Manik

by Amo Jones

Amaya’s father stood in front of her, his shoulders squared in protection. “This is between you and me, Vlad, leave Lauren and Amaya out of it. You let them go, and you can have me…” Garth tried to make his plea as appealing as he could. “It was me who put the bullet between your wife’s eyes during that war. Just me, not Amaya, she’s suffered enough from that scar.”

  Vlad swung the machete up and gouged it into Garth’s throat. Blood squirted out everywhere, splashing Amaya across the face until she could taste her father’s blood in her mouth. Lauren screamed a scream that reached the depths of hell, launching herself at Vlad, who then swung her onto the ground, beside Garth. Just then, Amaya saw two smaller legs enter just behind Vlad. Her eyes traveled up his body, taking in the suit that was exactly like Vlad’s only smaller. When her eyes reached his, something crawled up inside of her throat. A black bandana was tied around the bottom layer of his face, but his eyes, Amaya thought she would remember them for years to come. And maybe she would have if what she witnessed next didn’t send her body into long-term PTSD.

  The boy, his eyes were like the ocean, bright blue on the surface, but you knew underneath was where the monsters swam, and where the water changed from a bright glistening blue to a dark gloomy green. He looked directly at Amaya, then down to her parents.

  “Zver, go on.”

  The boy looked back at me, and then looked back down to the floor. He tilted his head as he watched my mom place soft kisses on my dad’s lips. Her mouth never left his. The boy scoffed as if the kissing offended him, and then pulled out a dagger, not as long as the one his father used, but intimidating enough. He pulled it back with such strength it had Amaya gasping, and hoping that maybe he would slip and drop it. But he didn’t drop it.

  He sliced it right through Lauren’s face, splitting it into two and then sunk it into her throat, ending her instantly. He then turned back to Garth, who was struggling for breath.

  “That’s it, Zver, take back your vengeance. Let this girl feel how it is to lose not just one parent, but two.” The boy swung the dagger up in the air, and then buried it through Garth’s throat, cutting his head clean off. The boy tilted his head at a small baby lion plush toy that was on the bed, surrounded by pink and yellow pillows, while swiping the blood from his blade onto his jacket.

  Amaya by this point didn’t speak. She sat in the corner of her bed, her eyes wide open on her mom and dad’s bodies, her lip quivering and tears streaming down her face.

  She wanted to scream, she wanted to scream loud enough that it brought her parents back from death, but when she tried to open her mouth, it was numb. Frozen shut. Her mind was sifting through images of her parents being alive just minutes ago. She thought this must be a joke. A movie—even. This didn’t just happen.

  Footsteps thudded closer to her bed, but she still didn’t look at the man wearing the green tie. “Amaya Corvo, such a sweet little girl.”

  Amaya saw the boy step to her bed out of the corner of her eye, but she again, didn’t look. Transfixed on the mess in front of her eyes. Her mommy and daddy, dead. Motionless.

  Vlad threw his hand up to stop the boy from getting closer to Amaya. “No, Zver. I have a plan for this one. She will have her time.”

  Then Amaya finally looked up to Vlad, blinking through the tears. She still couldn’t open her mouth—rendered speechless.

  Vlad finished what he was going to say anyway. “Your time will come, Amaya, and mark my words—your fate is always going to be in my hands.”

  I scream, launching myself out from my bed, sweat seeping from my skin and my head throbbing from my dream. Only they weren’t dreams, they were in fact memories. Memories I had subconsciously squashed down after the trauma of seeing both of my parents slaughtered.

  My tears stream down my face and I squeeze the blanket close to me, terrified by what might happen.

  “Hey!” someone says from deep in the dark. “Fucking keep it down, lady! Just because we don’t have a bed doesn’t mean we don’t like to sleep.”

  I go to apologize but instead lay back down on a soiled mattress, a mattress that I was thankful to get. I’ve been living under the bridge in a small town south of New York City for coming up on a month now. He killed my parents, and now he’s going to kill me. I can’t risk using my money, or cards because that will give him access to my location, so instead, I spend my time curled up under a damp bridge, watching as normal people go for their daily walks and runs. The more I watch from the distance, the more I slipped from normality. I had taken myself out of the equation and now I’m not sure how I’ll ever get back in.

