by Amo Jones
God, I’m so screwed. I stand and rinse my hands in the little porcelain sink, then dry them with the soft cotton towel that’s hanging there.
Why would a man who has everything want someone like me locked in a damn basement? And why do I feel so much hatred from him? Hatred I didn’t earn.
I just want to leave. I feel sick. I’ve never experienced the feeling of homesickness, not even the slightest inclination of feeling homesick. Probably because I never really had a home. Aside from Sydney and my nona and pops, I’ve never really felt like I had a home, or a family. Not the kind that most think of, but right now, I want my lonely life back. Better to be lonely than dead.
I head out of the bathroom and go back to the bed, crawling into a ball and slamming my eyes shut, thinking of slightly better days.
One, two, three. My feet move to the rhythm of the music, my body rolling like a perfectly orchestrated choir. Music is my life, and dancing is my soul, one can’t survive without the other.
“Yo! Beat! Hit this jam!”
“Mi Gente” by Beyoncé starts playing.
“Ohhh, I see what you did there…” I teased him with a wink. My head nodded slightly, then when the beat dropped, my body broke down the syllables smoothly enough to have the small crowd gasping. I waved my hands around, moving my hips with it. I was freestyling, which is what I loved to do most. I loved choreography, but freestyling was something more freeing. Less politics and restrictions. It was just where you got to let loose and showcase what you’ve got off the bat. Bey’s verse came in and I flicked my hair, popping my ass out and shaking slightly. I had the ass to do it—and I’ve always had the small waist. Dancing has given me a very fit body, so every muscle I had was defined and ripped. I wasn’t a small girl, I was a fit girl. I ate as hard as I danced. The base dropped again and I let it flow, dropping to the ground on my back and snaking my shoulders up in a wave motion before flipping onto my stomach and pressing the tips of my toes into the ground and shaking my ass as I came back to standing. The song finished and everyone cheered loudly.
“Damn, Beat!” Gerald slapped my ass. “That shit was tight. I’m putting that up on YouTube, stat!”
I laughed, shaking my head while taking a drink of water, then the next song played.
My skin prickles in shock and I shiver, my eyes popping open. The room is dark, with the only light coming from the small window above the bed. It didn’t give much, just the outline of the bright moon.
So cold, so dark.
“Jesus, he wasn’t kidding,” a voice purrs from somewhere in the room.
I quickly shoot up, crawling to the headboard and pulling the covers up with me. The girl I can see now, comes closer to the bed, the slight crack of light glowing over her face.
Dark hair, that’s all I can see right now, a slim body and jaw length, razor-sharp dark hair—“Who are you?”
She tilts her head, the same way I’ve seen Manik tilt his. “I’m Katiya, Aeron’s little sister.” She takes a seat on the mattress.
I freeze, wondering how this would go. “What do you want?”
“Hmmm?” she asks, then her head turns to me and I get a full look because she’s directly in front of the window. Large lips, pale skin, dark hair, and almond-shaped eyes—can’t tell the color right now. Her face shape is different than her brother’s though. Where his is clean-cut, square and prominent, hers is round. Beautiful, almost baby-like.
She smiles. “Oh, I’m not going to hurt you. Ae just told me that he had a girl locked in his basement. I thought he was joking, but he wasn’t.”
I swallow. “Ok.” I had a sip of the tap water earlier, but it didn’t do near enough to curb the ache in my voice.
She leans over the bed and I hold my breath. She must hear the deep intake because she chuckles slightly, shaking her head, and then sits up again, handing me a bottle of water. The cool condensation slips over my fingers, taunting me. My stomach churns at the thought of wrapping my lips around the rim, so I quickly twist the cap off and toss it across the ground, taking the water in with a couple of large gulps. The first sip is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. The cool liquid soothes the dry cracks that had formed in my throat. Best. Feeling. Ever. I drink the whole lot, and then slowly swipe my mouth.
She clears her throat. “You seem surprised to see me? Like you didn’t know he had a sister,” she says it with a scoff in her voice. As if every person would know who she is. Maybe they did, I don’t know.
“Because I am surprised. I don’t know who you are, and you’re right.” I put the bottle onto the ground and slowly lean back against the headboard again. I can feel the water rushing through my bloodstream, hydrating my bones. I shiver, shaking my head. “I didn’t know that he had a sister.”
There’s a long pause. “Really?” she is skeptical of my words, and that’s okay, because I’m skeptical of her reasons for being here.
“Really.”
“Huh,” she hmphed and then points to the bottle. “Want another?”
I shake my head.
She stands slowly, retreating back to the stairs. She turns slightly just before she gets there. “My brother has killed people for much less than what you’ve witnessed. He’s relentless and savage. Do not think under any circumstance that just because you’re beautiful that he will let you live, because he won’t.”
My body stills, even though her words don’t come as a surprise. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because. If you’re going to attempt to escape,” she forces out the words attempt to escape rather obviously, like she’s maybe hinting for me to do it. She continues. “I would do it fast, but know this, little Cub, that if you speak of what has happened here to anyone, ever, I will know, and let me tell you something. If you think my brother is evil, and my father is the devil, then wait until you’ve met Lilith—me.” Then she jogs up the stairs before I can ask any more questions, the door closing behind her.
