CROWS MC SET-TO LOAD

by Bloom, Cassandra

  I blinked at this, not expecting her to be on the same chaotic page so quickly. “Huh?” was all I could manage to say.

  “I’m at your place,” she answered, sounding out-of-breath. “Well, the garage-part, anyway. Usually this is the part where Mia buzzes me up—can’t take the elevator to your floor otherwise—but she’s not answering. I’ve tried both the intercom and her cell, but—”

  “Mack took her,” I interrupted her. “The fucking security guy let him up and… Candy, the Crew has her.”

  There was a long, baited silence on her end of the line. Then she screamed “FUCK!”

  Good, I thought. At least we’re on the same page.

  ****

  “I might have something,” Candy explained.

  “Oh? Tell me,” I said, hoping I didn’t come off too demanding.

  “Look, it’s gonna take a lotta finagling and you aren’t gonna like it,” she said, her tone filled with a warning.

  “I don’t care, if it is even the slightest chance, we need to take it,” I said, pushing her to continue.

  “Alright, so I still know a few of the girls we’d worked with,” she began. “I actually reached out to them recently with the news of the bordello, a few were interested but… well, you know, they’re still scared shitless. Anyway, one of the girls got moved up. Didn’t even know that was a thing with them, but she said if things didn’t work out, she’d have a spot for me.”

  “What’s this got to do with anything, Nancy?” I asked, unsure where she was going.

  Was she about to say she was done with us? My heart sank at the thought.

  “Well, it’s like this: she don’t know that I’m not interested. I didn’t wanna tell her to go fuck herself with her offer; I’m trying to win these girls over, after all. So’s if I get her on the horn, if I tell her that I’m interested, then I’ll at least have my toe in the door.”

  Her words brought me back to my episode in the guard’s booth.

  “Anyway,” she went on, “she knows that Mia and me is tight, so it probably shouldn’t be too tough to get her to tell me what she knows if I make it sound like I’m nervous for her.”

  “And what if she suspects something?” I asked.

  “Look, Jace,” Candy said, sounding almost hurt, “these girls like me; they trust me. I was with the Crew for longer than I’d like to think about, and in that time I held a lot of crying whore’s hands and helped wipe a lot of blood and cum off a lot of chins. Trust me, if I say I’m interested in going back and tell her I’m worried about Mia, there’s no chance she’s going to suspect me of lying.”

  I felt my stomach tighten as I realized what she was telling me. Those girls wouldn’t suspect her of lying because, under any other circumstance, she wouldn’t have. This situation was officially forcing her to betray the trust of her own.

  “Candy,” I started, “I’m sor—”

  “Save it, pretty boy,” she cut me off. “If it helps my girl then I’d do worse. Wouldn’t do it happy, but I’d do it. So just keep the mushy bullshit to yourself unless you’re up for paying for a full hour, got it?”

  “Got it,” was all I could bring myself to say to all that.

  “You’re a good guy, Jace,” Nancy said then, the compliment catching me off guard. “Keep close to your phone. I’m not sure how long this’ll take, but I don’t wanna have to wait on you when I get the goods.”

  “You’re the best, Candy,” I said.

  “Yeah, I know,” she said, “all the guys tell me so.”

  She hung up before I could even think of a way to respond to that.

  PART 4

  Whore

  (No More)

  FIFTEEN

  ~MIA~

  I’d been here before.

  I wasn’t sure how or where—I thought I would remember being trapped in a hell like this!—but it was too familiar to not be the first time. Not that it being familiar made it any better. In fact, it made it much, much worse.

  I was trapped. It was dark, uncomfortably warm, and there was a smell. The smell, like me, was trapped. It hung somewhere between sweet and sour; reminding me all at once of thawing meat, fresh mulch under a hot sun, and something earthy, ancient. A deep part of my brain chanted that it was the oldest smell in existence, and another part, deeper still, assured me that I’d one day come to contribute to it.