  It’s damp under here. Dark and gloom is what surrounds us. There’s a small creek that runs under the bridge and the bridge itself offers us all enough shelter should we need it on the rainy days. A large garbage can, used as a fire pit, is almost completely out, the embers turning to a soft gray ash from the night before.

  I stretch up, pushing my clothes down my body and head for the stream.

  It’s been one month since I got in that car with Kat and let her take me away. I promised that I’d keep in touch with her, use cash and all that sort of thing. She even put me in a hotel and said she’d pay for it until we figured out a way to get my money, but I couldn’t allow her to do that. She needed to truly not know where I was in order for me to feel that she was going to be somewhat safe. I didn’t go to her friend’s place either.

  It hurt, it hurt so bad to let her go, but I did, to an extent.

  I splash the cool water over my face, waking me up from my crap sleep and in an attempt to wash the previous week’s sweat off my skin.

  “You don’t belong here, girl,” someone says from behind me.

  I turn slowly, my eyes connecting with an aged leather face and opal looking eyes. He smiles, and his teeth—what is left of them—are stained yellow and black.

  “How do you know?” I ask softly, my throat contracting around the dryness.

  “Because you’ve got the look.”

  “The look?” I ask, my gaze going back to my small little mattress. I need that mattress.

  “Yes, child, the look of Lucifer.”

  What the ever-loving shit is he talking about? I rush back to my corner and sit, curling my knees up to my chest. I slowly start rocking, slamming my eyes closed.

  He did this.

  He killed my parents.

  I keep going back to that morning when I called him perfect, and he had said that I only thought he was perfect because I hadn’t seen his soul.

  He was right, because he’s a fucking monster.

  I bare my teeth, a deep hiss escaping my mouth as I march back and forth inside the cage—inhaling and exhaling, needing a break. To break. To shatter something—anything.

  The cage door opens, and another girl gets tossed in with me.

  The soldier closes the door quickly before I can kill him. Smart motherfucker.

  I look down at the girl, her skin so soiled and smudged that it looks like she’s been rolling in mud for days. “Ever fucked a stranger?”

  She shakes her head. “No.”

  I crank my head, swinging my arms out. “You realize you’re going to die? No one who sees my face lives.”

  She swallows. “I figured.” She diverts her eyes to the ground, rubbing her hand over the back of her neck. “I don’t really care, if I’m honest.”

  “And why’s that?” I ask, tilting my head.

  “Because I’ve been passed around so much that I plead for death.”

  “From who? They touch you without asking, I know this, but who?”

  She opens her mouth. “The soldier and the man. The old man wanted to buy me. He—he—”

  “Who? My dad?”

  She shakes her head. “No… the—”

  Just as quickly as she entered, the cage opens up with a heavy clink and she’s being pulled out by the young little fucker that has been here since I got here, watching my every move. I fucking hate him and I’ve already decided tha
t his blood will be the first that will be spilled between my fingers once I get out of here. I see the way he looks at the girls that come in here. These girls, they’re in my pen as a service, because sex helps bring out an aggressive side of me, helps bring out the Zvet that he needs—Dad knows that. It’s no secret that the mafia dabbles in human trafficking. I didn’t say I liked it, but I knew it happened. Anyway, these girls are in transition to their next destination. The Pen is an underground cave that no one who isn’t supposed to know about it, knows the location. It’s equipped with cages of all sizes, the walls are a muddy clay. I have been here twice before.

  Once when I was twelve, before my dad took me to Sydney for my second hit.

  The second time when I told him I wanted to rap. He tried to dehumanize me and make me realize my roots, what my duty was as a Romanov.

  It worked to an extent, but he figured out very quickly that putting me back into civilization only destroyed all his hard work. Then he started just using old school manipulation to drive the point home.

  Considering I’m a Vor, and one of the GOAT rappers, would prove how well that did him. And me.

