I flip my hand dismissively. “Yeah, I’m taking a break from him.”
Disappointment floats in my direction. “Please don’t tell me you’re hanging with that ass-clown, Seviride,” he scowls with a cocked eyebrow over slatted eyes.
“Fuck you, Maxwell. I had to bring in a sub for the night, didn’t I?” It is a Marvy-kind of thing to say I figure.
“Well, you have my number, babe. Any time, name the place,” he winks.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m gonna go find you a hottie, Dillon.” I laugh and turn only to be confronted by a fuming Kitta and Jones. Alex is behind them, guilt-ridden and shrugs. He mouths, “Sorry.”
Yeah, that fixes everything.
BEFORE KITTA AND JONES can take their turns screaming at me, I put my finger to my mouth, silently telling them to be quiet, and point to my ear. ‘You,’ I point to Jones, motioning to sit at the bar. He gapes affronted, but before he can utter a word, I stomp my foot and harshly gesture an iron finger at a bar stool. Alex puts a hand on Jones’ shoulder, guiding him to the bar.
“We’ll be right back.” I grab Kitta’s hand and drag her to the bathroom.
The second the bathroom door is locked behind us, Kitta starts in with her tirade while I look under all the stalls to assure we’re alone. “You stole my fucking car, fucking ditched me, and wouldn’t answer my fucking calls, or texts! Marvy, you are such an inconsiderate cunt!”
I just nod without saying a word. Taking my ear cuff off, I look into it. “I need a minute with my friend,” I say and press a red jewel. Then I turn my attention to Kitta.
“What the hell, Marvy or whoever you are right now? Are they watching and listening through your cuff?”
“Yes. I rigged it because a wire wouldn’t work in this rag.”
With my words, Kitta knows immediately it’s me, not Marvy. “Nice rag, Tris, BTW,” she says, admiring the red dress.
I step back to appreciate my gorgeous friend in the electric blue dress with her curly afro hair as tall and poofed out she could make it.
Of course she knows it’s me, who else would be able to jimmy-rig the ear cuff?
“You look fabulous too! Like the fro! Marvy actually let you borrow that dress?” Kitta smiles wide. “Never mind. Look, there’s too much to catch you up on so let me tell you what’s going on right now. Alex and I pretended to have a big blow-up in front of Bryson. He’s in the VIP lounge waiting for me now. There are UC agents and detectives all over the club and the hotel room is surveillanced up the ass. I’m supposed to take him over there and seduce him, or Marvy is at least. I have these sedatives so I can get him to tell me details of some big shipment of something on Sunday.” By the time I’m done, I’m out of breath.
Kitta leans back against the sink counter. “Damn girl, you are in the shit tonight! How can I help?”
“You’re going to be my wingman unless it gets too hot or I think this isn’t going right. I have to get this done this weekend or I’ll have to keep doing this till they can get something on him. Got it?” This is another lie to my friend. I have no intention of letting Kitta “hang out” with me and Bryson. The less he knows about my real life, the better.
“Got it,” Kitta replies with a thumbs up, apparently grateful to be a part of the scheme.
Knowing my friend bought the lie alleviates some of my stress. “Sorry Marvy ditched you, but to be honest I would have too. This is going to be such a shit storm; I don’t want it blowing back on you or Jones.”
“I get it but she’s still a bitch for doing that to us.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I say waving my hand. “Ready?”
“I guess,” she shrugs.
“Good enough. Now go get Alex, I need to talk to him, but stay close. Remember, I’m Marvy tonight.”
A few minutes later, Alex knocks. “I feel so not right being in here by the way.”
Pulling him in, I shut the door. “I need you to get Jones out of here. He’s gonna blow this for me since he has no idea about Marvy. Have any ideas?”
After a few moments, Alex’s eyes sparkle with mischief. “I hate to say this, but how many of those sedatives do you have?”
I chuckle, “It’s a horrid thing to suggest, but I like it! Sucks that I’m going to do this to my brother, but I really don’t have a choice, do I?” Alex gives me a sympathetic lip curl, shaking his head. “Is he drinking anything right now?” I ask.
“No, but I can change that.” He winks with a rascally smile.
“Remember, he’s underage.” Grabbing his face, I taco his lips and kiss him quickly. “Okay, send Kitta back in.”
