Manik

by Amo Jones

  Silence. I hear silence and the sharp intake of his breath. His other hand comes to my upper thigh, so I try to slam my legs closed, but his big body in between stops that.

  “Ever felt violated, Cub?” His lips skim over my earlobe, but his harsh voice is what sets goosebumps across my skin. His hand soars up to the edge of my jeans, setting off fire with his movements. His finger dips beneath the waistband. My whole body feels like it’s burning to a crisp as sweat breaks out on my temple. I still, internally fighting with myself that I can’t let him know he has just lit a fire inside of me that should never have been ignited. The thing with boys who light fires, is they don’t care if they get burned. The room is deathly dark, and all I can hear and feel is the pulsing, the breathing, and the touch of him all over me, penetrating me like a smell I don’t ever want to scrub off.

  He chuckles brazenly, like he can hear the intimate echoes inside of my head struggling against his advances, even though they secretly don’t want to. “That’s it. Fight me.”

  I buck my hips, but it only puts friction between my thighs and his thick body. Groaning in defeat, forbidden hot flashes rush through my body, taking ownership of every single cell inside of me. His other hand comes to my throat and he leans up on his elbow—I think. Judging by the weight on one side. His fingers tighten around my neck as he slowly slides a finger down the front of my throat, and then farther across my collarbone.

  “Where’d you get this scar?” he asks, his voice barely above a growl. “I’m going to release your mouth, so be very careful with your next move or I’ll fuck it whether you put up a fight or not.”

  He lets go.

  I clear my throat. “I don’t know.”

  He pauses, and I wish I could see what he was doing. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

  “I mean, I don’t know as in I don’t really remember.”

  “It’s a mighty big scar to not remember…” It’s not that big, it’s thin and short and slices just above my collar up to the side of my neck.

  “I don’t know. My pop always said I fell off a playground swing as a child and broke my collarbone so they had to do surgery.”

  “Really.” I don’t miss the disbelief in his tone. “That’s interesting because surgical cuts are much cleaner than this.”

  “I don’t remember. I just know what I was told.”

  He hits the small lamp that’s on the floor and it takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the warm soft light illuminating the room from it. Finally, when my vision focuses, I see him watching me carefully. His eyes looking through me. Or at me. Through me, I think. “He’s a liar.”

  I flinch. It was as though he physically slapped me across the cheek. “Excuse me?”

  Manik clenches his jaw a couple of times and then repeats. “Your pops lied, Cub, that’s no surgical scar and the reason why you don’t remember?” he adds, and he’s just about to carry on with his sentence when his expression morphs into something else, his lips curling between his teeth as he smirks. “You’re mad.”

  “Don’t change the subject,” I reply softly, wanting to know where he was taking this conversation. “Why don’t I remember, Manik?”

  His eyes search mine. His hips press into me, but it is more of a twitch. As if he didn’t mean to. “All in good time.”

  “What does that mean?” My throat burns from the dust particles that have settled down my airways.

  “It means, Beatrice, that you’re going to do as you’re told while you’re here—if you want to live.”

  A shiver of hope naively rushes through me. “You’re going to let me live?”

  His fingers wrap around the backs of my thighs as he drags my body down the bed. “I am. In fact, I’m going to get Katiya to bring some shit down for you to wear. But there will be rules. Are you following me, Cub?” he asks, leaning forward and unclasping the cuffs from my wrists. I stretch them out and slowly crawl to the side of the bed once he’s standing beside it. It’s too late to change tracks when I realize that I’m kneeling on the mattress directly in front of him.

  His fingers wrap around my chin, tilting my head up to face him. His shoulders are firm and straight, his stance every bit as intimidating as I feel intimidated.

  “Rules?” I whisper, looking up at him. I’m entranced, having been lured into a cage that he holds the key to.

  He nods. “Rules of survival. You follow them, and I won’t hurt you. In fact, I’ll reward you. You break them, and I’ll punish you, and Beatrice, when I say I’ll punish you, I don’t mean in the fluffy way that can be used in the bedroom. It’s in a way that’ll have your blood spilling between my fingers while you’re gagging on my cock, you feel me?”

