie stops him and rams her heel into his upper thigh.
Words form in my mouth. They roll around, but my tongue doesn’t bend.
The Butcher stumbles on me, wincing and cursing under his breath. He steadies himself just as Kelsie comes at him again, digging the heel of her foot into his thigh until he wails out in pain.
“I’m going to kill you!” he howls out.
He’s not speaking to me, but he slams his hands on the metal slab, breathing heavily through his nose. Blood pools out, soaking his jeans.
Kelsie squats and brings her tied hands forward, then uses her teeth to reposition the zip tie before she rotates her wrist and jumps on The Butcher’s back. With her arms, she squeezes around his neck.
In a fit of fury, he shakes the smooth table I’m on with such force I nearly fall off.
Fall. The internal command comes so quick I don’t have time to think it through. On the next violent shake, I roll the parts of me I can and fall to the ground, hitting the hard, textured floor with a loud thump.
The Butcher lurches forward, throwing Kelsie over his head and flipping her to the ground. She kicks and throws her legs around his waist, but the fall on her back knocked the energy out of her.
He has the upper hand.
Against my instinct, I go toward her, using my feet and hands to help me slither over.
With his foot on her neck, he says, “I didn’t want to kill you just yet.”
She gasps for air as he presses down on her trachea. She wraps the fingers of her still tied hands around his ankle and eases the pressure. “I dare you,” she blurts out.
What is she doing?
Unable to move my legs, I use my slow-moving fingers to search for something on the ground, but there’s nothing around me.