Kit ducks back in the bathroom. “Kit, I have an idea but you’re gonna have to take a leap of faith with me. Okay? Roll with whatever I’m saying or doing. I’ll try to be as obvious as possible. You have to trust me one hundred percent though, you good with that?”
Kitta holds out her fist, inviting a compliant pound from me. “I got your back, babe!” It’s what we do before and after a long, exhausting run.
“Good, now let’s go drug my brother.”
“Wha…?” she trails as I push her bewildered ass out the door.
I’m almost out the door, but back up. “Ahh shit! Hold on.” Taking my cuff off, I hit the green jewel. When the flashing jewels stop, I look into it. “Okay, I’m back.”
ARM-IN-ARM, WE HURRY from the restroom to the VIP lounge. Every now and then, there’s a pull slowing me down as Kitta gawks at the beautifully decorated Ultra Lounge.
“Hey Marvy! Where’ve you been? Thought you ditched me or something,” Bryson chortles uneasily until he sees Kitta. I detect no suspiciousness in his gaze or tone though.
“Sorry about taking so long. I ran into my friend, Ki…,” Her nails dig into my skin. “Katherine. Kat, this is Bryson.” Shit, I almost blew it.
I thought she’d be scared or nervous, but without missing a beat, Kitta sticks her hand out with a glam smile. “Hi, nice to meet you!” she chirps.
“So, I hate to do this to you, but she came with my brother who is totally wasted now. He’s an underage dumbass that Kat snuck in.” I fake a narrowed disapproving glare.
Kitta shrugs. “Sorry, Marvy!” Sarcasm is intoned in the emphasis on Marvy.
I lay my hand on Bryson’s and flirtatiously tilt my head. “Can you hang out while I get him in a cab?” His eyes flicker something inexplicable.
Damn these club lights! It makes people hard to read.
Bryson shifts tensely. “Uh…sure, no problem. Do you need any help?” he asks, beginning to stand.
“No, please stay here. He doesn’t know anything about my club life and I’d like to keep it that way. If he sees you, he’s gonna be a pain in the ass for the rest of my life!”
Lordy, I’m going to win an Oscar for this performance!
Apprehension wrinkles his forehead, but he sighs and sits back down. “Alright, but don’t be too long.”
“I just need to get him out of here. I’ll be right back,” I assure with the biggest, toothiest smile I can muster and shove Kitta away from the booth.
“Holy wet panties, Trista! He is delicious!”
My stomach dips even though the only words I heard were panties and delicious. I get the gist of what she said and scowl. “Ow!” she whines when I give her arm a good, retaliatory yank.
Although I’m not sure if I could in the red dress and four inch stilettos, I cruise through the lounge with an itch to run. When we reach the bar, Dillon is handing a tall glass of an iced amber liquid to Jones. “What are you doing?” I scream at him.
“Heeeeey Tris! Thish is my secon Long Island! Who knew tea could tastesh thish good? My ol’ buddy here, Dilln makesh good drinksh! You should try thish!” Jones slurs.
“Que faites–vous? Il vous chez les mineurs, dumbass!” I scold Dillon.
Motioning me closer, he leans in. “I know he’s underage Marvy, Xander told me. Those are regular ice teas he’s drinking,” he says, guffing at Jones.
I’m not s
ure if Jones has ever been in this type of social situation. He doesn’t really go to clubs, I think. As a matter of fact, I don’t think he goes to parties of any kind at all. All his friends are in the geek gaming community and his best friend is a dude in California who he’s never met. I surmise, in an effort to fit in with the surroundings, my brother is fake drunk with the non-existent alcoholic beverages.
Oh dear, Lord! “Merci, Dillon! Sorry I yelled.”
“Baby, you can yell at me in French whenever you want, you sassy vixen!” he says winking.
“Okay!” Jones exclaims, slamming the glass down on the bar making the drink slosh all over. He starts stumbling around with his fists up. “Wmyz thish fuckr so I can kick his assssss?” Kitta and I roll our eyes simultaneously, and both Dillon and Alex turn their heads trying to suppress their laughter. I see their shoulders shaking and Alex wipes his eyes signifying their failed attempt.
“Keep him busy,” I say loudly in Kitta’s ear. She nods.
With his back turned, I pull out one of the sedatives from the silver pill box, snap it half, and drop it into his ice tea. My brother is a quarter the size of Supak, so I figure a whole pill may just kill Jones.
