Manik

by Amo Jones

  He winks. “I’m always nice.”

  “No, you’re not.” I shake my head, smiling at him.

  The song switches to some mash-up of rap and electro house and Kyle saunters toward me, pulling me into his chest and inhaling. “Promise not to say anything?”

  I cross my heart. “Promise.”

  “Okay, it’s—”

  “—Watch those hands, bruh,” Aeron says from the other side of the bar, cutting off whatever Kyle was about to tell me.

  I roll my eyes, leaning over and kissing him on the lips. “Hey you.”

  He grins. “Hey. Is he going to be a problem for me, or…?”

  Katiya slaps Manik and then crosses her arms. “He’s with me, so no…”

  “Wait!” I throw my finger up. “Really?” I look between the two of them, my smile breaking across my face.

  Kyle shrugs and I laugh, hitting him with the back of my hand. “You could have texted that!”

  He shrugs again, grabbing Kat by the face and laying a fat one on her.

  I shake my head in amazement. I hope it stays like this and doesn’t go back to them wanting to kill each other, or I’ll have to kill them both. There. Problem solved.

  Manik grabs my hand and I watch as Lenny leads the rest of his entourage up to the VIP lounge. “You gonna be okay? The boys wanna throw some bills around. I can stay down here if you want?”

  I shake my head and wave him away. “It’s fine. Go.”

  He leaves, and I’m left with a cheesy looking Kyle.

  We’re both heading to the back of the bar to restock when he asks the question. “So, you and the infamous Manik, huh?”

  I wave him off. “It’s new, but yes. I think. Although, we haven’t exactly had the talk.”

  “Talk, shmalk. Kat says that she’s never ever seen him like this with a girl. That’s got to account for something.”

  “Maybe,” I agree, but then add. “Or maybe it’s a game.”

  He tsks me, wiggling his finger. “Not enough trust, baby.”

  He’s probably right, but trust is earned and I’m not sure if mind-blowing sex and strange dates should be the gauge you use to measure how much you trust someone.

  Then again, I’m not exactly experienced in the boyfriend department. I had one boyfriend in high school when I was a junior. We stayed together until senior year and then we decided to go separate ways before college. To be honest, it’s probably because what we had died out before then. It was so easy to let Rob go. The thought of letting Aeron go? I don’t like it. That alone has too much power over me.

  Work goes fast, probably because I know that Manik is upstairs and every now and then, I catch him watching me. He blows me a kiss or winks or smirks, and every time he does it my body hits high temperatures. It’s as though Manik is another punishment to women—thanks to Eve eating the apple. Not that I’m religious, because I’m not, but if I was, I’d say he was a punishment. Because he can make you feel things, and then take them away.

  Everyone has emptied out of the bar and I’m just locking the doors when I exit and find Manik is waiting near his car.

  “Ready?” he asks, flipping his keys around in his hand.

  I nod, my mind swimming in all sorts of shit. I climb into the passenger seat and buckle my belt.

  He must see my face because he asks, “What’s up?”

  I shake my head, then turn to face him. “Okay, it’s just. This is the very spot we first met and you kidnapped me… Aeron kidnapped me. Now? Now you’re like my…”

  “…boyfriend?” he asks, ending my sentence for me.

  “Er, I don’t know? Are you?”

  He exhales, leaning against the door. The light from the headlights and the radio is hitting the sharp angles of his features. “Are we doing this?” he grumbles. “Fine, we’ll do this.” His hand comes to my chin and he yanks my face back to his when I try to look away. He searches my eyes. “The thought of anyone else touching you makes me fucking feral, Cub. And I don’t mean that in the same bullshit way that most other men mean that, I mean that as in I’ll straight up murder any motherfucker that so much as looks at you for too long, so… to answer your question? Yeah, I’m your man, but make no mistake, you are mine and I don’t play nice with other people trying to get into my sandbox—you feel me?”

  “Ahh…” I swallow my nerves. I didn’t expect something so brutally honest, but then it’s Aeron, he’s always sort of honest, right? I hope so…

  He chuckles. “Yeah, you get it. Now let’s get food, I’m fucking hungry.”