  I gulp. “Ah—”

  He wraps my hair around his fist tighter, yanking my head back. “Do. You. Feel. Me?”

  “—Yes.” I answer, my eyes watering at the strands being pulled from the roots. He releases, then his fingers go in a circular motion over my scalp.

  Just as I think he’s about to leave, my jeans get pulled down my legs. I bite down on my lower lip, fighting the fright.

  When the cool air hits my bare thighs, Manik pulls out a black bandana that’s tucked into his back pocket, his other hand holding the cuffs. He leans forward and cuffs each hand to each side of the bed, his chest so close to my face that I can taste him.

  My brain is in tug-a-war with my body, and it’s losing. Once they’re back on, I tug on them roughly, my eyes blazing onto his.

  “Let me go.”

  Instantly he whispers, “No.” Then he smirks, bringing the bandana to my eyes and tying it to the back of my head until all of the soft light I could see is shut out.

  “Why?” I answer through a dry throat. My chest is swelling, my skin tingling with adrenaline.

  “Because I like to kill and fuck.”

  I clear my throat. “And what are you going to do with me right now?”

  He chuckles, and I swear I feel the vibration against my flesh. “I don’t want to fuck you, Beatrice. Your blood is filthy, you’ll never bounce on my dick.”

  My mouth slams closed, then open. “So why the hell am I half naked, cuffed, and blindfolded?”

  “Nah, don’t get your hopes up, Cub. I kill people with that same blindfold.”

  It goes silent, with nothing but the light thudding of footsteps crawling up the stairs.

  I’ve lost track of the time or the date. I’ve lost touch with a small part of reality since being here. I wish I could say that I liked it. That Manik was so hot that it made this okay, but that would be a bunch of bull. Yeah, Manik is obviously very, very good-looking, but so was Ted Bundy and Vera Renczi. I will admit that the way my body is reacting to him lately doesn’t sit right with me. It’s like he holds all the answers but won’t share the questions. There’s a darkness inside of him that is hidden behind the secrets he preserves and the cries of his victims. It’s not a place I want to visit, but there’s an appeal to him. I’m drawn to his shadows so I can see who they reflect.

  I’m stupid, in short.

  I feel a little dirty, filthy really, and a lot unworthy. This feeling is new to me, since being here, but how can I subconsciously slip into such toxic thoughts so quickly? Had I opened old wounds, and that’s why these feelings have come on fast, or is this my survival mechanism?

  “Hey Luv”—Mobb Deep

  Something is prodding my cheek, and I flinch as the tickling sensation drags down my temple. I fly up into a sitting position, wide awake when I realize it’s real and where I am. My clothes are worn and stained with old blood, my nose throbs and my stomach stings.

  “Sorry,” a voice says. I see Katiya sitting on the edge of the bed. “It’s just you look real banged up. I’ve got some clothes for you, and some other stuff that you know, you might need.” Her beautiful polished skin and appearance clears my dry eyes with moisture of envy. I’ve never been envious of other people, or particularly other girls. I’ve always felt like women a
re a part of some lost sisterhood that got corrupted and manipulated by society and, to a degree, men. We’re just waiting to reconnect again and take over. But right now, I’m envious of Katiya, and I don’t think that really has anything to do with my current predicament either—which is even worse—because she’s just flat-out beautiful.

  “Thanks,” I croak out, and then go to sit up, but the cuffs halt my movement. “Did he take the blindfold off me in my sleep?” I ask more to myself.

  Katiya rolls her eyes with a soft chuckle. “Probably. He doesn’t leave that thing anywhere. Surprised he let you touch it.” She leans forward, and I hear the familiar clinking of metal as my eyes go over her long neck. Her skin is as flawless as her brothers and her dead straight hair tickles my forehead. My arms drop to the side of my head once she has unlocked my cuffs.

  “There you go!” she announces, sitting back. I rub my wrists and inch up on the bed, unsure of how to take her. She seems nice, but most people do. It doesn’t matter how many times a snake sheds its skin, it’s still a snake.

