by Amy Braun
My heart started to race. These could have been the killers from the murder I witnessed. If they were, I had no chance against them. Not even with my hatchet. These were the worst type of people I could imagine. I knew what they would do to young girls like us.
“Well, well, well, who do we have here?” the bald one asked me in Spanish.
I didn’t answer him. I stood in front of Dro and took the hatchet out of the back of my pants. The men laughed at me.
“Careful, little girl. You might cut yourself.” The bald guy grinned at me with yellow teeth.
“We don’t want any trouble,” I told him. “Just let us go. We won’t say anything.”
“Who’s we?” He tried to look over my shoulder. “Who are you hiding?”
Crap. “Nobody.”
“Lying to us isn’t very smart, little girl.” The bald man took a step closer to me. “So, I’m going to ask you again. Who are you hiding?”
I pressed my lips together. I didn’t know what to do. They would hurt me if I lied again, but I didn’t want them to see Dro. They’d do something bad to her for sure.
The man with greasy hair looked around me. “Damn, the other one’s an albino.” His eyes gleamed darkly. “She’d fetch a good price. Boss would have to see her to believe it.”
Anger suddenly flared up in my chest. “Touch her and I’ll kill you,” I growled before I knew what I was saying.
The bald man and the man with greasy hair laughed at me. The man with the scar looked at me with confusion. Then his eyes widened.
“Holy shit,” he gasped. “This is Luis’s kid! She looks just like him!”
The other two men stopped laughing and looked at me with new eyes. I didn’t waste time trying to lie. I spun and pushed Dro.
“Run!” I shouted.
She didn’t need to be told twice, whirling around and taking off down the alley as fast as she could.
“Get them!” the scarred man shouted.
We didn’t get very far before they caught us. Strong arms wrapped around my stomach and lifted me off the ground. I thrashed and kicked with all my might. I screamed at Dro to run. I heard a cry of pain and knew that she’d been grabbed. I hacked at the arm holding me with the hatchet.
The man let out a surprised bark when the blade cut deep into his skin. He dropped me and I ran from him to get to my sister. The man with greasy hair had an iron grip on her arm. She was crying and trying to pull away, but he wouldn’t let go.
Not until I slammed into him and knocked him away from her. I sliced at his leg with the hatchet. He cursed and tried to grab me, but I stepped back. I turned to find Dro, only to be punched in the cheek.
I’d never been hit so hard before. I thought someone had struck me with a baseball bat. I dropped onto the ground, tasting blood and feeling a huge bruise forming on my face. My hatchet was ripped from my hands. Then the man started kicking me in the ribs. Each strike crushed the air from my lungs and made it difficult to breathe. I curled into a ball and hoped it would end quickly.
Finally, the kicks stopped. My ribs ached. Some of them were probably cracked. I groaned, in too much pain to move. Dro was sobbing somewhere nearby. A hand twisted in my hair and pulled me to my feet. I blinked to clear my vision, seeing the angry bald man staring at me.
Fear went through me like an electric shock when I realized that they were going to kill me just like they killed that other man. They were going to cut off my arms and my head. Then they would do worse to Dro.
“You have some nerve, you little bitch. Just like your father. Emilio will have fun with you.”
Before I could fight again, the bald man hit me in the face and knocked me out.
***
There was a bag over my head when I woke up. My body bumped up and down and I heard gravel crunching under wheels, telling me I was in some kind of car. My head was pounding, my ribs not much better. Every jolt of the car sent a spike of pain through me. My hands were handcuffed behind my back. I sat up and groaned. I tried to shake the bag off, but couldn’t do it. I shuffled around, not sure who was around me.
“Dro?” I asked.
There was a choked sob on my right. “I’m here, Connie.”
I followed her voice and soon pressed myself against her side. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”
She sobbed again. “No. I’m scared, where are they taking us?”
I wasn’t sure, but we weren’t going to like the destination. “I don’t know. But I’ll protect you.”
Until they chop off my head.
