I sauntered off, waited two minutes—offering polite smiles to passersby and otherwise playing the role of a normal person on the streets—and then boarded my next bus. Even this process, one that I was sure others thought of as annoying and mundane, felt incredibly liberating for me. I was my own person now, free to make plans and commit to them without worrying about being late for a night full of alleyway blowjobs and backseat butt-sex. Sure, there were a few creeps on the bus who leered at me in ways that reminded me of the way Johns looked at me when I was wearing a whore’s uniform and standing about in fuck-me boots, but at least they were just staring. There was no unsettling questions about how much for this; no follow-up moment where crumpled bills made an appearance; no uncomfortable effort to try to upsell from my mouth to my pussy, or from my pussy to my ass. The fact that my body was mine to speak for and not seen as the permanent property of T-Built and the Carrion Crew or the temporary property of some creep with a few bucks to throw away when his hand and a wi-fi connection could just as easily get the job done. And while my life was in no way perfect—I wasn’t even totally in the clear, after all—it certainly was better than it had been. And, even if the Carrion Crew did manage to capture me again, that asshole T-Built was dead and gone.
Good luck finding a sociopath to replace the likes of him, I silently challenged, remembering my old pimp’s routine of rape and scare-tactics to keep us controlled.
Meh, another thought chimed casually, they’d probably just kill you for the inconvenience.
My breath caught at that and I clenched my eyes shut. Behind my lids, I saw T-Built’s dead body, bullet-riddled and slumped in Candy’s and my old kitchen, surrounded in the flames. The fire licked at his corpse, then recessed abruptly like an animal might after it’s tasted something foul, and his eyes snapped open like a pair of traps that caught me in their sights.
“It’s only a matter of time, whore!” the ghost in my mind taunted.
By some miracle, I managed not to scream at the waking nightmare.
I committed to keeping my eyes open and my mind in the present for the rest of the trip.
****
The rest of the trip was enough to get my mind off of all the ugly thoughts I’d dredged up early in the journey. I’d made good enough time in switching stops, and was even able to duck inside a nearby market to buy myself a Coke and a random magazine boasting a celebrity I didn’t recognize and the promise of “59 WAYS TO PLEASE YOUR MAN” on the cover. As the last bus carried me into the small town, I made a game out of challenging each of the fifty-nine “ideas,” realizing most of them were either weak variations on the same thing. Almost half of them were total nonsense, and of the ones that had any merit to them only a half-dozen seemed even remotely promising. Deciding that the woman who’d wrote the “article” had obviously never consulted a man—I’d honestly be surprised if she’d ever even tried all of what she was suggesting—I began to play with the idea of writing one of these myself.
While my whoring days were over, I figured there was nothing wrong in carrying what I’d learned over to educate other women. If nothing else I’d be doing a service—without actually doing any service—to the men those women went on to hook up with.
Tucking the idea away for future consideration, I glanced back out the window as the familiar landmarks of the small town came into view. A few of the taller buildings of the market poked up in the distance ahead, and I found myself getting excited. For a Monday, I was happily surprised to see that it was packed. Though I wasn’t sure how likely it would be that any members of the Carrion Crew might be out this far, I knew how important it was to stay in crowded areas.
The bus finally came to a stop, and the hydraulics hissed; the street seemed to rise up. Finally, the doors opened, the sound of life and activity slipping in the greet me, and I made my way out. Stepping off the bus, I paused to look around, appreciating how different everything looked this time around. It had been darker during our date, and an annual festival called “Canal Days” had been in full swing. The main street had been closed off to traffic, and all of the shops and businesses had either been operating outdoors or featuring a great deal of their goods out on the street. And while much was different, I still got a very homey and comfortable impression of community from the stretch. Realizing I was smiling, I started on down the road, letting my eyes lead my way.
I’d made a loose decision, though I wasn’t sure quite when the decision had been made, to get something for Jace while I was out this way. The decision, existing like an apple bobbing about in a washbasin of water, had been there for quite some time, though every time I tried to grab at it for a specific idea of what to get it would sink away into dark depths and refuse to come back up until I abandoned the effort. Wandering the stretch all over again, however, it dawned on me that I already knew what to get him; in some ways I’d known ever since the night Jace had first taken me here. Satisfied that I had a plan, I committed to enjoying myself for the time being until I finally came upon my decided target.
Stepping over to a vendor selling a variety of chocolates, I bought myself a small bag of chocolate covered pretzels. Once again walking through the market, I thought back to my first date with Jace.
“So you’re a dessert-before-dinner sort of girl?”
“When I can be.”
“I like a girl with an appetite.”
“Then you’ll love me.”
I smiled at the memory, continuing to look around the market. Then, finally, I happened across what I’d been hunting for. The vendor, a local photographer who’d made a career out of traveling and snapping pictures abroad, still operated from a kiosk on the side of the road. A fair number of prints hung like fruit from a bizarre tree with no real symmetry or reason to their placement, and a small pang of worry started to creep up my spine as I realized I couldn’t find what I’d decided to come here for. I was growing evermore certain I’d have to begin an awkward line of questioning with the photographer to track down the particular image before…
“I’ve been here before,” Jace had said, referring to the scene depicted in the photograph, when we’d first come across this exact same print on that first night.
