by April Lust
Normally I dance to eliminate any mental pain. Dancing hurts, physically, but it clears my mind like nothing else. Pushing my physical limits to the point where I feel like I’m about to break makes me forget about any emotional stress I’m under.
There was once a time when I used to dance seven days a week, from dusk till dawn. I performed in the makeshift studio my father had designed for me in our basement. The floor was made of polished wood, but the walls were still damp and dripping with rain. It felt like I was dancing inside of a dark cave. To brighten up the place a bit, I placed Christmas lights around the perimeter, which gave off an eerie rainbow glow.
That’s how I feel now, like I’m dancing once again inside of a cave. The warehouse is varying shades of blue and silver, and everything smells like rusty metal. The first floor has hardly any windows and is lit entirely artificially. The more I turn, tighter and tighter, the more the room blurs into an ocean of sorts. A metal ocean that has been holding me captive since the day I entered its midst.
As I dance, I make sure to work up a sweat. My secret dancing has now become a sexual activity, as well as a way to destress. Each time I practice, I touch myself, thinking of Beast. I grab my breasts and nipples as I pirouette, loving the feeling of pain mixed with pleasure. Should Beast ever walk in and see me like this, I’m sure he’d think I’d gone completely insane.
I sink to the ground in a split, my crotch reaching the floor. I have muscular thighs and calves, which always helped me when it came to rope climbing in gym. I wonder if other girls found that particular gym activity as sexual as I did. I used to rub myself up against the rope until it felt like I was on fire and would burst if I didn’t touch myself soon.
That’s how I feel right now, but I don’t let my hands reach below my waist. I’m dancing in my underwear and wife-beater. Outside my door, I hear footsteps. They pause briefly and I imagine a ghost with one hand raised in the air, wondering whether or not to float into my room. I’m on the ground with one of my legs reaching up to my head and my back is arched at a ninety-degree angle.
The ghost-man and I remain like that for a few minutes, neither of us moving. Whoever it is, they’re taking quite some time to weigh their options. To open the door or not to open the door?
After what seems like a lifetime, I hear footsteps echoing in the opposite direction. I wait a few seconds, my legs cascading backward with ease. My muscles are warmed up now, and my body moves through the air with natural, liquid movements. When I’m convinced the coast is clear, I rush towards the door and try the knob. It’s unlocked, thankfully. I was worried Beast had locked me in. That would surely ruin my plans.
I want to leave the warehouse, but I have to wait for Beast to leave first. No doubt I’m going to have to wait until after breakfast for my escape. He’s out right now, probably by himself, which means Doc and the others are lurking. If I try to escape on foot, they’ll surely catch me, and I’ve never driven on a bike before.
I knew I had to leave the minute I saw the photograph of my father. I at least have to find him and ask him why he gave me up before Beast fills his body with bullets.
Since discovering the photograph is my father, I’ve been able to remain surprisingly calm. Instead of tossing objects around the room like a madwoman, a strange calm flooded my body. The only way to explain it is that I’m numb or in shock.
Calm yourself, Natalia. Now’s not the time for murder. At least wait until the man has his breakfast. Then we’ll see who the real lying fool is.
Chapter 16 Natalia
Beast has made me pancakes loaded with fruit. I cut them open slowly, loving the red juices that puddle on my plate.
“How are they?” Beast asks.
I hesitate, hoping he’s going to call me a pet name. He doesn’t, and I wonder why. I think he only does it when I’m least expecting it. He’ll toss in a “baby” or “darling” here and there, especially when I’m not paying attention.
“It’s fine,” I say flatly. “They’re fine.” They’re more than fine! I had no idea this man could cook. Hell, I can’t even make pancakes like this. But there’s no fucking way I’m telling Beast that.
Beneath the table, my foot slides out to meet his. I retract it the instant my toe brushes against wood instead of leather.
“How are yours?” I glance over at Beast.
He hasn’t touched the food in front of him. He seems to be lost in thought, far away from me. “They’re fine.”
We glance at our plates and eat in silence. Doc walks in a few minutes later with a bleach-blonde hooker clad in a suede minidress on one arm and a bottle of gin in the other. He’s hammered, which isn’t unusual for him. There’s been many a night when he’s fallen asleep on the bullet-torn couch and snoring so loudly it makes the whole warehouse shake.
I glance at the butter knife, wondering if it’s sharp enough to pierce Beast’s clavicle. I see him analyzing me. It’s like he knows what I’m thinking or he knows I’m planning leave. He doesn’t trust me as much as he before he caught me with the folder, and he has his guard up. I could take him but Doc’s here, and the hooker would certainly talk.
“What on earth?” Doc slurs, breaking the silence. “Did you two get hitched when I wasn’t paying attention?”
Beast rolls his eyes and I stare at my plate.
“Doc,” Beast says in a level voice. “Is that gin I smell?”
“That it is, my good friend,” Doc says, spilling a bit on the floor. The hooker tosses back her fake-blonde curls and laughs. “Well, good day to you two. This here is Laura. She’s actually just leaving.”