Just as I thought it, the vehicle stopped. I heard car doors slamming and men talking. The doors beside us opened and we were pulled out of the car. I knew better than to fight back with a bag on my head. We walked outside for a few minutes (I could hear birds and smell fresh air and trees), before our captors started speaking rapid fire Spanish that I couldn’t keep up with.
Then we were led up steps and into a building. I smelled roses and heard other people whispering. We were taken up a staircase and down what must have been a hall. The men stopped us, and one of them walked forward. I heard him speaking in a low voice to someone, but I couldn’t hear what he was whispering about or who it was to. A piano was playing not too far away.
After a minute, we were pushed forward again. I heard doors open and we were brought inside another room. My heart began to beat rapidly when the doors were closed behind us. The piano was in this room, playing a beautiful, ominous song.
“I left a very clear message not to be disturbed,” a man with a deep, rolling accent said from the direction of the piano.
“Our deepest apologies, Mr. Rocha, but I thought you would want to see Luis Ramirez’s daughter.”
The music stopped. It was quiet for a long time.
“What happened to you?” Mr. Rocha asked.
“Luis’s little bitch attacked us with this,” said one of my angrier captors. He must have been one that I cut with my hatchet.
I heard Mr. Rocha getting up and walking around. His shoes sounded expensive and sharp. He stopped directly in front of me. My heart wouldn’t slow down.
“Show me.”
The bag was yanked off my head. Strands of black hair covered my eyes. I looked past them to the man in towering above me.
He was tall and lean, dressed in a very expensive navy blue silk shirt and black pants. He wore a belt with a gold rose on the buckle. A gold chain necklace was visible under the collar of his shirt, resting against his bronze skin. His face was handsome and strong jawed. He had a black goatee peppered with grey. His hair was thick and black with streaks of silver, all of it smoothed over his head to the back of his neck. His eyes were narrow and incredibly dark. It was like looking at two black holes. He was staring at me so intensely I thought he was going to pierce my soul.
I looked away, trying to see the rest of the room. It was a huge den bathed in sunlight from the tall, paned glass windows on the left. I could make out the edges of a white stone balcony beyond the glass. A thick carpet with a Victorian design covered the floor. The walls were wide and painted sandy white, most of them covered in abstract paintings. In the corner on the left by the window was a huge, black piano. In the middle of the room was a wide, oak desk with a tall black leather chair behind it. The desk was meticulously organized, but there were no photos on it, only papers and pens. Behind the desk in the wall was a black, marble fireplace. On the mantelpiece were vases filled with red roses. On the right of the room was a wide shelf filled with books. In front of them were two wide, black leather sofas. A wide coffee table sat between them.
Seated on the farthest sofa facing me was a teenage boy. He was probably a couple years older than me, and he was very attractive. He was wearing a black shirt and black dress pants, his skin flawless and bronze. His hair was long and thick, loosely tousled over his head. His face was softer, but his eyes were wild and passionate. He looked dangerous, and almost identical to Mr. Rocha. He didn’t take his eyes off of me.
<
br /> “So,” Mr. Rocha said in his alluring voice, getting my attention again. “You’re Luis Ramirez’s daughter. I saw you once, when you were first born. Constance, isn’t it?”
I managed to hold his eyes, but I didn’t say anything. Mr. Rocha kept staring at me, gently moving strands of hair off my face with his free hand. I looked at his other one, noticing that one of the thugs had given him my father’s hatchet. My fingers itched to have it back.
“Your father used to work for me,” he went on. “He was a falcon, one of my best runners. But you probably didn’t know that. As soon as you were born, Luis was determined to change his lifestyle for you. Interesting that you would find your way back here, and stumble on my doorstep.”
My heart skipped a beat. I knew that my father had endured a hard, treacherous life, and that he had done things he wasn’t proud of. But I never expected to find out he had been a drug runner for the Blood Thorns. I was too stunned to speak.
Mr. Rocha moved his eyes over to my left. “And who else do we have here?”