  She places the little overnight bag closer to my legs. “There are a few changes of clothes in there, we seem to be the same size, so they should all fit. There’s a toothbrush, some soap, shampoo, and tampons too! I don’t know, I just figured you might need them all.”

  I don’t question why she did what she did.

  “I told you my brother is…”

  “Evil?” I laugh, but the word is far from funny.

  She gestures to the gym bag, ignoring me. “Go take a shower, I’ll stay here.”

  I look down at it and then back at her. “Are you watching me?”

  “What? In there?” She points to the bathroom, raising her eyebrows. “I mean, I would. I’m not against it, but I think my brother has a thing for you. In his kind of way.”

  “A thing…” I deadpan. “What’s a thing?”

  She laughs, patting my leg and standing. “Beat, he literally calls you ‘Cub.’ He doesn’t do pet names, ever.”

  I ignore her, grabbing the bag and getting to my feet. “Thanks for the clothes and the toothbrush.” Then I leave, almost tripping over my feet in my desperate rush to the shower.

  “Breathin”—2Pac

  “Ae, this is not right…” Katiya murmurs, pulling a bag of popcorn out of the pantry.

  I raise my eyebrows at her. I love my sister, but she’s a fucking pain in my ass. “Kat, we have done far worse in our time and you know it…” I pause, running my tongue over my teeth. “Hold up.”

  She stops what she’s doing, her hand hovering over the pot.

  I lean forward, my elbows resting on the counter. “You’re fucking wet for her…”

  “What?” she screeches, tossing the corn kernels into the pot. “That’s absur—”

  I lean back in my chair, kicking my foot out. “Stay away from her, Katiya. Go find yourself a new toy. You don’t fucking want this one. Trust me.”

  “Who said that I was using her as my toy, brother. She’s not—”

  “—is…” I correct, getting off my chair and making my way to her because I know exactly what she’s going to say. “She is your type, but you don’t get this one. No one does.”

  She pouts. “Fine!” Then turns away from me and pretends to be focused on the popcorn. “I’m going through a dick phase anyway!”

  “Classy.” I roll my eyes and start heading out of the kitchen. I pause when I’m passing the basement door, deciding whether or not I should go down there again. I don’t know what my dad is playing at with her, but there’s something more that he’s not telling me. I thought it was coincidence that she witnessed that bullshit outside Jesta’s, but the more I piece shit together in my head, the finished puzzle looks more like my dad orchestrated something.

  I climb the stairs that lead up to my studio, passing all the old LPs I have glazed and hanging on the wall. Eminem circa 96 with his first LP. N.W.A and Eazy-E with the record Eazy-Duz-It, Dr. Dre’s first album The Chronic, Biggie’s album Ready to Die, and Tupac with 2Pacalypse Now. All artists that inspired me as a young buck growing up. Not a big fan of the new school shit, though some would say I would classify as new school since I was just a pup around their time, but the ones saying that are usually the ones who listen to shit like Machine Gun Kelly. Nothing against Kellz, he’s got dope flow, but it is what it is. He’s that new school generation shit.

  Once I hit the top stair, I go straight for the mixer after flicking on the lights. I stand there for a few seconds, looking into the sound booth where I should be standing right now, busting out rhymes. I haven’t had any spark in me for months.

  Leaning on my fist against the table, I crank my head over my shoulder to look at all of my own records. I’ve hit Platinum, Gold, and Diamond, as well as Double Platinum. Next to the records are photos of me growing up, going out, getting fucked up, but all influencing me and making me who I am today. I started young, at seventeen I had my first LP out. It wasn’t a slow pickup either. It all blew up, and I blew up fast. I waited for the decline from hitting the top, but it never came. Most artists fuck up every now and then, doing a few stints in rehab, but it never happened with me. Probably had a lot to do with my old man. Not that I don’t dabble in drugs, because I do. I just know when to stop and when to not use. Drugs, yeah fuck it, snort that line, but never use it as a scapegoat to try and mask your problems. I have other ways to vent my issues.

