by Elena Monroe
If you gave enough of a shit, of course.
Who was looking at buildings when you lived in LA? That’s the real question.
I wasn’t here this early for my health. I was on a one woman mission to get some kind of justice, ironic I know, for my best friend who was so used to being strong all the time that she didn’t know how to be vulnerable enough to ask for help when she needed it.
Being the amazing friend I was, I could spot someone needing help a mile away. Proud activist, daughter of radicals who died in a car wreck together on the way to probably standing in front of a bulldozer, justice warrior, and sometimes bitch meant I was the perfect person to help.
This morning, I sent myself the photos as my evidence, which I was hoping that was all I truly needed when I walked into the office with the idea of finding Vic.
That quickly changed.
I couldn’t find Vic anywhere, just his secretary, who I wanted to hate, but her beauty stunned you into silence. I couldn’t even think of a jab. As soon as I turned around too quickly, I gave myself a head rush when I saw Grimm stalking to his office after days of being absent.
He wasn’t my first choice. I didn’t know how much relationship building they’d exactly done.
“Hey!” Of course he didn’t stop walking. No one talked to him here ever, so his attention had learned to block everyone out with ease. Walking quickly, I tried to catch up when I saw him standing there staring at me.
“Who are you running after? We’re the only ones here right now.”
“You, asshole… I need to talk to you.” Trying to catch my breath, I stopped folding into a tabletop position while holding my phone up in the air.
I was dramatic so what.
“What the fuck…? I’m not into it if that’s what you’re fishing for.” His voice was perfectly hoarse, the tattoos decorated his body perfectly, and his messy hair was the right amount of don’t care. I could see why she stopped complaining.
“No, asshat. Her ex, Oscar Demonte, took these. He’s a fucking creep.”
He stared at me like I had malfunctioned enough to just be spewing random information onto whoever I saw first. With an eye roll, I continued, “Are we still pretending we don’t both work for the Illuminati? I should reap some benefits for that.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He handed my phone back to me, testing my ability to stay calm when it came to liars.
My pinched fingers spread over the screen, and I zoomed in on the image showing him again, now with a better view of Abigail in bed, half naked, violated by this creep. I saw his face stuck in a blank stare, trying to remain neutral in the face of whatever I threw his way.
“Is that…?” His words trailed off, and I nodded my head yes. “I’ll handle it. Demonte?”
“Know it? Part of your fancy, invite-only club?”
The office stirred to life with heels clacking on the hard shiny floors and Abigail's unmistakable perfume.
“I know of him. We vet who joins. Thank you.”
“Where have you even been? Don’t make me hurt you, because you hurt my best friend.”
Handing me back my phone strategically behind my back in my open hand to make sure she didn’t see as I greeted her with an over the top “Good morning!”
I could already tell by her tight features, and her immobile brows were telling, all too telling. Dead eyes too. Not dead like she was devoid of emotion, but the kind that wanted you dead.
Oh, shit.
This was the side of Abigail that got quiet and looked so unresolved no matter what you did that it almost seemed pointless to try to apologize. I also knew if I didn’t try to smooth this over, her control freak brain and high standards weren’t going to let this go.
“I was just getting Grimm’s opinion on something…” Sitting on her desk, I tried to pull all of her attention to me, the only person trying to seem normal, while he still looked pissed under all that control.
Abigail set down the tray of yellow smoothies next to me and slapped my hand away. “Opinion about what? His take on attending work?” Her eyebrows popped, waiting for me to answer, forcing me into a truth corner, knowing I was a bad liar.
Grimm, being the gentleman I didn’t think he was, interrupted, looking directly at me. “You suck at lying, huh, Jus? Abigail, we need to talk.”
I watched Abigail’s cheeks flush as she snatched the smoothie out of my hand and followed Grimm inside his office, after moping over him the last few days.
Must have a magic dick to make Abi pine over you.
As he closed the door, he leaned into the space filling with employees and said to me, “Don’t you have a desk to be at?”
Asshat.
GRIMM
I waited for the soundless door to click shut before speaking. My fists were clenched, and I couldn’t bear to look directly at Abigail until the strong mental image of her in that damn polaroid faded.
“Oscar. Ex? Current boyfriend? Hooking up?” I made demands as I moved past her to the window looking over the business district of LA.
“I don’t think my romantic life is the business of my boss…” I could feel her embarrassment at my back.
“He took photos of you sleeping. I need to know what he is to you, like if this is some kinky shit you do, and your best friend is just being protective.”
“Excuse me? Kinky shit? I don’t let guys take photos of me while I’m sleeping and not even in a good fucking angle.”
The image was still glued to the inside of my mind, but I turned around anyways, with my fists still balled up by my side and jaw achingly tight. She had zero idea I just got back from Chicago. She had no idea I had handled her past, and now I was going to handle her present.
“How is he getting inside your place at night, Abigail? Spare key? Living with him?”
I was fishing for answers, ones that made me angry with him and those photos more than I was judging her for being in this position. I knew it wasn’t her fault, yet I was angry all the same. All around.