I turned my head to the left when the bag on Dro’s head was pulled off. She breathed in shakily, her icy blue eyes scanning the room until they found me. She relaxed, until she saw Mr. Rocha. Then she cringed away in fear. I tried to move in front of her, but someone’s hand clamped on my shoulder and held me back.
Dro was trying not to shake when Mr. Rocha reached out and stroked the side of her face.
“A unique beauty I have never seen before,” he said quietly.
“Leave her alone,” I warned.
The bald man holding me gripped my arm and shook me. Mr. Rocha turned back, intrigued by my reaction.
“Who is she to you?” he asked curiously.
“She’s my sister,” I told him defensively. “And if you hurt her, I’ll cut you the same way I cut your loser friends.”
The bald man holding my arm suddenly whirled me around and slapped me across the face. I saw stars and collapsed onto the floor. I shook my head and shuffled back as he stomped toward me.
“Enough,” Mr. Rocha commanded.
The bald man didn’t hurt me again, but he roughly hauled me to my feet. I caught a glimpse of the teenage boy watching me from the sofa. He hadn’t moved, but I could see an unhappy expression cross his face. Strangely, his disapproval seemed to be aimed at the bald man instead of me. Shame the boy was a jerk that didn’t care if a fourteen year old girl was slapped around.
The bald man spun me so I could face Mr. Rocha. He was toying with Dro’s hair, examining it like he’d never seen hair before. She closed her eyes and was trying to stay calm, but she was so scared.
“Your sister, is she?” he crooned. “I never thought Luis would adopt another child. You aren’t lying to me, are you Constance?”
I looked as strong as I could. I didn’t know much, but I knew that if you showed your enemies fear once, they would never let you forget it.
“Not about anything,” I answered coolly.
His pitch black eyes seared into me again. I didn’t move a muscle. Then he smiled at me.
“What brought you back here, my dear? Surely your father didn’t tell you who I was or where to find me.”
This time I couldn’t tell the truth. He would only think I was lying. I couldn’t tell him monsters killed our parents, but I had to tell him something he would believe.
“Our parents are dead,” I told him flatly. “We had nowhere else to go. Your meatheads found us. We weren’t looking for you.”
The bald man squeezed my arm hard enough to leave impressions in my bicep. I gritted my teeth but never broke eye contact with his boss. Mr. Rocha didn’t look upset at all. He seemed more amused than anything.
“Shame. I would have loved to see the look on Luis’s face if he knew you were here with me.”
He slowly walked back toward his desk, leaning against it. He turned the hatchet over and over in his hands. The sight of it seemed to amuse him, and I couldn’t help but wonder if my father ever used the hatchet when he was a runner. I tried not to think about that possibility for very long.
“He left me at a very, very bad time, you know. He cost me a lot of money. I’m still paying for his mistakes. Now that he’s dead, I can’t use you as leverage against him. So what do you think I should do, Constance? Are you willing to pay for your father’s failure?”
My temper surged, but I forced it down. I didn’t want to make the leader of the Blood Thorns angry, even if he was lying about Dad being a failure. I couldn’t say no. If I did, he would kill us. We were nothing to him. Mr. Rocha smiled, his dark eyes gleaming bright. He knew that he had caught me.
“I’ll work it off,” I suggested. “I’ll take Dad’s old job. Whatever he did, I’ll do.”
“Why should I trust you? If you are your father’s daughter, you’ll simply run off at the first chance you get.” His eyes slid back to Dro. “Of course, I wouldn’t recommend doing that. Unlike him, you have something to lose.”
The greasy-haired man and the scarred man closed in on Dro, starting to obscure her from my sight. I tried to move for them, but was yanked back by the bald guy. I swiftly looked at Mr. Rocha.
“I promise, I won’t run until my father’s debt it paid,” I announced to everyone in the room. “I won’t betray you. I know how to stay away from cops. I’ll prove myself.”
I hated sounding so weak and so desperate, but there was nothing else I could do to keep my sister safe.
“Please,” I begged. “Give me a chance.”