  The next night we’re lying in bed watching the reruns of Peaky Blinders.

  “He’s so hot,” Kat says from the floor where she’s wrapped in a blanket and shoving popcorn into her mouth.

  I snort, climbing out of the bed to crawl down to grab some popcorn before she eats it all, and it’s sweet and salty—my favorite—when I answer, “Agreed.”

  “Wait, what?” Manik snaps from behind me. I’m wearing nothing but one of his ‘I’m a Maniak’ shirts that his little fangirls usually wear and lace black panties. Kat has seen me in less, but you can’t see much anyway because of the length of the shirt. I lean over the bed, ass in the air and grab a handful of popcorn.

  “Aye!” A hard slap stings across my ass cheek.

  “Yelp!” I scream, dropping the popcorn and turning to face him. “What was that for!”

  Kat laughs, shoving more popcorn into her mouth. “Took the bait, Ae, I gotta say, this shit is too amusing and too easy with her around.”

  “What bait?”

  “You think he’s hot? And fuck you, Kat.”

  She flips him off over her shoulder. “I still won that one.”

  “Um, yes? Because he is…”

  “Yeah?” he counters, and his face morphs into triumph. “Come here and say that, Cub. See what happens…”

  “Okaaayyy.” Kat stands, stretching her arms wide. “I’m drawing the line at this shit.” She snatches the remote and tosses it onto the bed. “Night, lovers.”

  The next morning, my eyes open onto the light that is breaking through the gaps of the window blinds. I stretch my arms wide up above when I notice Manik is perched on his elbows, watching me carefully. His blue eyes piercing and bright.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, wondering why he’s awake before me.

  “Dad’s here again. This isn’t a good sign, so I’ll drop you off at your place for a bit so I can sort it all out.”

  “By it, you mean your dad?” I ask, pushing the covers off my body.

  “Yeah,” he growls, his voice still lazy from sleep. “I’ll make it up to you later. Take you to that new restaurant over near the valleys.”

  I wave him off, raking my hair back from my face and walking into the bathroom. I shut the door behind me, splashing warm water over my face. I’m getting really bad at being late for work.

  He drops me off at home and I rush up the steps, a smile on my face. The door swings open before I reach it and Kyle is standing there with a cheesy look on his face.

  “Well, hello, lover girl!”

  I push him away as I walk through, tossing my gym bag onto the floor. “Don’t start.”

  He shuts the door behind himself and shakes his head. “I didn’t say anything.”

  I roll my eyes, heading into the kitchen to find something to eat. I settle for pancakes, so I take everything out of the cupboard that I will need and start whisking it all up, ignoring the fact that I’m ignoring Kyle.

  He clears his throat, pulling out a bar stool behind me. I haven’t turned to face him, because I don’t want to. He’s either going to tell me I’m a fool or he’s going to make fun of me. Both of which, I cannot deal with right now.

  “Kermit, it’s okay to feel this way.”

  I scoff, pouring the batter onto the hot skillet and watching as bubbles start to slowly pop on the surface.

  “I know, but it’s not the good feelings I’m worried about, it’s the bad ones.”
>
  “You can’t think like that,” Kyle says gently. I continue flipping pancakes, deciding what I want for toppings while doing so. “You’ve just got to chill, B.”

  Great talk, I thought to myself as I blocked out the rest of his pointless words. I know that Kyle is worried, but now that he’s with Kat, I’m almost certain his opinion—a very unwanted one—is void.

  Three hours later, we’re both ‘laxing out in the lounge room watching more Peaky Blinders when someone starts banging on the front door. It’s so loud that I jump to my feet instantly, my heart pounding in my chest. Kyle rushes off to answer it, and I don’t have to wait long to know who it is.

  “Kat?” I ask as she rushes through the doors, her eyes locked solely on me. They’re rimmed with purple and red circles, tears pouring down her cheeks. Her hair is a knotted mess everywhere and she has no shoes on. “Are you okay? Where’s your key?” I ask, worried.

