by Keri Lake
“Twat? What kind of shitty ass manners your momma teach you, boy?” Fox’s voice held zero humor. In the time we’d spent with the men, I’d learned one thing about him—he had little patience, or, tolerance for insolence.
“Fuck you!”
A beat of silence followed, before Fox huffed. “Ever heard of parrilla? Of course you haven’t. You’re just a punk kid with a small mind.” He nodded his head toward Trevi, who hobbled toward where two side-by-side light switches sat above two separate dials. "It’s a method of interrogation used in South American countries. Fairly effective. Allow me to demonstrate.”
Trevi flipped one of the switches and slowly turned the dial below it.
A hum filled the room, followed by a snapping sound and rattling, squeaking metal. Eli screamed, a loud, pain-filled screech that reached down into my bones.
I glanced down at the bedsprings beneath me, suddenly aware of their purpose, and back to the switches on the wall. They’d rigged them, somehow.
A misery-laden yelp steeled my muscles, as the quiet hum escalated to a buzz, while Trevi gave another crank of the dial.
“Stop! Stop it!” I screwed my eyes shut against the sounds of his tormented cries. “Stop!”
Fox’s wicked laughter smothered Eli’s sobbing, turning my blood hot with anger, and the hum quieted. “So, an electrode is set to metal, in this case, the springs across the floor in there, and it emits an electric shock. The intensity of the shock depends on how much of a fucking cowboy you wanna be. We like to use it for training. Sort of like them collars you put on a dog to keep it from doing the wrong thing.” Pacing back and forth in front of us, Fox reached into his shirt pocket and tugged out a cigarette. “Designed ‘em myself. Now. I’m gonna ask you a couple of very simple questions, and you’re gonna answer them. If you answer them incorrectly, my friend Trevi’s gon’ flip his goddamn switch. Ain’t that right, Trevi?” He glanced back toward the asshole, whose wrist swiveled, miming turning up the dial.
Both men laughed in response.
Eli’s whimpers twisted knots in my stomach, while my mind raced for a solution, an escape. That single opportunity my father would’ve stolen to get us out.
“What’s your name?” Fox asked, his attention directed to the left, and the pungent stink of stale menthol cigarettes masked the burning smell of before.
“Eli.”
Another hum, followed by that stomach-turning scream.
“Wrong. Your name is Boy from here on out.”
The thought of that sat like knives in my chest, and I curled my lip, wishing I could tear their throats out with my bare hands.
“And what’s your name?” Fox peered through the distorted door at me, puffing on his cancer stick, and blew the smoke into the closet.
“Fuck you. That’s my name.” I coughed, batting away the faint plume seeping into my lungs. I didn’t even care if he shocked me for it.
Eli’s screams filled the room again, sending shots of panic into my chest.
Assholes!
An obnoxious laugh bounced off the walls of the room. “We attach it to his head, we can alter his fucking brain!” The gurgle of Trevi’s voice made me think of him drowning as I held his head under water. “No brain, no pain!”
The squeak of my teeth and the sharp spasm of pain in my temple told me I’d been grinding my teeth the whole time. “What do you want?” I gritted out.
“I want you to answer the question. What is your name?”
“Boy. Okay? My name is fucking boy.”
Eli screamed again, and every muscle in my body shook.
“Fucking stop! What do you want me to say?”
Fox’s shoulders bunched, his eyes widening like he feigned surprise. “Your name, of course.”
“James! My name is James!” My stomach folded, anticipating the next round of shocks that never arrived.
“James,” Fox echoed, drawing another puff of his cigarette.
Why was I allowed to answer any different? Why would I keep my name?
“And how did you end up in this shitty situation?”
I took the cue to answer as honestly as I could, for Eli’s sake. “I came here. With Eli. And the other kid, Gideon.” I swore if I could go back to those moments in the Packard Plant, I’d have laid that kid out on the ground and beaten the ever-loving shit out of him right then and there.