  I knew that smell. I knew it the same way I knew I was on the first step of a twelve-step staircase that led down into deeper darkness; the same way I knew that the surface my hands pounded against was a door that should lead to freedom. And I knew that that door—that freedom—was closed and that it would never be opened; that freedom had been stolen from me. And my brother, Mack—though he was only Malcolm in that moment—was the thief.

  I knew all of these things with such a startling certainty that I also knew I must have been here before. But, for the life of me, I didn’t know how that was possible.

  Trapped. I was trapped in a dark, horrible, smelly place.

  Whimpering, knowing what awaited me down in those warm, smelly depths but also knowing it was all my life amounted to, I turned away from the door and started down the steps.

  One…

  Two…

  Three…

  I counted to myself, talking me down the steps like an instructor working me through the motions of some horrible cycle.

  Four…

  Five…

  Six…

  Only halfway down the stairs to my new world and the voice had gone and summed it all up perfectly. A horrible, nearly precognitive fear took hold of me and I had to take hold of the rough, splintery railing to keep from toppling down the rest of the steps.

  Seven…

  Eight…

  My hand traveled along the railing. As the eighth step became the ninth, it went from rough and splintery to smooth and tacky. It was unnerving, and while my eyes had come to adjust enough for me to investigate the spot where my hand lay I knew not to. Keeping my gaze trained on the darkness ahead, I removed my hand from the surface. I knew it would be better to fall the rest of the way into that black abyss than to let my hand spend one more second on that railing a moment longer.

  I thought of my father’s paint cans. I thought of old Band-Aids. And then I thought I might turn around and try for the door again; thought that maybe Malcolm had let go and I might escape from this place he’d trapped me inside.

  Then something at the bottom of the stairs, something waiting in the darkness, said, “You a whore or not?”

  And suddenly, just like I knew everything else, I knew there was no turning back. There was no escape from this place.

  I cursed Malcolm’s name—curiously calling him “Mack”—and continued down the stairs.

  Nine…

  Ten…

  Eleven…

  The hot, reeking stench seemed to reach out like a living thing and grab me as my foot fell on the second-to-last step.

  Getting it, I took another step—Twelve—and finally dared to take another step into the darkness, away from the stairs.

  Here it was dark. Here I had to look with my hands looking for something or somebody that might help me get out of this place.

  “You got me?” the voice called out, seeming to offer itself to me.

  And then my hands fell upon the soft, stinking mass of a long-forgotten corpse. Gasping at the fresh wave of rot that assaulted my nostrils, I blinked at a sudden wave of clarity—light!—that illuminated my freshly discovered treasure.

  And there, before me, I saw myself. I stared back, naked and dead and rotting—my legs splayed and my body showing signs of recent use—and I held my arms open as a lover might when awaiting an embrace.

  “You found me, Mia!” Dead-Mia moaned up at me, triumphant and elated. “You fou-ou-ou-ound me!”

  Then, seeming ecstatic to answer the question, Dead-Mia leapt at me, grinning wide and exposing a length of latex still occupying the corner of her mouth. “AND I FOUND
YOU!” she bellowed, taking hold of me and pulling me into her.

  I nearly cried out then, feeling an urge to call out for help. I wanted to get away, not sure if I was in the now or the then; not sure when “now” or “then” were or where the line between them existed. I fought to pull away from myself, fought to get away, fought to…

  I paused, and the sudden slack in my muscles made Dead-Mia overcompensate on her next tug, pulling me down on top of her.

  I kept fighting to get away…

  But why should I be the one who was afraid?

  Why was I always the one who should be afraid?

  Glaring down at Dead-Mia, she seemed to sense the change that was going through my mind. Her face, all awful and drippy and dead, went even moreso with rising concern.

  Howling in a cumulative rage, I balled my fists.

  “NO!” I roared down at her.

  And I swung.

  Dead-Mia’s face squelched like old, rotten food beneath the blow, and suddenly I was looking at T-Built.

  I swung again.

  More squelching, and suddenly the face was that of my very first John.

  Another swing, another squelch, another face.