Escape.
Shit.
Should I try? What if he catches me and kills me? But, what if I stay here and he kills me anyway? Rather live on my feet than die on my knees, right? Another line from my pops. I stand from the bed and turn toward the window. I have no idea what time it is, but judging by the obscure setting outside and the bright full moon, I’d say—I have no idea. Between seven p.m and four a.m.
Crawling up onto the bed, I grip the window trim and take a closer peek outside. The grass is right there, level with the window, and from what I can see from here, it’s maybe the backyard because there are trees lining the back. I can’t see much more than that. I try my luck by pressing on the sill, but it doesn’t budge. Must be locked from the outside. Frantically, I turn around and my eyes fly all over the room in search of something—anything I can use. The prickle of adrenalin spikes my ingenuity when I find a thick cloth hanging delicately over a small door that leads into a crawl space. Quickly, I dash toward it and then go back to the window. Wrapping the cloth around my fist, I breathe in and then out a couple of times, internally giving myself a pep-talk. I’ve seen this happen on movies all the time—it can’t be that hard, right?
Closing my eyes, I rear my elbow back and punch into the glass. I hear the distinct sound of glass shattering when my eyes pop back open.
“Yes!” I whisper out excitedly. Then it dawns on me. I don’t know where I am. We didn’t drive far, so we have to still be in New Orleans or the surrounding district, and anyway, I just need to get out and I’ll worry about the rest later.
Wet drops start trickling down my arm and I flinch when a sudden rush of stinging pain courses through my bones. I look down at my hand and see the cloth must have slipped at the last minute, or sharp shards slipped through because there’s a deep gash right between two of my knuckles. I throw the cloth aside, fearing that some loose glass bits are still wrapped up inside of it and reach for the windowsill again, removing the larger pieces that are still stuck in the pane. Pushing myself up, I slide through the
window. I wince from a sharp pain that shoots through my hip, but there’s no stopping now. Another thing to worry about later. With grass and dirt digging into my nails, I finally get to my feet.
I’m out.
I’m almost there.
Dropping back down when I feel too exposed, I drag myself through the shrubs as the dehydrated leaves scrape against my flesh. Standing back up, I don’t look anywhere, I just shoot forward and run. I run fast and I don’t look back. It’s dark, but I can make out the deep shadows of the trees lining the backyard. To the left, I can hear laughter, music, and glasses clinking together. I ignore it and keep running, my legs power the hardest I’ve ever pushed them. I’m almost there, the trees are getting larger and I can see a clearing between two that I’m making my way toward. I’ll run through the forest, hide, and think things through more thoroughly, maybe case out my surrounding area and see—a hard body crashes into my back, causing me to nosedive onto the grass. My nose throbs and I instantly taste the metallic sting of blood oozing down my throat.
Whoever is behind me is not wearing a top, because I can almost feel the thick indents of his abs pressing into my back.
“Where you think you’re going, Cub?” I can smell the strong stench of alcohol.
Manik.
“Please, just let me go. I promise I won’t say anything to anyone…” My voice is muffled from the grass and dirt that’s pressed against my face. Fresh pine needles and mud rubbing into my cheeks, creating a smell similar to that of a football locker room after a game.
Silence.
I turn my head sideways and see his tattooed fist beside my face. His body is heavy on top of mine.
“No,” he answers simply.
“No?” I reply, waiting for him to elaborate.
He must lean down because his lips come to the back of my ear. “No,” he repeats through a whisper.
I gulp. I’m going to ignore what my body is doing right now, because it’s being a sick, demented slut, so I clench my thighs together.
His body stiffens.
Oh shit. Did he feel that?
His hand comes to the front of my throat where he squeezes and yanks my head up to face him from the side. I can’t see him clearly, but I can see the outline of his features thanks to the light from where he came from.
“Do not fuck with me, Beatrice,” he spits my name with so much disdain I flinch. “Because I don’t fuck fair.”
I’ve never really been a fan of swearing. I can think of one hundred other words that can be used to insult someone with the same impact, but the way Manik swears? His tongue clips out each syllable—and unfortunately, it does nothing to calm my erratic needs. I don’t like the way my body responds to his proximity. It has no right to react to his words or his touch.
“I’m not trying to do anything, Manik, I just want to leave…”
“Can’t do that…” he growls into my ear and then grips my hips to flip me onto my back. He glares down at me. Again, I can’t see him clearly, but I can feel the burn of him penetrating into me. I can see the defined, cut lines that shadow his cheekbones, and the vein that’s pulsing in his tattooed neck.
I lick my lips, and his leg opens one of mine so he can rest between them easier.
I still, trying to slam my legs closed to block his entrance, but fail miserably.
He forces them open anyway. I think my bleeding nose has somewhat stopped, but my hand and my hip are still throbbing in pain.
“I won’t rat, Manik. You don’t need to keep me here.”
“Oh, but I do…”
That catches my attention. Why would he need to keep me here?
“What?” I murmur, moving my head to rest sideways, the grass brushing against my cheek. “Why?”