“You didn’t want to come here, did you? You didn’t want to steal from me?”
“No. I didn’t.” The truth, and I prayed he could see it on my face through the gaps in the door.
“Well, I’m going to tell you what. You have an opportunity to leave this place. Alive. All you gotta do is keep your mouth shut and behave. Can you do that, James?”
In spite of the wrath burning in my veins, and the watery blur of tears in my eyes, I nodded.
“Now, tell me. What’s your friend’s name over there?”
Lips tight, I frowned, choking back the snarky comment trapped at the back of my throat, one that would surely result in Eli’s torment. “Boy,” I said. “His name is Boy.”
“Good. Very good.”
12
Sera
Present day …
Textbooks lay sprawled across my bed, as I hammered out the first draft of my research paper. The topic was neighborhoods and crime, the subject for which happened to be a childhood friend of mine who’d lived in Detroit and had gone missing a few years back.
Beside me, my cellphone chimed with a text and I lifted it to an unknown number popped up on my screen.
An attached video stirred my interest, and without much thought, I pressed the play button, opening the screen to the sounds of harsh breaths over whipping winds. The rayless night sky added a dark contrast against the thousands of lights, as far as the horizon, scattered between brilliantly illuminated skyscrapers off in the distance. To the left, the distinct shape of the RenCen stood lit like a beacon for the surrounding buildings. The camera panned down to a red blinking light and twisted contortions of metal, like machinery. A lump caught in my throat as the view beyond the structure showed streetlights and small cars tooling along what appeared to be hundreds of feet below the cameraman.
The phone screen flipped to Ty’s magnificent face, his cheeks flushed, presumably from the climb, skin glistening with a thin layer of sweat. Behind him, the city of Detroit sat like his conquered kingdom, the span of his domain spread out before him, while he watched from his throne at a dizzying height.
Terrifyingly mesmerizing.
Two seconds later, my phone buzzed with a call and I clicked to answer the now-familiar number blinking across my screen.
“Oh my God, you’re crazy.”
“It’s beautiful up here.” His deep, sleepy voice shot a tingle across my skin and tugged some invisible string attached to my inner thighs.
“I’ll take your word for it.” I lay back on my pillow, listening to the sound of his labored breaths through the phone.
“You should come find me.”
I smiled at that, running the capped end of my pen across my cheek, mentally stifling the urge to shove it into my mouth. “No thanks. I like my feet firmly planted on the ground. What are you on anyway?”
“Tower crane.”
Tiny wings fluttered in my stomach at thought of him scaling something so high in the air, higher than the RenCen, and I tried not to think of how many near-misses he could’ve had along the way. “If that’s what you have in mind for our date, I’m out.”
“You think I’d let you fall, Sera?” A loaded question.
One I didn’t bother to answer and risk he’d hear the honesty bleeding through it.
“Your turn,” he said, switching the subject. “Send me something exciting.”
“What? Like a dick pic?” Palm to my face, I captured a chuckle, imagining his expression on the other end of the line.
“You send me a dick pic and this conversation’s over.” In spite of the amusement that colored hi
s tone, his voice held a warning.
“Well I’m afraid there’s nothing exciting going on here. Unless you’d like me to read the two-thousand word draft of my research paper.” I shoved the plastic pen between my teeth, the pressure a comfort where it pressed into my cheek.
“Where are you right now?”
“My bedroom.”
“Where at?” His questions were layered with anticipation, slowly building toward something that plied my curiosity.
So I played along.
“My bed.”
“Show me.”
I’d never been the kind of girl to fire off nude pics to guys, having read too many cyberbullying stories. I didn’t take selfies, didn’t really follow any particular social media, and I sure as hell didn’t pose for the camera. Had no idea what a guy like Ty would consider sexy. I stared down at myself, as I lay sprawled on the bed in a spaghetti-strap tank and athletic shorts, my books scattered around me. Not exactly a racy lingerie spread.