  Again…

  Again…

  AGAIN!

  And then, finally, I was staring down at my brother; staring down at Mack. He looked back up at me, squinting through blackening eyes and muttering through a swelling lip—he wore every sign of the beatings I’d been dishing out…

  And that was when the real beating began.

  ****

  I woke up, ironically enough, feeling stronger than ever. Despite everything I was waking up to, there was a strange vitality thrumming inside of me. The nightmare that had plagued me so long, I had fought through it. As my eyes began to focus, I frowned, noticing just how dark the room I was in was.

  Now… I thought, not feeling as afraid as I thought I would under these circumstances, Where am I?

  I looked around, waiting for my eyesight to adjust to the darkness. The lack of light, after the episode in Jace’s condo and the setting of the nightmare, were both enough to have me royally hating not being able to see. Eventually, however, I started to get an idea of where Mack had brought me, and I found myself wishing I was back in darkness; back to not knowing.

  After finally having a breakthrough, it seemed like cruel irony that I was waking up back in the nightmare.

  I was in a basement. Again. The stone walls surrounding me seemed to mock any of the progress I had just made. I winced, sitting up and looked down, seeing that my wrists were shackled to the floor; a set of chains rattling as I moved to pull against them.

  “What the…?” I croaked, lifting one of my shackled wrists.

  What had happened to me? Where was I? I closed my eyes, trying to fight the panic that continued to try and snake its way back into me. I had to stay calm, had to focus. Then it all came back to me. The memory flooded back into my mind until I felt like I was drowning. I gasped, struggling to escape.

  I was trapped.

  I clenched my eyes shut, the tears beginning to stream down my face. I couldn’t even try and stop them. I was back in the Carrion’s clutches. Somehow Malcolm had…

  The memory of the sting returned, and I rubbed at my hip. A phantom sting made me wince.

  “Bastard!” I muttered, remembering syringe he’d stuck me with.

  He’d drugged me! My asshole of a brother broke into Jace’s condo, scared the shit out of me…

  And fucking drugged me!

  I frowned, wondering where Jace was. Did he know I was gone yet? I chewed me lip, hating how cruel fate seemed to be. We had been back together, things had seemed to be getting better and now…

  now we were separated once more.

  I took a bit of satisfaction in knowing that, this time around, we had at least been forced into this situation. It wasn’t a matter of infighting or mistrust; we were being attacked. I almost rolled my eyes at the idea of being put into a situation where being attacked would be viewed in such a light, but figured that was just Mack in a nutshell.

  Mack…

  If I ever got my hands on my brother, I would kill him myself!

  That thought—No! I corrected myself, That commitment!—filled me with a strange sense of power. It was almost terrifying.

  Almost!

  I remembered the dream again, replayed the last few moments—thought, That’ta girl, Mia—and then began to look around again. I wanted to believe that Jace would come, that he’d find me and come to my rescue, but I knew better than to sit around and wait for it to happen.

  There was being hopeful, and then there was being stupid.

  And let it never be said that Mia Chobavich was stupid.

  Mack, on the other hand…

  Mack had gone and done the dumbest thing he’d ever done, and I was going to kill him for it.

  The more I thought it—I’m going to kill Mack!—the more I liked the sound of it.

  And why the hell should Jace get all the fun?

  Not that I’d ever killed anybody before…

  First time for everything, right? I figured. Then, realizing that, whether I got out of here on my own or whether Jace found me before I had a chance, we’d be together once again, I figured he’d be more-than-willing to help me with this one thing.

  Killing Mack together, I thought, almost laughing at the idea. Now that’s one for a Hallmark card!

  “So, you’re finally awake,” a familiar, cocky voice sounded from the distance.

  I followed the source and spotted a set of stairs that had been previously shrouded in darkness. Now, however, an open doorway at the top offered enough illumination from the upper level to reveal them and the silhouette of my asshole brother at the top.

  “Surprised you’re still here,” I called back, surprising myself with my calm tone. “Figured a chicken-shit like you would’ve laid an egg and scuttled off as soon as you were able.”