  The girl screaming, cuts into my thoughts as she grasps for the hands that have her by the neck. “Let me go.”

  “What the fuck are you doing?” I ask the soldier, gripping the steel poles in my hand. I smirk at him, pulling my smokes out of my pocket and lighting one up. I’m not allowed anything else while I’m in here. Not even a fucking shirt. Just my jeans, my boots, and my smokes. Dad knows I wouldn’t be able to concentrate if I’m jonesing for a smoke too.

  “She’s too similar looking to the subject. She’s a trigger for you.”

  I give him a dirty look, my lip curling. “You think I have a trigger labeled Beatrice Kennedy?” Even as I say it, it’s like acid rising in my throat. She’s the vengeance to my mother’s death. Beatrice was promised to me so many years ago. She was supposed to be raised in our house. Destroyed, groomed, and taunted, but instead, Dad decided to do something worse. He figured, why show her there’s only bad in this world? Oh no, he needed to let her see the happiness, to obtain a cleansed soul and a happy life…right before he ripped her away from everything and anything she had ever known. This is why people don’t fuck with him. He’s ten steps ahead of everyone else.

  The first night at the club?

  Was him.

  He planned to tell me everything, but when he witnessed us together and saw little fucking heart eyes flaring all over her face, he decided why only fuck her life up, may as well break her heart too.

  When he told me all of this, everything turned black. Every thought I had of her had morphed into a bleak scene filled with rage.

  I hate her.

  They need to let me out, I’m fucking ready.

  A heavy clink sounds out from the door being opened again, and another girl gets thrown in. Blonde. Lip bleeding, hair matted with blood.

  “Why?” I ask the soldier, but my eyes don’t move off of the mess on my floor. She peers up at me and then freezes in shock.

  “Manik?”

  “Shut the fuck up.” Then I look to the soldier. “Why’s she here?”

  Soldier chuckles then lights up a smoke. “She’s actually one of the Capo’s side bitches. Says she’s pregnant, and he doesn’t wanna deal with it. She’s had a fetish for you from the beginning. Figure, we do you and her a solid and let you handle this one…”

  I lick my lips and smirk. “Yeah, I gotchu, and then” —I stare pointedly at him—“you bring my father back here.”

  He stares at me and lets a few minutes of silence pass between us. He flicks his smoke and then shrugs. “Deal.”

  I start stalking toward her, cranking my shoulders. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll make this just as enjoyable as it’ll be hurtful.”

  “I know what you want”—Busta Rhymes

  The rustle of leaves sway in the dancing of the wind, mixing to a messy melody of nature. I shiver, the cool weather switching down so much that I can’t breathe. I sit up, twisting my neck to click it out of place. The fire pit in the middle of the dusty ground calling to me. I stand and go toward it, desperate for the heat it will bring.

  I can’t do this for another day. I need to make a quick withdraw, and run. I let my hands defrost over the flicker of flames.

  “What’s your sin?” a voice asks. I look toward it, only to see someone in a hoodie, watching the flames on the other side. I can see the profile of his face. A thick black beard, broad shoulders. He’s sitting with his arms resting on his knees.

  “My sin?” I ask, confused. “What do you mean?”

  He stays silent for a second, and then he cranks his head up to look directly at me. “Every one of us has done something shitty to end up being here, darlin’. We don’t just get dished a shitty life. The universe makes sure bad shit happens to bad people. Eventually.”

  I don’t want to explain how depressing that sounds, but it makes sense.

  “What’s your name?” I ask instead, trying to change the subject. I don’t want to let my mind sink to the depths of my karma train, it might be a heavy load. “I haven’t seen you around here before.”

  He chuckles, his voice so deep and devilish that it has goosebumps breaking out across my back. “I’ve been here all along.”

  I don’t argue and say that I would have definitely seen him if he had been here all along. He doesn’t have a face, or even an energy, that you would just walk past.

  “What’s your sin?” I ask instead, rubbing my hands together and inhaling the warm heat of the fire.

