Killing Mary Jane: A Dark Romantic Thriller

by Amarie Avant

  9

  Music streamed from the speakers of the gazebo. With eyes closed, Beasley lay back on the jets of the hot tub as Diamond, the current queen of his mansion, massaged his temples.

  “You have an unknown text,” said the dark beauty with a short-cropped afro.

  Beasley licked his lips as she handed him a plush towel from the side of the jacuzzi. He held it up and wiped his hands. She then handed over the iPhone.

  UNKNOWN: How is my girl?

  Chewing hard on his bottom lip, Beasley considered how to answer. She’s good. She’s okay. Fuck, what should he say? Mary Jane was gone!

  BEASLEY: OK.

  UNKNOWN: Comfortable in her cage? Waiting for me to come save her. (Smile Emoji)

  His jaw tightened. He glanced around. Diamond’s gaze found the ground. She was aware of her owner’s discomfort. Beasley continued to consider what to tell the man. Mary Jane wasn’t like the others. She wasn’t given to Beasley to work at The Petting Zoo. But when Beasley laid eyes on Mary Jane, she did things to him, like made his cock salute her. No, he’d never touched her. Touching her sexually or inflicting too much pain would be his death. He still regretted choking her out two days ago. That was the most pain he’d ever inflicted on her. Fuck no, he wouldn’t allow anyone besides Jake to place a hand on her. Despite all the threats to her life, she was worth too much. She wasn’t his whore.

  BEASLEY: She’s not in the cage. It hasn’t been a full month.

  His breathing came in sharp pants as he awaited a response. The man who owned Mary Jane had not one but two islands, a slew of mansions around the world, and exotic cars. She was just one of his expensive toys, but Beasley knew he loved each of his toys.

  UNKNOWN: You’re right. See you next week then.

  Beasley’s lungs began to work right again. He handed his iPhone back to Diamond. She reached over and placed it away from the ledge of the jacuzzi. He controlled his nerves as he lay back into position for her to rub his temples again.

  I must find this woman and bring her back, Beasley thought.

  His heartbeat skyrocketed. With one flick of the wrist, the magic Diamond worked into his psyche stopped. His swim trunks puffed up like a blimp from the force of the jets as he stood.

  Beasley looked at Diamond. Mary Jane should’ve taken her spot at The Petting Zoo tonight. He was given both girls around the same time. Diamond had come a little over a month ago. And he owned her. Mary Jane arrived about a week after. She was owned by another. She wasn’t supposed to be in his club, but what was the use of having such a beautiful woman rotting away in a cage?

  His plans were to have Mary Jane strut her pussy around his club. He could just let the boys get a good sniff, make some money, and then lock her ass in the cage before her owner arrived. Diamond would once again return to The Petting Zoo and follow the normal rotation in Beasley’s operation. After all, his clientele had a diverse palate, so what was the trouble with having Mary Jane at the club for a few days? No touching, just looking. Shit, that mindset had gotten him into this mess. He was already going to be in hot water for using Mary Jane for advertisement, if her owner only knew.

  He should have prepared her, and then placed her in the cage like he’d been told. Forget the good following at The Petting Zoo. His club was a fairly lucrative side hobby compared to the money coming in from his real job.

  “I have business to attend to,” he said. “Diamond, you do too. While we’re waiting on MJ to come home, you head to The Petting Zoo and keep the guys satisfied.”

  Before he could turn away and climb the steps, he noticed the annoyance smeared across her face. His spine tingled. He waded back over. His fingers went to the beautiful bone structure of her cheek. He rubbed it softly, knowing she didn’t want to strip. Diamond had a good life here. He had a fondness for Diamond, and with Mary Jane in her position for a few shows—while Mary Jane’s owner was away—Diamond had gotten comfortable playing house. She stayed in the fifteen-hundred-square-foot bedroom and could purchase any designer item she fancied. Little did she know, that even when Mary Jane returned to her cage, Diamond would have to return to The Petting Zoo. It was a no-brainer. He shuffled his whores when needed. Beasley had only wanted MJ as a trophy for the first few weeks of the month, then he planned to keep her locked up for her owner.

  His fingernails dug into Diamond’s cheeks until pinpricks of blood dripped from around his nails and mixed with the water on her chocolate-colored skin. “Are you going to take the prime-time shift at The Petting Zoo this evening?”

  “Yes.” She nodded as her breath escaped through gritted teeth.

  “You know I love you, Diamond, because I asked, right?” His hand slipped from her raw skin where he’d scraped his nails into her. Can’t ruin that pretty face. They call her “The Diamond in the Rough,” such an innocent young woman. His hand stopped on her neck, but then he thought better of squeezing the life source.

  Knowing her error, she spoke meekly. “Yes, you love me.”

  “That’s right.” His hand rested at his side. “Get ready, then rally up the men. Grab my box, and y’all join me in the meeting room in twenty minutes. Oh, and have them situated with a glass of Dom. We’ll have ourselves a little pep talk—and give them a good reason to search harder for MJ—before you head over to the club.”

  She nodded and rushed past him to pick up the towel draped over the handrail. He watched her pretty, slender feet as she scurried down the stairs of the gazebo. She was cautious around his two beloved Rottweilers. Knight and King growled, their muscles bulging as they stood in a wide-legged stance, pulling at their restraints. The sound of chains being tugged from the stucco building made her pretty feet move faster.