Laura sighs a dramatic, sad sigh and crosses her arms.
“All right, all right,” Doc says with a chuckle. “Beast, pay the nice lady her money.”
Beast slams his hand on the table so loud it makes all of us jump. “Fuck you, Doc. Take care of your own debts.” I can’t help but gasp. The venom in his voice is so palpable that even I can tell something’s really bothering him.
“Fine,” Doc says, raising his eyebrows. “I guess I’ll pay her.”
He reaches for his wallet and pulls out a fat stack of bills. While he’s counting, Beast’s phone goes off not once but ten times. He glances at the screen and his eyes widen, either in surprise or alarm. Perhaps both.
“Doc,” he says, tossing the phone at his friend.
“What? I told you I was taking care of it. I said – oh, shit. What is this?”
Beast doesn’t say anything, just waits patiently for Doc to finish reading. They must have gotten a tip off about something, for they look as serious as the plague.
This is it. If Beast has to leave tonight on business, I’ll be able to escape.
“What is it?” My question is met with icy stars from both men. Even Laura looks unpleasant.
“All right, then,” Doc says, handing the phone back to Beast. He finishes paying Laura, sending her on her way with a slap on the ass.
“We ride tonight,” Beast says.
“I’ll be sure to gather the troops,” Doc responds.
I must admit I’m kind of impressed. Ten seconds ago, Doc was sloppy drunk, and now he looks sharp and eager with a vicious glint in his eyes. I have to admire that about him because I know I wouldn’t have been able to react the same way. I say nothing and finish my pancakes in silence.
Beast gets up, slams his chair into the table, and dumps a full plate into the sink. Whatever texts he got definitely wasn’t good news. He walks towards the door. When he’s almost disappeared from sight, he whirls around. “Don’t even think about leaving tonight. I’ll be leaving one of my men to watch over you while I’m gone.”
I scoff and cross my arms firmly over my chest. “Why would I leave?”
Beast says nothing, just disappears into the great room. I hear the shuffling of footsteps and smell puffs of cigarette smoke. They’re preparing to leave, but to where, I’m unsure.
The house is big and drafty, and I get the feeling I’m being
watched. I turn my head towards the doorway, seeing nothing but dim lighting. Whoever it is that’s meant to watch me hasn’t yet made his presence known.
After Beast leaves, a feeling of deep unhappiness spreads through my limbs. I feel like such a fraud. This was all a lie – everything with Beast. All I know is that he has made it very clear how he feels about me. All that sex, all that romance was just a ruse, and he doesn’t give a shit about whether I live or die. I guess he really was telling the truth about using me as bait for Abram. If I try to leave, I’ll wind up in a body bag. So much for my happy ending.
Walking down the hall, I see a man with a gun perched on one of the couches. I haven’t seen him around before, and he’s definitely not one of the Renegade Reapers.
“Who’re you?” I narrow my eyes and step closer. The man’s cradling a silver gun in his hands, staring at me intently. There’s something off about him, like he’s a crouched wildcat, waiting for a little bunny to hop right on by. The dislike I feel for him is overwhelming. I know instinctively that this is the man Beast has ordered to guard me.
“I’ll be in my room,” I say to the man with the gun who shrugs in response and stares off into space. He reminds me of the kind of kid that would eat glue during recess.
I’ve got to figure out some way to get around him.
I’m a rabbit stuck in a cage. I’m a tiger at the zoo. I pace around my room in endless circles, trying my hardest to figure a way out. I can’t even run past him. He’ll shoot me without a second thought. Even though I’m pretty sure Beast told the guy not to shoot me unless I really made a run for it, I can’t trust that. This guy looks like a real creep. One of those guys who shoots first and asks questions later. I don’t think he’d shoot to kill, but maybe he’d shoot me in the leg, which would be the end of my career.
This is how Beast likes his women—scared, wounded gazelles too ignorant to fend for themselves. My mind races and I begin to wonder how many women he’s held captive in this room. He’s older than I am, which means he’s been playing this game for a bit longer. I shudder when I think of the others.
What if they tore at the walls, carved help into the head bored, tried to make a run for it like I want to? Would the next girl in my place look at the carvings and shiver? Would she understand that her life was in danger? Or would she be like me? Utterly blinded by the sexiness of her captor?
I start searching my room with the meticulous nature of a woman with OCD, looking for some sort of clue of life before me. All I find are old candy wrappers and a musty gym sock. There aren’t any tic-tac-toe games carved into the wall, no scratch marks. I find a hole in the wall, but it’s not from a bullet. I think it’s a mouse tunnel. There are crumbs on the ground, and I don’t dare reach my hand inside. This warehouse is filled with all sorts of dangerous nooks and crannies. It’s best not to do too much investigating.
Sneaking down the hall, I peer around the corner and check for my captor. I see him lying on his back, loading bullets into the gun. He twists it around in his hands, and I watch as he points the gun at his head. Click. But there’s one less bullet in the barrel than I thought. I realize then that he’s playing Russian roulette with himself. He must be bored out of his mind if he’s willing to die while watching over the dancer. Maybe I’ll get lucky and he’ll actually kill himself, giving me a chance to escape.