  She swipes at her face, her movements frantic. She’s not okay. Maybe she’s on drugs. “You need to leave, Beat. Now.”

  I search her eyes, confused. “Leave? To where?”

  She screams in frustration and then turns and starts running up the stairs. I leap to my feet and follow her with Kyle hot on my heels.

  “Kat?” I try again, entering my bedroom as she’s throwing clothes into a suitcase. “You need to leave, Beatrice. Now. You—you…”

  “I what?” I hiss, snatching the clothes from her and putting them back down. “I don’t understand what you’re trying to say, so slow down.”

  She exhales. “Listen, I have cash, I have everything you need to run, but I need you to leave, Beat. Leave. This. City.”

  “What the fuck is going on?” Kyle asks, his anger evident in his tone and language.

  Kat pleads with me. She looks broken. “The weird thing is you don’t even know!”

  I look between her and Kyle. “I don’t even know, what?”

  She swipes at her tears again but continues to pack my suitcase. “You… there’s stuff you don’t know about yourself, Beatrice. One” —she throws more clothes in—“is that your real name isn’t Beatrice Kennedy.”

  I suck in a breath. “What? Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “It’s Amaya Corvo. You won’t remember because it happened so long ago and you are sheltered by nature. Your father, Beat? Your father was Garth Corvo, your mother was Lauren Corvo. They were notorious in the Italian mafia and he was the capo of their family…”

  My head spins, and my legs shake so I quickly grab onto the bed, taking a seat. “No, that’s not right. My parents were Jessica and Robert Kennedy. My dad worked in the mines in Perth and my mom was an artist and sold her paintings to cafes and studios all over Australia and Sydney.”

  I fist the blankets on the bed. “I know this for a fact. I know my parents.”

  I can’t see anything, no one looks right. All I hear is Kat’s voice and the pounding of my heart behind the deep echo in my brain. “I’m sorry, Beat, but it’s not true. I can explain more to you but can I please continue to pack your shit?”

  I look at her and see the frenzied look in her eyes. Why would Kat lie to me? She wouldn’t. I trust her, so I nod my head and move away from what she’s doing. I should be the one packing, but I can’t get my legs to move. They’re cemented to the spot from shock.

  “Your parents died when you were eight years old, Beat, now some of the story I didn’t catch, like what actually happened, but I caught some of it. Your parents had been on the run since you were just small. There was a war that happened between my family and yours, I don’t know the full gist of it, but I got the feeling that my father really didn’t like your dad for reasons I don’t know.”

  “I can’t…” I squeeze the blankets again as tears fall down my face. “If this is all true, where is Manik? Why isn’t he here telling me?”

  She pauses, and then slowly zips up the suitcase, shooting Kyle a quick look before coming back to me. “After the war which, by the way, is how you obtained that scar on your neck, your parents up and moved to Australia with no protection because they left the mafia. Your dad, who was how your mom got involved in the mob, ran from the family. They didn’t care, they knew he wasn’t going to snitch so they let them go.”

  “Okay… say this is all true.” I touch the scar on my neck absently, hoping it’s all lies. I fell off a playground swing as a child. “Where is Manik?”

  “I’m getting there, and after I tell you, Beat, you have to run and I mean you have to run far. I have friends I can get you to. For reasons I don’t know, you came back to New Orleans, where the war started, putting you back on my dad’s radar. Anyway,” she pauses. “Aeron was eleven when he made his first kill. Then three months later, he made his next ones.”

  I wait for her to carry on.

  “Beatrice.” Her hand comes to mine. “We need to leave and that’s all you need to know to get out of this house right now. Aeron is after you… and he’s going to come fast. Come on, I managed to slip past without them knowing I heard them.”

  My heart snaps in my chest at her words, my sobbing turning to unrestrained ugly crying. “No, this can’t be.”

  “Beatrice, we need to move. Now.”

  I shake my head. “He wouldn’t…”

  “Oh, he would. Beat, my brother may care about you up to a point, but make no mistake, my father and the Bratva come first. Always. I’ll tell you more on the way, but we need to leave.”