“I gotta get back to Bryson before he gets suspicious. Make sure he drinks this. Once Jones starts to get droopy…,” I look at my staggering brother, “-er, take him to Hotel Plage De Sable, room 217. The team is there and he can sleep it off in the bedroom. Have Alex help you with Jones in case he drops. From there you can watch everything I do,” I instruct and point to the ear cuff.
Kitta’s eyes flare. “Are you fucking ditching me again?” The pulsing dance floor lights combine with her facial expression making her look demonic.
“I can’t very well be all sexy and seducey with you sitting next to me, can I?” This is a completely feasible reason and it will give me peace of mind knowing that she is safe.
“No, I guess not,” Kitta pouts.
“Don’t worry. I got this! There’re guys all over this club,” I point around aimlessly. “I’m not going anywhere without one, or all of them, tailing me.”
I SHOOT DOWN A FEW more arguments, but their reiterative voices keep peaking over the music. Nothing I say will dissuade them and I can’t waste any more time beating this dead horse. I end up ditching everyone mid-crescendo to get back to the VIP lounge.
“Sorry for all the drama, sometimes family sucks,” I drone, sliding into the booth.
An empty glass with ice slides between Bryson’s hands absently. “Yeah, but they’re nice to have around. My parents died when I was a teenager. I was angry for a long time, but my nonna helped me through it.” The sadness in his voice clouds his distant eyes; the same look burdens me often. I can’t help the need to commiserate and reach for his hand.
“I’m sorry. You must miss them.” Thinking of how much I miss my daddy. “My father died when I was fifteen.”
Bryson lifts his eyes capturing the sympathy in mine and filters a meek smile. “Wanna get out of here? Go somewhere quieter?”
I pull my hand in a wary retraction and rub my thumbnail along my lower lip. “Yeah…I don’t know about that,” I say, failing not to sound distrustful. He knows I have every right to though.
His right hand jets up, palm out. “I’ll be a perfect gentleman, Marvy. I swear.”
Yeah, I’ve heard that one before. I smirk, thinking about Alex in the tub. Do any real boy scouts really use that line?
Bryson is less earnest than Alex, but knowing there are DEA agents and UC Detectives all over the club I feel safe enough to be “alone” with Bryson here. The idea of being truly alone with him is a different matter. Then a thought dawns on me, Bryson doesn’t have his security guys with him. Maybe that’s a good topic of conversation. Innocently asking why a tech mogul needs bodyguards? And where are they tonight? He’s unguarded, which makes taking him down easier. Thank God because I totally forgot about them.
“Let’s go somewhere neutral. Somewhere public with a lot of witnesses,” I say this with a satirical smile to let him know I’m partially joking, partially serious, hopefully reeling him in slowly.
Before I can suggest the hotel, he’s offering his hand to help me from the booth, leading me outside.
We slam into a sea of people when the night air hits us. There must be some kind of basketball convention or something, all I see is the backs of very tall men. Now, I’m not short by any means and Bryson is a good foot taller than me, but holy hell! I feel like a rabbit in a forest of thousand year old Redwoods. Add the clubbers waiting to get in, Bryson and I end up being swallowed by the crowd on the tiny sidewalk.
A few of the tall guys must be drunk as they sloppily try to hit on girls with their boisterous voices. One notices me and tries to give me a savory smile. Even if I was into giants, his glassy eyes scream trouble. Bryson’s arm goes around me from behind to shield me from the shenanigans. Ironically, I’m a bit relieved. There’s no definable separation between fear and the flutter in my stomach when he does. What. The. Fuck? My body tingles and I want more of his touch.
“Where do you want to go?” he asks, handing the valet dude his ticket to claim his car. “We can go to my beach house.” He lights two cigarettes at once and hands one to me.
Shoot, that’s right, Marvy smokes and I haven’t smoked at all tonight. Awesome. This shit will kill me if tonight doesn’t.
I take an inhale, but this time I don’t cough. My body must be used to it from Marvy smoking all the time. Awesome. I try to mimic the way Marvy smokes, exhaling it slowly with a slightly open mouth. I must be pretty convincing based on Bryson’s eyes fixed on me, accompanied by a little smile. Not sure why, but the way he’s studying me makes me nervous. His gaze is almost boyish. “I don’t want to go far. You know, just in case. Besides, my feet hurt in these stilts. How about that hotel down the street? It looks nice and they probably have a quiet bar.” My proposal is casual and sounds unaware, with the exception of the fluxed warble at the end.