“I’m waiting.” Something dark and wicked carried through the phone, sending another flutter to my stomach.
“You’re sitting on top of the world right now, waiting on a selfie from me? I’m sure your view is far more enticing.”
“Enticing? Yeah, sure. Nothing I haven’t seen before, though.”
“You strike me as a guy who’s not easily impressed.”
“Depends on what I’m looking at.”
“I doubt my study session qualifies as anything all that captivating.”
“Then you haven’t been paying attention. You’ve proven to be a pretty effective distraction for me so far.”
I set the pen to my lips, running it along the seam, as I smiled. Eyes scanning for a prop, I swiped up my Juvenile Crime And Justice book, cracked the spine of it and placed it on my chest, only allowing a small bit of cleavage over the top. Head kicked to the side to avoid my scar, I snapped a picture that spanned from my jawline to just below the top of the book, and sent it to him.
He huffed a laugh and I could almost see him shaking his head. “You’re killing me, Sera. Now move the book and send me another one.”
“All you sent me was a video of you climbing a tower.”
“You want to see more? Tell me what you want to see.”
That was easy. I wanted to see more of his eyes—those angry, broody, bedroom eyes capable of seducing without much effort on his part. “Show me your face.”
About a minute later, my phone buzzed and I stared down at his striking blue eyes, as he sat casually atop the crane, smoking a cigarette.
“Now move the book.”
“How do I know you won’t post it somewhere?”
“You don’t. But I won’t.” The sincerity in his voice prodded me further.
“Why?”
He blew what I assumed was a drag of his smoke and sniffed. “Because I’m a selfish and jealous prick. I want it all for myself.”
“To do what with?”
“I’m having a custom rubber fuck doll made in your image.”
A burst of laughter died to a growl in my chest. I moved the book away as he’d asked, and yanked down the tank top to just below my nipple. Fist to my breast, I covered most of my flesh, while flipping him off in a quick shot I snapped from the neck down.
Not even a minute later his quiet chuckle rumbled through the phone. “Now that’s just cold. Why you gotta be such a tease? I’m gonna have to—” His voice cut out briefly, breaking up his response.
“You’re gonna have to what?”
“I got another call. I’ll see you Friday, angel.”
“Talk about a tease.” Call abruptly ended, I tapped the Add button, and saved Ty’s phone number in my contacts.
I shook my head at yet another encounter that only served to heighten my curiosity in the guy. I refused to acknowledge it as anything more than that. His interest in me still made little sense, but I’d begun to see the way he appreciated things that most didn’t bother to notice. The broader perspective that my narrow-minded thinking just couldn’t seem to grasp.
Maybe he saw something I didn’t.
13
Ty
Two years ago …
Chill October wind howled past the window beside me, as I stared out at the early flakes of snow melting against the thick pane separating me from the line of jumbo jets out on the tarmac. It’d been a week since I buried my uncle Hank, and the thought of having packed up and sold the last of his shit sat heavy in my gut. The man hadn’t had much in life, but he’d left more than he’d ever taken. Aside from a decade’s worth of advice, and a few ego-cracking bruises of tough love, he’d also willed me the small fortune he’d accumulated in cryptocurrency. A stockpile of cash he’d never bragged about, nor made known at any time during the ten years we’d lived on spam and Wonder bread. I couldn’t have begun to imagine where he’d gotten it, but I kept it stored away in a wallet for the day I’d up and explore the world, as he’d insisted in the letter he left behind.
The plane ticket to Dubai sat on the table beside the empty shots of Jameson whiskey and a full pack of Marlboros. The city was home to one of the tallest cranes in the world, and since I’d climbed damn near every crane and skyscraper in Detroit, I needed something more. Something higher. More dangerous. Something that would make me fall to my knees and thank fucking God I was still alive, because most days, I just couldn’t muster the appreciation.
I stared down at the third shot of the night. With Hank gone, the last string binding me to anyone, or anything, had officially snipped, and I was nothing more than a ghost. Completely alone. No home, no family, no consequences, and as far as the world was concerned, I didn’t exist.