“Really? Where is this?”
“It was a small fisherman town in Rome. My family went on a vacation there before my brother graduated high school. We ended up getting lost and stopped at a small restaurant to get something to eat and get our bearings. The view we had from there wasn’t much different than this picture, actually.”
“Wow, that sounds amazing. I’ve actually never left the States. I always wanted to travel, but never got around to it.”
“You still could,” he’d assured me then, sporting one of his broad, promising Jace-trademarked smiles.
Smiling just as much in response to the memory as at the find, I grabbed the photograph and stepped over to the vendor. My smile only grew as I paid for the purchase, parting with it only long enough to let it be bagged and returned to me, and I practically skipped off, holding it to my chest.
“You still could.”
The words held promise of an adventure yet to come; of a life that we’d be sharing. This picture, something I’d subconsciously wanted to give to Jace even on that first night but had no way of offering, would be a symbol of both what had been as well as what would be.
“You still could.”
I wanted to do that. I wanted to go all around the world with Jace. My hand went to the pendant—the bird captured in mid-flight—against my neck, the one he’d gotten me that night from another vendor, and I gently squeezed it as memories and plans swirled in an excited storm within me. Freedom. The pendant and all the memories of the night that brought it to me, the events with Jace, and everything I dreamed we could do together…
It all made me feel so free!
As I continued through the market, I looked around at various shops and stores and all of the items they offered, wondering if I should buy anything else fo
r Jace. I looked back down at the photograph and ran my thumb over the edge that poked out from the bag, imagining myself there, in Rome, with Jace.
I was so entranced with the fantasy that I could almost smell the sea water.
“Looks like you’re letting your mind wander, eh, sis?”
The familiar voice was like a dark claw rocketing up from those black-and-white waters—something too dark and far too sinister to grace the scene in my mind—and yanking me back into the unforgiving depths of reality. The unforgiving depths of reality, where I was supposed to be keeping an eye out—where I was supposed to be mindful of my surroundings—so I didn’t wind up back on a street corner or, worse yet, wind up dead.
But this…
I froze at the voice, not wanting to believe I was hearing correctly.
It couldn’t be him.
He was in prison…
Right?
Still chastising myself for getting distracted, I turned towards the source. Clearing my thoughts, I glanced up into the familiar blue eyes. I hadn’t been wrong; it was my brother. It was Mack. I blinked, shaking my head a bit, still trying to figure out how this could be, and took a cautious step back. Then, remembering myself, I looked around at my surroundings—saw that, yes, I was still out in a public place and in broad daylight, no less—and squared my footing, narrowing my eyes.
My brother met my one-step retreat with a one-step advance of his own, but there was no threat to the motion; he was just maintaining the distance. Reminding myself that this was family and not a member of the Carrion Crew, I suppressed the instinctual urge to withdraw again. As I looked him over, I realized he hadn’t changed at all. His blond hair had been cropped short in what could only be a prison-fashioned hair style and his skin had gotten paler since our last encounter. Being locked up could do that, I supposed. He was still tall and lanky, he had lost some of the muscle he’d had before getting into trouble. But he had those eyes. Deep and cunning and mischievous; eyes that everyone used to say we shared, but now I hated to imagine that being the case. On him they looked untrustworthy, the eyes of a plotter, and I didn’t like the idea of giving off that impression. Worse yet, the way those eyes looked at me, seeming to study me, trace me for some future reference; all the while appearing to suck in details that made me feel like I was standing before him stark naked.
Stifling an uncomfortable shiver, I wondered if he’d prefer it that way.
“What are you doing here, Malcolm?” I demanded. “Aren’t you supposed to be in jail?”
“Got out on good behavior,” he answered with a smirk. “Figured I’d pay a visit to my darling little sister before leaving.”
“Leaving?” I pressed, uncertain.
Mack shrugged. “Are you surprised? You obviously heard what sort of trouble I got myself into”—You have no idea, you bastard! I thought at that—“and being out of the big house doesn’t exactly mean I’m out of the real trouble.”
“Then the Carrion Crew is still after you?” I asked. I wasn’t sure how much he knew of what had happened—if he knew that the debts he owed to the Carrions had motivated them to “hire” me as a whore to pay them off—but it seemed to me that if he was planning on leaving then he had no idea that their sights were on me now.
Mack laughed at the question, but there was no humor in it whatsoever. “From the sounds of it I’m not the only Chobavich that they’re after,” he said.
I frowned at that. So he did know. “Guess I should thank you for that?” I hissed.
He scoffed and shook his head. “I didn’t ask you to do anything, Mia. I never even had the chance. If the Crew came knocking on your door to settle my debt then what happened next is strictly between you and them.”