Uncomfortable, I tuck my right hand under my left arm. Panic rises in my chest, I am missing something. “Oh shit, Bryson! I left my clutch in the booth!” I’m frantic because the vital silver pill box is in that clutch.
Immediately, he drops his smoke, extinguishing it with the toe of his shoe. “I’ll get it. No worries, wait here!” he insists, and trots back into the club. Again, what. The. Fuck? He’s acting like we’re on some kind of date and he’s trying to impress me with his gallantry. Yet again, his dippy smile makes my heart flip. I must be losing it.
“This is getting weird,” I utter under my breath, forgetting I have eavesdroppers. I want to toss the cigarette, but if Bryson gets back as quickly as he left, there would be no way I should be done with it. So I just dangle it between my fingers, hoping it burns out.
Rush’s club patrons clamor in the queue to get in and a few smokers burn their poison a few feet away. Either these UCs and agents are very good or none of these people give a shit about me.
The valet guys bounce around to different cars, opening doors and greeting the night club partiers. The handsome boy I saw in the video waves, I coyly smile and give him a wink. He blushes and almost gets run over by another rushing car being checked.
From behind, an arm links with mine. “Thanks Brys—,” my words evaporate on my tongue. Eyes filled with hatred–Supak’s eyes–glare at me. Tightly wrapped around my arm, he wrenches me away from the club. I look back for my protection detail, but not one set of eyes witness my distress. The bustle of clubbers and valet guys mask my abduction. With each step, more distance grows from the safety of the club as well as my protection. When he shoves me through a shadowed alley, my panic intensifies. I am going to be a statisic, disappearing without a trace.
The alley’s odor of urine and rotting trash exacerbate the acid churning up my throat. The thought of vomiting and adding to the stench makes the struggle to hold it down difficult. Perhaps I should let it go all over Supak. I mean, I’d let me go if I was
covered in vomit.
Weaving past dumpsters, Supak keeps yanking me forward and we emerge from the alley to an empty street. I can barely keep up with his step, my legs wobbling in the unstable heels.
My breathing labors as fear crushes me. The stupid red dress becomes tighter making air impossible. Scenes from Marvy’s encounter with him play in flashes through my mind, only this time I don’t think I’ll just be left for dead. When I researched Supak Pavao, I found nothing. Not one scrap of information, not even a person with a similar name came up. He was a ghost. That only happens with certain kinds of people, dangerous ‘don’t fuck with them’ ones.
He shoves me into an alcove of a closed bakery, thereby concealing us from plain sight. When I’m slammed into the glass door, shock waves of pain renew up my side. My body is still recovering from the last brutal encounter with Supak. This rotting excuse for a man enjoys my cringe in pain. The stench of his sweat reeks of it and his upper lip twitches above his demented smile. Like a vulture, he swoops down on me trying to inflict brutal kisses. The rancid smell of his breath and taste of his mouth churns up more bile making my mouth water. I try to fight, but he has me pinned and his other hand busily gropes my body.
I attempt a scream, but he smacks me backward and I hit the glass door hard. It’s thin and rattles, stealing my scream. Maybe the noise will attract attention. Maybe I’ll crash through and set off an alarm. My mind spins, completely overloaded.
Think Tris, think! What would Valeria do?
Then I remember and bring my left hand up. With the hot burning (580°C to be exact) cigarette still in hand, I extinguish it on his cheek. Red embers disperse with the sizzling sound of burning flesh. Screaming, Supak releases me, bringing his hand to his scorched cheek. I only get a second for victory, before his fist sends another explosion of pain through my face. The momentum of the hit sends me whipping around, hitting the glass wall. Grabbing my shoulders, he hauls me backward, smashing my limp body to the other side of the alcove. Black stars blossom as my head bashes the glass. I stagger back, but my legs fail my weight. The cold cement contradicts the tacky warmth under my knees and cuts into my hands. A long, dark drop of spittle falls from the corner of my open mouth. Darkness edges my vision when my eyes flutter. I focus on the round drops of blood forming a Rorschach pattern beneath me. I need to fight for my life, but hopeless unsteadiness falters me.
Pieces Of One, Part 1 (The Dark Life Collection) Page 15