“I live with Jus. I never gave him a spare key.” Or the keys to my heart. “He was a guy who asked me out. We went out a few times, had sex a few times, and then I realized he’s a womanizer. Happy now that you have all the details?”
It was a start. The monster found its new target, and neither of us would be happy until Oscar was punished.
“Nope. Not even close.”
Grabbing my bomber jacket from the metal coat tree in the corner, I made it to the door without her protesting to talk this out or whatever the fuck normal people did. I didn’t talk anything out unless I was forced to and paying $500/hour to my overpriced therapist. I used violence, my bottled up anger, and fists to feed the monster.
He was never quiet until he got what he wanted, and I didn’t feel like his voice inside my head being the soundtrack to my fucking day.
“Where are you going?” she snapped my direction as I pulled the handle on the door.
Just when I thought you were different.
Ignoring her, I made it to the elevator just past her best friend’s desk, where she was supposed to greet people, but all the pink hair did was make these assholes in business attire judge her the same way I was Abigail.
She shouldn’t have been in this situation at all.
She shouldn’t have given him the opportunity to fuck up this badly.
She should have come to me if something that bad happened.
This was what I did for the Clave: fix bad things. I was the fixer, killer for hire, and resident crazy who could handle the stains killing left. Scaring a creep into leaving my secretary alone was the less of all the evils I came face-to-face with.
Punching the inside of the elevator with my fist, I felt the momentum ripple between my knuckles upon contact. I knew I broke it almost immediately; it wasn’t my first broken bone born out of anger and probably wouldn’t be the last.
Not when we get our hands on Oscar.
My car chirp
ed as I hit the unlock button, and it echoed into the air. It should have just been the gunshot signaling a war was starting, because it was.
My car purred under me as I closed the driver’s side door and I scrolled through my phone to find Oscar’s social media profile I knew he had. I wasn’t myself anymore. I was letting the monster take over and do what he did best: kill.
Oscar didn’t geotag anything, because I guess he had enough brain cells to not disclose his location, but not enough to stash his fucking photo evidence somewhere else.
Cunt.
He was already becoming more work than I was willing to get into bed with. I’d find him. None of the horsemen were going to show their faces at work today; they were all taking part in some bullshit Clave business I didn’t care about.
All off limits. All busy.
Shooting Khaos a text, he would be the least invested, probably leaning against something with a joint and ripped up shirt, just to make it more obvious how little he in fact cared.
ME: I need Oscar’s location.
It took him no time, literally, to respond. He was exactly what you expect, what met the eye: Khaos with a taste for rebellion.
KHAOS: Easy, a couple feet away from me.
ME: Where are you?
KHAOS: I don’t like your tone of voice… Maybe you need to chill out before making harsh decisions.
ME: You’re fucking Khaos, literally. Address.
KHAOS: Bro. Just calm down. He was just trying to prove himself worthy. You know he’s a bitch.
Holding my phone and tightening my grip, I wanted to break it before I even got an address. Khaos knew what Oscar was doing.
Maybe not to who.
Maybe he didn’t see doing that to Abigail would ripple to affect me.
If he did know, I couldn’t be responsible for the monster’s judgment when he was so clearly dripping in guilt by association.
ME: Address. Now.
KHAOS: 22 Bleecker Street. Vic’s parent’s place.
I had never driven so recklessly on Mulholland Drive as I did then. The winding road tested my tires, the low stance of my expensive car, and the paint job now covered in dirt, but it was worth not missing the fucking brunch where he would be.
Clave business.
It was all bullshit. Members rubbing elbows and showing off for Zeus and his right-hand man. Saving face and kissing ass like a true brotherhood of cult members.
Vic’s parents were probably the most modest of the four families and look how that turned out. They made him feel normal enough he spat and pissed on the world for not giving him more.
Their house, not small by any means, sat tucked behind the 90210 zip code like the traditionalists they were.
Old money.
Old rituals.
Old rules.
We all had them; the Rockefellers were just less morally inept and holding onto whatever normal was left being a part of this cult.
Slamming my car door shut, I looked at the driveway, shaking my head at its emptiness. You’d expect cars when someone was having a get together. Not this crowd. They all had drivers who dropped them off and returned when signaled.
Fucking elitism bullshit.
We ring, and you come running. If you don’t…? Well, there’s always someone who will serve.
I felt like a caged goddamn animal—a full blown monster with no Grimm or Jason in my sight. As I walked around the house to the backyard where I knew brunch was, I could hear the fake laughter in the high-pitched muffled tones, because even in privacy among their own people, emotion was weak.
Speaking of weak, I spotted Oscar instantly. He was wearing a pink button-down shirt with khakis and boat shoes, walking around with his ego on display for everyone.
Hollywood’s golden boy was a real piece of shit plated in gold.
I didn’t care who he was. He took pictures of Abigail while she was sleeping—the one woman not afraid of me. The one woman who saw my truth and didn’t blink an eye when she asked me what kind of monster I am. The woman that made it hard to care about the countless other defenseless women when it was only her I was focused on.