I resisted the urge to haul off and hit him then and there. “I was hardly given a choice,” I said, barely able to get my voice above a whisper at that point.
He shrugged and looked off in the direction of the sound of laughter. “Same old Mia,” he mused, finally tearing his eyes from the distraction and shaking his head. “Always the victim, right? ‘Boo-hoo! My mean, ol’ brother made bad choices and now I’m a whore for it!’” He shook his head again and grinned. “If you wanna start blaming me for all that then you’d better start thanking me for the rest.”
I felt my lip curl at him. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.
“Word on the street is you got yourself rescued by a badass biker boy-toy. Strong, chiseled type with power, money… everything a little girl needs, right? So if it’s my fault that you had a few sore-pussy nights then it’s just as much because of me that you found yourself this big-deal boyfriend who’s gone and stirred up quite a stinky situation.”
I actually took a step towards him at that, having a harder and harder time not hitting him. “And what would you know about this ‘stinky situation?’”
Mack did nothing to move away; seemed to almost glow as I closed the distance between us. “I did say that I need to get out of this city, didn’t I?” he repeated.
“What do you want?” I asked with a glare. “Why are you really here?”
“I just figured I should warn you that they’re making you a full-scale priority,” he answered with a smirk.
“Oh, yeah, right,” I sneered, moving myself away from him—unable to bear the closeness any longer—and starting to turn away. “You seem really torn up about all of this.”
I heard him mutter, “Speaking of ‘torn up,’” and felt his eyes on my backside. I turned back towards him at that, catching him as his eyes moved across my body, running over me like an oil slick. I shivered at the oozy sensation. I crossed my arms over my chest. Even with the large, baggy tee-shirt I had on I didn’t feel comfortable in front of him then.
“Look, Mack, I’m done with them, okay! I never should have been in that situation in the first place, but I went through with it because I… dammit, I felt like I owed you something. You were my brother and—”
“I still am your brother, dummy,” he interrupted.
I paused at that, realizing what I’d just said and still feeling it sounded right. Then, shaking my head, I said, “Whatever! I’m just done. I regret going through with it. For fuck’s sake, Mack, I nearly got killed. Things are better for me now. I’m out of that life, and now that you’re out of jail you can figure out your own mess. This was never my problem, anyway. I don’t owe them anything.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, sis,” he smirked, his eyes running across my body again, and this time I failed to hold back the shiver. “Y’see, that may have been true before. But you and your boy-toy torched quite a lot of product. And, from the sounds of it, there was a casualty, as well: a rather valuable member from the sounds of things. Not to mention all the other whores you’ve gone and inspired to high-tail it out of their own deals. So, yeah, you might not have owed them anything before, but you went and cost them an arm and a leg—and an entire body along with it—and made it very personal, Mia. You could’ve just been a good little slut and gotten us both off the hook…but instead you decided to look for some happily ever after with the wrong side.”
“This isn’t my fault, Mack,” I snarled. “The place blew up because of what was in there, not because of me or Jace.”
“And you think they see it that way?” he raised an eyebrow. “Your best feature might be between your legs, you slut, but don’t go pretending that you’ve got nothing between your ears.”
“Call me a ‘slut’ again and—”
“And what, slut!”
I felt my left eye twitch under the storm of rage within me, but I still managed to calmly say, “And I’ll make a call.” I glared. “I can get Jace’s guys—the other guys—here before you can say, ‘No, warden, don’t let the other inmates fuck my little asshole,’ and then you’ll have twice as much trouble on your head.” I tilted my head, studying him then. “The way I see it, Mack,” I said, “either you’re here because you’re trying to scare me back into handling yo
ur mess… or you think it’ll help put you in good standings with the Carrions. Well let me make a few things clear, bro: I am not going back, and if you don’t leave me alone—if I get the Crows involved with this—then the Carrion Crew will kill you just for breathing the same air as their enemies!”
Mack stared at me for a long time, the perverse leer gone and nothing but bitterness and hate left in their place. “Fine,” he finally said, holding up his hands in surrender and beginning to back away. “Doesn’t matter, anyway. They will get you, sis. What do you think? That it’s going to be okay? That you’ll just have some happily ever after with your Crow? You’re dreaming. This is the real world, and in the real world it’s the ones with the biggest guns that win the wars. And from what I’ve heard, the Crows don’t deal in guns.”
And then, turning away and slipping into the crowd of people, Mack was gone.
I was left staring out, not exactly at where he’d been, but at a great expanse of nothingness that my future had begun to decay into.
Then my phone started to ring.
Worrying that Danny or Candy might have caught on to my plan, a fresh stream of panic began to run through me as I quickly pulled out the source of the chimes. A bittersweet moment passed as I realized that I didn’t recognize the number, and I answered it with a warring sense of worry and cautious optimism.
“Hello?”
“Is this Mia Chobavich?” the voice on the other end asked calmly.
Calmly, I thought to myself. Calmly is good… right?
“This is,” I said slowly, wondering what I might have just confessed myself to. “May I ask who’s calling?”
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