His mouth comes over mine, just enough to feel his breath fall onto my lips. “Because I’m a bad man who has done very bad things, and you just so happened to fall onto the wrong radar. Or maybe it was the right one…” He pauses, then chuckles. “Either way, you’re fucked.”
“A Kiss”—Bad Meets Evil
My dad took me into a building, industrial and heavy with metal. He sucked on his cigar and I watched his back that was covered by his long trench coat. The five other members of our family following closely beside him.
He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes squinting on me. “Syn, I’m going to teach you a hard lesson today, but it’s a lesson you need to learn.” Then he turned to me completely and dropped to my level. His hand rested on my shoulder. “You’re young right now, Syn, but one day, you are going to be initiated into the Bratva and become a Vor. You will have your ritual and you’ll sure make me one proud otets. But right now, there’s an important set of lessons you must learn in order to be the best version of you that I need you to be. Understand, Syn?” My father searched my eyes very closely, and I nodded, swallowing past my fear. I’d always known who my father was—to an extent. I may only be all of eleven years old right now, but I know the respect my dad held. The men he kept around. I knew my dad was in the mafia, but I didn’t know him any other way, so it wasn’t weird for me. My friends at school—the few I had, would always say that he scared them, but I didn’t understand it. See, Dad never brought the stuff he did into my home. He always respected my mom and put her on a pedestal. They were in love in a big way, we could all see it. There wasn’t a moment where his hands were not on her or hers on him, so I never really did understand the fear that everyone else was so hell-bent on casting over Dad.
That was all about to change.
Dad grabbed my hand and we began walking toward the big industrial shed. I looked over my shoulder quickly at all the boats that lined the wharf, and then gulped and gazed back ahead.
“Lesson one, Syn, is you turn cold. You turn cold toward every human walking this earth, but not completely. You save a spark, just a small flicker of heat, and when you meet the right girl, you give that one spark to her. She will ignite it into an inferno and build you a home. Your kingdom and your empire. This woman will be very important to your success. She will give you a family, and then that inferno will soar, but Syn,” he paused just as we reached the entrance. He looked down at me. “Everyone else is just flesh and bones. No one deserves that spark but her and your sem’ya.”
Screaming cut through his words, but it wasn’t a loud scream of pain, it was a scream of pleading, muffled through a closed mouth.
I nodded because what else was I supposed to do? My eyes swung to a man who was hanging by a rope, upside down. He had on no shirt and dirty old jeans. His wrists were bound together by a thick lace of the same kind of rope but dangled low above his head. His mouth was covered by a piece of silver tape, and his long hair moved with the wind and the jolting of his body. His eyes came to mine and his eyebrows knitted.
“Syn?” Dad said, interrupting my focus.
I glanced up at him, he was so tall. “Yes?”
Dad directed his attention to a man beside me, Joseph was his name, he was the consigliere. He went everywhere with Dad, but I didn’t like him. Never had. My uncle Az is the Underboss, and he and I were best friends. I wanted to be just like uncle Az when I grew up.
Dad nodded his head at Joseph and I watched as he took a dagger from him and his eyes came back down to mine. He kneeled to my height, but I was too busy watching the dagger. His fist clenched around the white base of the blade.
“This is going to be yours when you become a Vor, Syn. You will take this now. This.” his finger traced down the white base of the blade where intricate patterns were carved. “Is the bone of your ancestor.”—I need to keep my face straight, but I’d be lying if that didn’t make me think, gross. “This blade is a virgin, Syn, it’s ready for its journey—are you ready?”
No?
“Yes.” I nodded, wanting to appease my father. Craving his approval of me—his only son. My stupid ass sister would never be able to do this shit.
He smiled, handing me the blade. I took it in my small hand an
d I dropped it slightly. Boy, it was heavy. A lot heavier than it looked.
As I took a tentative step toward the man who was hanging, bound by the ropes, I knew then that it wasn’t necessarily something I wanted to do. I loved my father, but I wasn’t sure if this was something I wanted for myself. I liked words, and I liked music. I loved to rap when no one was watching, and I think I was okay for my age.
But, for now, and forever, I would silence my father by playing his games.
The man started wiggling more, his eyes came to mine. Dark brown to my blue. I wasn’t quite sure what scared him when he looked into my eyes, but something happened because it was as though he gave up.
Father spoke. “This is someone who owes a client a lot of money, Syn. He’s been given enough time, but it hasn’t happened. We like this client, so we need this man gone.” He leaned down again and into me. “Do you have the balls to do this, Syn? Or did I misjudge you?”
Something rose inside of me. A fire I wanted to feed, a beast that was born, something fierce that wriggled under my skin.
I looked at my dad, my eyes firm and my shoulders stiff. “You’ll never misjudge me, Dad.”
Then I took one more step closer and leaned in to do something with this blade, I actually wasn’t sure what, when Dad’s hand came out to stop me. “Like this, Syn.” He pointed to a spot behind the guy’s neck. “If you get the spot right, it paralyzes him completely. It makes his death slow, but his pain unbearable. It’s glorious, Syn, because you get to watch the pain pass through his eyes. He can’t do anything about it.”