  “I lost count.”

  I crawl back to my bed not long after that and force myself to sleep.

  The birds chirping in the trees wakes me at the crack ass of dawn. Remembering the stranger from last night, I sit up quickly, brushing my hair out of my face to see if I can find him—but he’s gone. The spot he was sitting in is empty, with nothing but a piece of paper shoved under a rock. I stand up, brushing my legs off and walk toward it. Picking up the invitation sized paper, I turn it over and in big curly cursive font reads the words Midnight Mayhem and then below that is the dates that they’re here.

  I suck in a breath, pulling the paper close to my chest. Did the guy from last night put this here? Or did the wind blow it under a rock? I chuckle inwardly to myself.

  Then it hits me.

  I can dance. I’m pretty great at it and Midnight Mayhem travels all around America—they’re never in the same place that long. I could make money and travel, and never have to worry about Manik finding me.

  I push the paper into my pocket, and run toward my crap, grabbing my dirty Nike bag that is filled with my belongings. I have to try. This could solve my problems, at least for right now.

  I look down at the flyer and then back up at the tent. It’s not colorful like a circus tent. It’s licked in pure black with lilac trimmings that stretch up to the pointed roof tips. It’s different during the day seeing it for the first time as opposed to seeing it during the night. Everything is quiet and fainter. There are trailers that are tucked behind the monstrous sized tent, all lined up in perfect order yet spaced appropriately away from each other. It’s so quiet. The only sound from the trees that are rustling above. They chose a good location, as always, a monster-sized football field close to the city, but far enough away to not be a nuisance.

  I take one step, and butterflies roar in my belly. I remember what the girls looked like that night. They looked like they had stepped off Victoria’s Secret runway, groomed and beautiful. I take in my dirty jeans that were once tight around my athletic figure, and are now falling loosely off my ass. My heart sinks. This is a bad idea. If I go in there, they’ll likely think I’m crazy and gross. I don’t look like me, I’ve lost myself. I’ve lost my spark. With that, I slowly turn back around, fighting to keep the tears from falling. I thought I had it. I thought I had a solution to my problem. I thought I could dance and feel the fire in my belly again, coursi
ng through my veins, but it’s that exact moment that I realize I never will.

  “Are you coming in?” a feminine voice says from behind me, stopping me in my tracks.

  I slowly turn to face her, my panic subsiding. I’m face-to-face with probably the most beautiful woman I have ever seen—besides my mother. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s in her early forties but she looks like she could pass for being in her thirties too. Her green eyes pierce mine, her short black hair cut to her jaw in a razor sharp snip.

  “Um, pardon?” I’m confused by her question. Why would she be asking me if I’m coming in?

  She crosses her arms in front of herself, slowly walking toward me. “I know who you are, Beatrice Kennedy, I’ve seen your videos on YouTube, so I’ll ask you again.” She slowly gives me a half smirk. “Are you coming in?”

  I bite my bottom lip and nod. “Yes.”

  “Mo’murda”—Bone Thugs

  “You’re not ready.” Dad paces up and down, his hands linked behind his back. He looks calm if you don’t know him, but I know him well, and although I can’t read him for shit, I know when something is bugging him.

  “I am…” I answer smoothly, blood slipping down my chest. “I dropped an album a month ago, Pops, I can’t be in here as your pet beast. You gotta let me out to handle my business, and then, like I said I always would do, I will find her. I will ruin her, and I will kill her.”

  Dad stops his pacing, his eyes coming directly to me. He steps forward, tilting his head. “Unlock the cage.”

  The soldier unlocks the door with a heavy thud. I fly to the other side of the cage, grab the soldier’s throat, and squeeze it. I yank my blade out that’s tucked into the waistband of my pants, and slice his neck open before reaching inside and tearing his larynx clean from his body. His skin rips away and blood rains down all over me as he drops to the ground with a heavy thud. I squeeze the tube in my hand until his blood and fluid slip through the cracks of my fingers. It wasn’t the soldier I despised, unfortunately, but I think I made my point to the old man.