  “You know,” Mack said with a forced sigh, “I really wanted to regret all of this. I wanted to, but you’ve always been such a bitch.”

  “And you’ve always been a coward,” I shot back.

  “Yeah,” he agreed, not sounding happy about what he agreed to but at least owning it. “I guess that trait sort of runs in the family.” He descended a few of the steps so that we could see one another clearly.

  At that moment, I realized how pathetically frail he looked; how pathetically frail he’d always looked.

  “My god…” I marveled, shaking my head. “When did you get so tiny?”

  He stared at me, confusion washed over his face, and then looked away, ashamed.

  “You wanna come closer?” I offered. “Or are you scared?”

  “Why should I be scared?” he said with a scoff.

  “My point exactly,” I scoffed back, lifting my shackled wrists. “I mean, chains? Really? Whose idea was that? Yours, I’m guessing. Nobody with the Crew was nervous enough around their whores to take things this far. Did it make you feel safer? Or was it just easier on your conscious to have me chained up like an animal?”

  He only shrugged. “I honestly wasn’t expecting to be here this long,” he admitted, “but they were afraid I might’ve overdosed you; said I was gonna stick around and ‘see you off,’ if you were lucky enough to wake up.”

  “And if I hadn’t been so lucky?” I challenged.

  Mack cleared his throat. “Then I wouldn’t have been far behind,” he said.

  “Sacrificing your own sister to save your sorry ass,” I said, lacing as much venom into my voice as I could.

  “Wouldn’t be the first time,” he replied.

  Though he’d said it flatly—with not a drop of venom to match my own statement—I felt a deep and powerful sting as the implications of his words settled into my core.

  And yet…

  And yet I’d always sort of suspected, hadn’t I?

  I looked down. “God damn you, Malcolm.”


  “Go ahead and hate me if it makes you feel better,” he said. “Makes no difference to me. Either way, you’re awake. That means I’m free to go. The Crew’s decided to auction you off—they say you’re not worth the trouble to keep around—and, as luck would have it, the starting bid is more than what I owe, and they’ve already got a line of bidders. My debt’s officially paid, and I’ll be on the first train out of this shit-town while you’re being shipped off to your new owner.”

  “You seem pretty confident about that,” I said, shaking my head.

  “About you being purchased? Give yourself some credit, sis.”

  I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “No, you idiot,” I spat. “About you just skipping off; home-free.”

  “And what’s that supposed to mean?” he demanded.

  “Only that you’re dealing with criminals, bro,” I said, still riding on that strange calm. “Criminals that have killed and will go on killing. I mean, you’re telling me they’re operating in sex trafficking—they told you that they’re operating in sex trafficking—and you think they’re going to let you walk with that knowledge? When they’re already struggling to keep their heads above water? When any sort of interference could mean the difference between success and failure? And you actually believe that they’re just going to let you leave, knowing all of that?” I laughed and shook my head. “Malcolm… maybe you were right, maybe you were always right. Maybe I was just a sniveling, drama-loving little kid, and I maybe I did grow up to be a manipulative slut; and maybe I was meant to just be a whore. But, Mack, your whiny, sniveling whore of a sister is still smart enough to know that you won’t live to see the end of the night. And I’d rather be a smart whore than a dead dick.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” he said, stomping over to me.

  “Or what? You gonna hit me?” I said, narrowing my eyes at him. “You’ll never have a better chance than this!” I offered, rattling my chains for effect. “But remember this: you will never be able to do a thing to me that will match what’s already been done—not one… damn… thing!” I saw him shiver, his lip tremble, and his eyes drifted back to my chest. This time, I didn’t bother trying to hide my assets from his view. Instead, I grinned. “Were you always this disgusting?” I asked. “Was it just the prison sentence and the idea of sending your sister off to a street corner that did this to you? Or were you always like this?” I forced a cackle for effect. “Oh my… when we were kids did you used to lie awake in your bedroom and—”