Everyone was still sipping on their morning-appropriate alcoholic beverages while socializing, which meant the bell had not yet rung for everyone to take a seat. Khaos was standing, smirking, and holding a fucking Blue Ribbon can near the pool, tossing his gaze between Oscar and me.
Not making a single move, I stood out of sight, watching Oscar boast about becoming part of the Clave, how his time was finally here, and how his parents were finally giving him the stage to present all this bullshit. He spoke to almost everyone before Vic’s mom stood at the table with a bell beckoning everyone over.
Khaos bumped into me on purpose as I came out of the shadows of watching my prey, who was acting as if no kind of guilt or virtues existed inside him.
A kind of monster the Clave wanted me to be.
“Causing trouble, Grimm?”
I made sure to sit across from Oscar, watching his features fall at the sight of me. We all grew up together, but the one obvious divide between us and him was our last names. Our last names were put on a pedestal, while his family only longed to be considered more prestigious.
Answering Khaos delayed, I kept my focus on Oscar, “Just getting to the bottom of something. I hear Oscar here is a photographer.”
Vic’s stepmom interrupted him from responding, but not before I saw the fear creep up his neck in a brushed red for someone with no conscience. If we were honest, he had always been a little afraid of me, and it was working to my advantage.
Most people were afraid of me.
Vic’s mom, Angela, was of German descent and didn’t take any bullshit. Not long after his birth mom left the polar opposite showed up in her place.
She was a blonde push over, oblivious to the Clave and only listened to Vic’s dad, Emmett, like the manipulative player she is. Emmett, who was just as German as Vic’s birth mom and just as stern. It was no wonder Vic was rebellious in a spoiled-ass way.
Best of both worlds.
“Everyone, while breakfast is served, Oscar would like to bend your ears. He is hoping to prove himself worthy of the cause and walk in the Clave’s light.”
Angela sat down gracefully before tossing back the rest of her drink when Oscar’s reaction to her announcement felt genuinely innocent. The ear-to-ear grin and low fist pump was enough to show his excitement.
Sitting back with my balled up fists against my thighs, Khaos twisted his entire body to follow Oscar, who was headed to the head of the table where a projector sat further back.
What the fuck? Was this some kind of PowerPoint for how much we should welcome this fucking idiot with open arms? Was everyone drunk already?
Holding a small remote, the screen came to life behind him with photos I recognized. I felt something in me drop, but I knew it wasn’t my empty stomach or the tingling in my legs cementing me to my chair. Maybe this was my heart dropping so hard it destroyed everything on the way down.
Oscar pressed a button on the remote to click through the photos when he stopped on Abigail, topless with her blankets pushed down to her hips sloppily and the small shorts she was sleeping in riding up, giving you a view of her ass perfectly. He stopped on the one woman I was here to protect like he was taunting me.
Did he know Abigail worked for me? Did he know that was exactly why I was here?
“I’ve been working on a little side project to show you guys I’m ready for the responsibility.” Turning back to look over his own shoulder at his handy work I cringed, trying not to make a move just yet. I needed to hear this, unlike the valet I offed without the information I needed.
He continued when Khaos leaned forward breaking my concentration, “She looks familiar, right?”
I could feel his smirk when he squeezed my shoulder tightly before sitting back, and my focus was being pieced together again. Oscar was still peacocking about his latest infarction. “I was able to
drug people, sneak in, and sneak out to get these photos. I’ve been perfecting it for a year now, trying to make sure I was just stealth enough.”
Drugging them. Now it made sense. Abigail was too stubborn and mixed with a short fuse when it came to boundaries. She would have kneed him in the balls, and it would have worn on her like a gold fucking medal.
Girls like Abigail don’t get fucked over.
Standing up, I watched Oscar’s parents look not only mortified but embarrassed. Breezing by my own parents, my mother grabbed my hand with a stern look, trying to hold me back with just a tone to my name.
“Jason.”
It was going to take a lot more than my birth fucking name to stop me from what was about to happen. Abigail, tears in her eyes, begging me to let him live in fact, and even then it wasn’t a guarantee that I wouldn't kill him just to teach her a lesson in telling me when there was a problem.
He stuttered and tripped over all of his words as I got closer, rounding the table and fastening my hand down on the back of his neck as he tensed. “Let’s go talk about your little fucking project.”
Oscar had his hands up, terrified of me and what was coming. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
That’s where he was wrong. He did a lot wrong… and to me. That was a hard lesson to learn when you grew up in the lap of luxury and had friends in high places.
I didn’t let go until we were inside safely and pushing him as he slid against the rug crashing into the table sitting oddly right inside, like Vic’s parents were remodeling. I wasn’t complaining; the table broke his fall in a painful way.
Charging towards him, I did nothing but conquer the space between us with my arms folded against my body. “Not much else to say? Clave got your tongue?”
Oscar stood up with fear written all over his face when his words weren’t matching any of his expressions, “You can’t do anything to me, bro. I’m famous, and my parents are in the Clave… You want to be exiled?”
I had enough of playing with my food; my mother taught me to never do that. Now wasn’t a time to pick up bad habits.