  I have to run, I see it in the look in her eye. Run so fast and far that he will never find me.

  I’ve lived all my life running, with the freedom of being able to jump city to city and town to town, I just didn’t expect to have my life being threatened act as the gasoline getting me there now.

  “American Psycho 2”—D12

  She has sparked a fire inside of me that has my hands shaking with the need for vengeance, needing to finish something that should have been finished a long time ago.

  She is a mistake. Something that should have been caged and slaughtered.

  I crane my neck, looking at myself in the reflection. My eyes are untamed, like a beast that has finally been let off its leash.

  I hit the tap and let the water pour over my battered hands when there’s a knock on the door.

  “What?” I snap, not looking toward it.

  “Back in, Ae, no fucking around.”

  I clench my jaw, tossing the torn hand towel onto the soiled floor and swinging the door open.

  One of the measly soldiers is standing there, his shoulders somewhat tight and his head held high with a false sense of confidence that is about… one…

  His eyes connect with mine.

  His fall to the ground.

  Two…

  They come back to me, his shoulders shake.

  Three…

  I grin.

  Snap.

  Three seconds away from breaking.

  He exhales. “Okay, please just get back in the cage. You’re not done yet—you know the rules.”

  I don’t flinch or blink, my hand flying up to his throat where I spin around and slam him up against the concrete wall. “One, don’t fucking tell me what the rules are, motherfucker, or I’ll throw you in my cage and show you exactly why they call me Zver…”

  His eyes close and his face swells to an intricate contrast of purples and pinks. I laugh, tilting my head. “I might do it anyway. Excited to see you crumble under my hand, and as you know, I’ve got a lot of pent-up anger inside of me. A whole fucking nineteen years’ worth.”

  “—Zver, let him go. Now.” My father’s voice claps into the atmosphere like comets crashing over the sky.

  I spin around to face him, seething, my shoulders going up and down with every inhale and exhale of breath. “I’m ready.”

  He looks at me and brushes off his clean suit that doesn’t belong in The Pen, because he doesn’t fucking belong in The Pen. The leaking roof unleashes droplets of sewage water onto my flesh. “I’m re
ady,” I repeat, putting more power into my words.

  He steps closer to me, pushing his hands into his pockets. “I don’t think you are. I think you’re still my Syn and not the Zver I need you to be…”

  There are four versions of me. Aeron, Manik, Syn—who is me when my father needs me as a son—and Zver—who my father, the family, and anyone else who needs it gets—that hides behind the bandana.

  “I’m ready.” I try once more. This time looking directly into his empty eyes.

  He glares directly back into mine and whispers. “Beatrice Kennedy.”

  My lip twitches.

  “You’re not fucking ready.” Then he turns back to his soldiers. “Throw him back into his pen.”

  I roar forward, baring my teeth. “Don’t you fucking touch me!”

  Dad leans in once six of his soldiers are holding me back. “I will take all of that humanity out of you, Syn, I’ve done it before and I can do it again.”

  “Put it on me”—DJ Quik

  Amaya held onto her dad’s hand as he looked back at her, worry etched on his face. He looked back at Lauren, closing his eyes. “We should never have run, Lauren. We should have stayed, at least we would be protected.”

  “Protected?” she whispered, and Beatrice could tell that her mom was upset. It made fear creep up her throat. Her mom was hardly ever upset. She always had a smile on her face and always wore bright red lipstick, it didn’t matter the time of the day.

  “Yes, Lauren.”

  She laughed, shaking her head. A loud bang sounded on the other side of the door. To Amaya, it sounded like fireworks—even though they were banned in Australia, Amaya liked to watch them on TV and on New Year’s Eve every year.

  Lauren screamed, her hands coming up to cover her ears. The door slammed open and a big man stood there with a machete hanging from his hand. He wore a dark suit and a bright green tie around his neck.

  “You think you can run and we would not find you?” the man said, but Amaya started crying, crawling up on the bed to contain her sobs.