The next few moments were very tense as everyone in the room watched me. I didn’t look at anyone but Mr. Rocha. His smile widened.
“Very well. If you have nowhere else to stay, you can board in the servant quarters here. I’m not your father. I look after my children.”
I bit my tongue to keep from saying anything rude to him, tensing again when Mr. Rocha straightened up from the desk and addressed his thugs.
“You let yourselves get wounded by a little girl,” he stated coldly. “Am I to understand you are that weak?”
“It was a fluke, sir,” the bald man said. “She wouldn’t have gotten away.”
“Like Marius got nearly got away?”
They said nothing. Mr. Rocha walked around the desk and pulled open a drawer. “I appreciate you bringing me his head, but he talked before you caught him. Fortunately for me, the cops he spoke to are on my payroll. Unfortunately for you, I’m not in the mood for forgiveness today.”
He pulled out a gun and shot the man behind me. There was no hesitation. Two more gunshots cracked through the air and two more bodies dropped onto the ground. Dro screamed. The scent of blood filled the room. I turned to stare at the corpses in horror. The holes in their heads were small, but I was stunned at how much blood pooled out from behind their skulls. It seeped into the carpet, a stain that could never be cleaned.
No one came running in. The boy on the sofa was staring at the bodies without any recognizable expression. This was normal in this house.
“That’s right, Constance. Keep staring at them,” Mr. Rocha said from behind me. “Get a good look at the blood and the bodies. You’ll be seeing more of both.”
I turned my head and found myself staring up at him. He was only inches away from me, holding my father’s hatchet loosely at his side. I was now truly afraid of him.
“You took away a lesson from this, didn’t you, my dear?”
Oh, I had a lesson, all right. I learned that if I crossed or disobeyed the leader of the Blood Thorns, he would shoot me if he were feeling charitable. I didn’t want to think about what he would do if he were truly angry.
“Yes, Mr. Rocha,” I whispered.
He chuckled. “My dear, you’re part of my family now.” He curled my hand around the hatchet, then tightened his fist over mine.
“Call me Emilio...”
Chapter 3
After the street-preacher’s stabbing and the Possessor sighting, the demons decided to show themselves in ful
l force. Everything turned so much worse.
It hadn’t been two days before the first ghoul demons broke out of a portal in Santa Fe and ate three people. Reds were spotted darting around at night and grabbing unsuspecting victims. There was even a rumor that a hellhound had been set loose in a small zoo and killed all the animals before moving onto the late night staff.
The government was failing at containing the situation. News stations were having field days. Religious zealots were praying and shouting “I told you so” at the non-believers. Satanists were performing ritual suicides and willingly giving themselves over to Possessors. Gun stores were running out of weapons and bullets. Everyone was praying to the angels, but the angels never gave any sign they were on earth.
After the stabbing, we kept moving north. I thought we were getting away from the horror the more we drove, but it was hard to tell with so much chaos around us. It seemed that with every mile, people were filing into churches or cars, looking for comfort and escape. Street-preachers were out in armies, shouting at anyone who hurried past them. The actual army was everywhere, protecting whoever they could even though they didn’t know what they were protecting them from. It was worse at night, when the demons had more power. Looters swept through the streets like a plague. There were too many assaults and murders for the police to keep up with. I could have been grateful to assume I wasn’t very high on their priority list anymore, but even I’m not that selfish. Besides, every fast moving shadow made my hands tighten on the hilt of my hatchet.
Most people were taking the main exits to get out of the city, but we heard that the army was checking every car to make sure no one was carrying a bomb with them. Chaos was the perfect chance for terrorists to show the world how righteous they were by killing hundreds of people.
Luckily (and with a bit of psychic help from Max) we found an abandoned highway that would take us out of Oklahoma. Nobody was on this road but us.
Rain poured heavily on the stolen car as Warrick drove us down the road. He talked discreetly into his phone, which I would have teased him about if I hadn’t been so tired. I was resting my head against the passenger side window, looking like I was asleep. I was basically closing my eyes and drowning out everything around me.