I couldn’t decide if that was a blessing, or a punishment.
As if on cue, an obnoxious laugh reached my ear—one bearing a certain familiarity that tugged at the pit of my gut, dredging up visuals of a man with tattoos across his throat and a snake inked on his hand. Cold branches of fear climbed the back of my neck, and I lifted my own hand to see it trembling.
Another laugh.
I snapped my gaze toward a heavyset guy, sitting at the bar with his back to me. He leaned in toward the bartender, and seconds later, they were both laughing.
“No brain, no pain, that’s what I always say!”
The stranger’s voice slapped me in the face, while his words crawled across my skin, burrowing in long-forgotten wounds.
Anger settled deep into my bones, eating away at the ivory, while I listened to the joke he exchanged with the bartender.
I’d not heard that voice in nearly a decade, yet it stirred in my gut, setting my teeth on edge. I closed my eyes, clinching them shut to stamp out the visuals taunting my thoughts.
A blade slicing across his fat neck, like a razor slicing open the belly of a caterpillar.
The warm crackle of flames consuming his pale, greasy skin.
My fingers curled around the edge of the table, as my stomach pulled at my spine, begging to rise up from the chair and act on my urges.
‘In due time their foot will slip; their day of disaster is near and their doom rushes upon them.’
The words of my uncle seeped into the chaos swirling inside my head, reverberating off my skull.
‘The Lord is your avenger,’ he’d once said to me.
He’d been a man of few words, but those I remembered most profoundly because they came from the Bible. As far as I knew, the only thing he ever worshipped in my time with him had been fast women and a full bottle of Jack.
I released the edge of the table, taking deep breaths to calm my nerves. The stranger at the bar, the Joker, would never recognize me after so long. It’d been almost ten years, and I wasn’t the same boy. Years of therapy, hard work, and Uncle Hank’s guidance had helped seal those wounds, and I wouldn’t tear them open again. Not when my whole life sat before me—a blank page that I could write any way I chose.
A chill skittered down my spine, like death’s cold breat
h, and I raised my gaze to see a boy sitting beside the stranger at the bar. He was so out of place there, it would’ve been laughable if the sight of him didn’t freak me the fuck out.
My heart slammed against my ribs, and I squeezed my eyes shut to make him disappear. He never came to me in public places like those. Only when I was drunk, or on the verge of sleep, and that cold chill lingered in my bones. I’d done three shots, but I didn’t feel drunk, definitely not drunk enough to be seeing the kid right then.
Any minute, he’d break into those loud, agonizing screams that kept me awake all night.
“Not now,” I muttered to myself, my whole body shivering from the cold.
“Hey, man, can I bum a smoke?”
I exhaled a shaky breath and opened my eyes to find the heavyset guy standing alongside the table. A patch covered his left eye, the evidence of my father’s attempt to kill him. An attempt that ultimately cost him his own life.
The boy still sat at the bar, silently staring at me, as if waiting to see what I’d do. I glanced around at the few patrons, drinking and talking, going about their business.
No one seemed to notice the kid.
“I’m willing to give you a buck for it.” The stranger brandished his wallet, and thumbed a dollar from the few bills, handing it to me. “Got a fifteen-hour flight, and I just smoked my last one.”
The boy tipped his head around the man’s body, watching me. Silently.
My eyes slid toward the stranger before me then back to my smokes. “Yeah. I’ll join you.”
I rose up from the table, tossing a couple of bills to pay for my drinks, and followed the man toward the smoker’s lounge, leaving my ticket behind.
* * *
I’d never killed a man before, though I’d dreamed of the moment for what seemed like a lifetime.
There was so much blood. Everywhere. I was up to my elbows in it, as I rubbed the strangers blood along my forearm, as if I could wipe away the stain. It was fascinating, the way it was so difficult to wash off the skin, like nature’s way of marking the guilty.