Pressing my back against the wall, I decide it’s best to wait till he either offs himself or gets bored in the process. What feels like hours pass by, and I wind up falling asleep.
In my dreams, I’m chasing after Beast on a white horse. He’s running away from me, but keeps turning around every so often to shout,
“Just a little farther! You can make it!”
“My horse is tired!” I shout at him.
Behind me, someone on a dark steed takes up the rear. He’s got a hood over his head, but I can see his bright red eyes glowing from the dark hole that is his face. He’s holding a gun and pointing it at me. Every time I turn back to see who it is, he’s a little bit closer. If he moves any faster, I’m going to be killed.
“Beast!” I shout out. “Help me!
But Beast isn’t listening to me anymore. The man on the horse reaches out a long hand and smacks me off the horse with the gun. I wake up in a cold sweat after haven fallen on the warehouse floor.
“Christ,” I mutter to myself. “What the hell was that?”
Before I can collect myself there comes a loud crashing noise from the other room. I scramble to my feet and crane my neck to see not one but four men running down the hall. My heart freezes in my chest as I peer around the corner, checking for my guard.
I’m unable to keep myself from gasping. My guard is on the floor, dead, bleeding from a wound to the head.
Chapter 17
Beast
Earlier, at breakfast, I got a tip from a woman named Maya that Abram Pestov would be at the restaurant and private gambling club, Mystic. Most of my men don’t trust Maya, but I don’t care. She’s been able to deliver valuable information to me whenever I need it, without fail. She’s my wing woman, but we’ll just leave it at that.
Natalia may be a pain in my ass, but it’s not like I’m going to screw Maya to get even. No time for that, and, honestly, I’m not even sure I could think about another woman. Natalia’s on my mind, front and center.
I’ve never been inside of Mystic, but I know it’s linked somehow to the Museum of Natural History. Rumor has it that the club part of Mystic is so enormous that it spans at least three blocks and has tunnels underneath Central Park. The main floor is a posh restaurant serving haute cuisine with a gambling joint underneath. It’s notorious among gangsters in New York City, and I feel like a real idiot for not thinking to check it out sooner. The club existed long before the restaurant, but the owner just expanded and remodeled and opened the new restaurant, which has made Mystic as popular for rich hipsters upstairs as it has for the low-life gangsters downstairs.
Maya told us to meet her at the planetarium entrance near one of the subway grates, as there’s a secret passageway that leads to the club.
I’m bringing all my men, fifteen in total, aside from one I left guarding the house. He’s one of the newer guys, and a bit of an airhead, but I know he’s going to do fine. Someone has to take care of Natalia, that sneaky little ballerina. I can tell she’s been itching to sneak away from the warehouse all day, and I can’t just let her go. At least, I can’t let her go without a fight.
We drive in a triangle with the neon lights shining on our black leather jackets, making them flash with color. It stopped snowing earlier, causing the streets to become slick and icy. As long as I keep my wits about me, I shouldn’t crash.
Whipping around corners and revving our engines, we arrive at the scene. Maya’s standing outside, wearing a long black coat. Her sharp features are illuminated beneath the excess planetarium lights. I can see the metallic moon, Jupiter, and a bunch of stars casting shadows on the sidewalks. We’re meant to park in a secret location, stashing our bikes across the street from the fountain. I tip the security guard who’s taking care of our bikes and walk towards Maya.
“Evening, boys,” she says, her voice thick with malice. I can tell she’s excited for a showdown with Abram. She and I don’t know each other too well, but what I do know is that Abram killed her sister.
It was a winter’s eve much like tonight, and Maya and her sister were walking home from a party. They ran into Abram and some of his men. Maya survived but not without scars, and they’re not all on the surface. As for her sister, her body’s somewhere at the bottom of the Hudson, just like all the others Abram’s killed wearing cement boots. The incident with Abram has caused Maya to become calloused and thorny. She’s a little devil, evil to her core, but I don’t blame her. We’ve all been hurt by the loss of those we care about the most. Her sister’s murder is no exception.
Doc, still a bit tipsy from breakfast, leans over and kisses Maya on the cheek. She r
esponds in kind, though I can tell she feels uncomfortable. I’m not sure if it’s because she hasn’t let another human being touch her since the day she lost her sister, or if it’s her generalized anxiety. I don’t really know, and to be honest, I don’t care. Right now, we need her to get us into Mystic.
“Hey, babe.” I casually wave my hand in greeting towards Maya, eyeing her from head to toe. “Where to now?”
“Right this way,” Maya says, leading us away with a flick of her wrist.
She leads us to a thick grate flowing with steam. Doc tells her to step aside, so he can lift it up. Maya steps in first, her footsteps echoing on the metal ladder.
“See you on the other side,” she says, her pointed face disappearing beneath the metal.