  Biting my lower lip, I throw my phone down onto the counter and pick up the pen and paper I had tossed in the drawer underneath.

  Fuck it. I’ll put my pen to paper. What’s the worst that could happen?

  Two hours later, my finger is tapping to a silent base that’s thudding through my head as the lyrics wrap around each strum in a perfect synchrony.

  “Shit.” I run my fingers through my hair and look down at the notepad with a whole bunch of blue ink scribbled onto it.

  “Yo!” Lenny saunters through the door, eating a burger. “I think Katiya is sulki—” His eyes drop to the notepad, and then come back to me. “Is that?” He snatches the pad with his free hand and takes a seat on the leather sofa opposite me. His eyes drift over each line, and when he finally looks up at me, it’s with a full-toothed grin. Thank fuck there are no lettuce leaves showing.

  “You got a beat to this?”

  I smirk. “Yeah, and I got about three other songs floating around too.”

  “This album is happening?” Lenny asks, you can’t hide the excitement on his smug face.

  “I’m insulted by your lack of fucking faith in me.”

  “Faith and Aeron Romanov-Reed do not go hand in hand, my brother.” He looks down at the paper and then drops his burger onto the little table, wiping his hands.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, eyebrows raised.

  He heads toward the turntables. “What do you think? We about to spin some beats.”

  “Not yet, I gotta go check on the one downstairs. Make sure she hasn’t tried to escape again. Can’t be replacing windows every couple days.”

  He turns slowly, his legs crossed at the ankles and his arms over his chest. “Really? You wanna go play with your little toy and then come back? No. Not happening. I’m putting my foot down. Something is obviously happening to have inspired you, so you gotta keep your ass right here so we can at least get some rhymes out.”

  My eyes narrow. “The fuck? You can do the rhymes. I’ll be back soon.”

  “You scared your baby sister is going to steal her heart?”

  I roll my eyes. “Katiya can have her fucking heart. I ain’t interested in that, or anything close to that bullshit, especially with Beatrice. You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

  Lenny chuckles, turning back around to hit switches.

  “What’s funny, Chump?” Chump is Lenny’s nickname that only I’m allowed to use.

  “Oh nothing, just that you’re full of shit.”

  I wasn’t lying. I’ve never had a girlfriend. Ever. I
don’t do the girlfriend thing, I do the get money thing. I’ve always been focused on my career that anything more than getting my dick wet was always out of the question. Girls pressed the issue in the beginning, sure. But after a while, I earned my reputation. I keep the ones around who don’t ask questions. Yeah, so they look a little fucking broken when I tell them to get the fuck out after, but they know the deal. So whatever Lenny is spewing, even he knows he’s full of shit.

  Beatrice is—well, good looking. I mean, she’s not pretty or exotic. She has classical features, but it’s completely undeniable she is attractive. With her long, pure black, raven hair that hangs right to just above her peach shaped ass in natural waves and her slanted bright green eyes. She has a heart-shaped face that has you questioning her fucking age and innocence since she looks so damn young. She has a tiny little body but legs that go on for days, legs that I want to spread any time I’m even near her. She has soft swollen lips that have a natural pout and straight white teeth that most bitches in my industry would spend thousands to obtain. Don’t even get me started on that ass…

  But I ain’t with it. She can be the perfect woman for me, and I still wouldn’t put my dick in her. Besides my personal issues with her, she’s not like the girls I fuck with. They all hold a shallow glint in their eye, one that is easily dismissible when all you want is a good lay. Beatrice doesn’t have that glint. Her eyes show something I’m unfamiliar with—I believe that something, is a soul. The thing about having a soul and offering it up on a silver platter for me, is I’ll shatter that platter after using it as a fucking frisbee.

  “Shut up, Chump. I ain’t fucking lying.”

  “Warrior Part 2”—Lloyd Banks

  “So, you dance?” Katiya asks, eating the popcorn she brought down. My stomach growls, but I think I’m so far past hungry that I’ve lost the appeal of eating.