  Beasley smiled, thinking of the time the chains had broken. He’d lost his moneymaker that night, but the sight of her death had left him excited for days. Flesh ripping from bones, blood squirting all over the patio.

  10

  Hands on top of her head, Mary Jane mentally counted backward from twenty. Just ruminating about breaking every limb of Wulf’s body had her nerve endings on fire. She’d start with dislocating his extremities—pecker included. Yeah, that’s a pretty image.

  An almost naked, unconscious Wulf sat in a wooden chair, tied with torn linen straps around the waist and ankles. It had been a feat to get the stocky man onto the seat. His arms were bound behind his back, and the smelly sock he’d worn yesterday was lodged in his mouth. Head cast downward, blood traveled from his forehead to his cheek, and dripped onto his masculine chest. It all made her feel good when she just wanted to be bad.

  She should’ve gotten him dressed. Mary Jane’s eyes locked on his face. After cold-cocking him when he exited the bathroom, she’d tied him up without dressing him. Her eyes flickered away from his washboard abs in anger. Even the dumbest cop knew rule number one. While undercover or running away from psychos like Beasley, no phone calls. The call could be traced.

  “So you tried to double-cross me while taking a shower?” she mumbled.

  Eyes narrowed, Mary Jane knew that she’d given him the best time of his entire life last night. Soon as he awakened, she’d serve the officer his balls on a platter. No other bloody mess. No other broken body parts—just his two wee friends decorating the top of a simple plate.

  Looking around the room, she noticed that this option would not work, as there were no platters in sight. Her eyes stopped on the dreamcatcher artistically displayed over the bed. Hmmm, dangling balls, that’s a thought. He thought he’d use her. Well, she’d use him.

  Holding a straight razor that she’d nabbed from a trucker eating breakfast at the diner, Mary Jane patiently waited for Wulf to awaken. Then the carving party could commence.

  “Grmmm,” Wulf mumbled.

  She glared at him. Standing up from the foot of the bed, she sauntered over. Placing the razor at his throat, she caressed the flat part of the blade against his carotid artery. In a soft voice, she said, “Wulf, I thought we were fri
ends. I don’t give myself away freely, but it seems you’ve been a bad boy.”

  “Grrr,” he growled.

  “Calm down.” She paced back and forth and told him the rules. “Now, when I take the sock away, all I want to know is who you contacted. If you decide to insult me, as you’ve done so many times, I will slit your throat. If you decide to talk about anything other than what I’m inquiring about, I will slit your throat. And, because I desire to spare the life of the man I’ve been most intimate with, I will be kind enough to also add that if you scream, I will, of course, only be obliged to slit your motherfucking throat.” She stopped right in front of him and again taunted him with the razor. “Got it?”

  She removed the straight razor from his throat and he nodded.

  “I thought so, Wulf. You seem to thrive on rules and regulations. Now, let’s get started.” She pulled the sock from his mouth.

  He gagged and gulped.

  “C’mon, Wulf, my time is precious. What happened to the man I met last night? That’s the last time I sleep with the enemy. Get to talking!”

  “Okay, okay,” he sputtered as she gave his neck a prick. Blood instantly pooled in the quarter-inch slit. “I called my old partner from the LAPD, Quincy Jones.”

  Her eyebrows furrowed. The name sounded familiar.

  “Don’t look at me like that. It’s not a joke. And he’s not Quincy Jones, the producer.” He spoke quickly. “Just check my cell phone.”

  How cute and innocent he looked when he was scared. “Not necessary, Wulf. I heard your entire call through the paper-thin walls.” She closed the straight razor. “I also destroyed your phone.”

  Before he could protest, she shoved the sock back into his mouth.

  “Beasley may have the means to track your cell phone.” She gave him an incredulous look. “You’re only a small-town cop, so I don’t expect you to have the same training as I do. Fortunately, I checked it prior to disposal.”

  Irritation was written all over that gorgeous face of his.

  “Wulf, I am a secret agent. When my mission is complete, you can bet your ass that you will be thoroughly dealt with.” She pulled on a diner T-shirt much larger than the one she’d worn the day before and the same skintight jeans. After slipping on her boots, she walked out, slamming the door behind her.

  In the sweltering air outside, Mary Jane placed a cowgirl hat on her head. She lingered at the door, reluctant to go.

  “Adios, Wulf,” Mary Jane mumbled, mentally forcing herself not to feel a thing for him. Leaving him alone was good enough for her sanity.

  While walking to the diner last night, she’d checked through her pockets and clothing, finding a phone number slipped into the crevice of her left boot heel. She slipped inside the stuffy lobby and sauntered toward some pimple-faced attendant.

  He instantly perked up and placed his Spider-Man collector’s comic book on the table. “MJ, we have a continental breakfast. It’s not really continental, because all of it comes from this continent. This crummy town really, but we have hot chocolate,” he jabbered, opening the partition that separated them to walk over to the table. She put her hand up, and he instantly stopped mentioning the menu, shamefully reclosed the latch.

  Mary Jane smiled, glancing at his nametag. “Hi, Glenn.”

  “You remembered my name!” he exclaimed.

  “Yes, Glenn.” Mary Jane nodded. She slipped the phone number out of her pocket and onto the table. “How could I forget about you? I need to use your phone.”

  Glenn pepped up at her comment and went back to chattering. “Mary Jane, you’re like the baddest chick ever. I’m kinda supposed to call the police on you, though.”

  Her eyes widened. “Come again?”

  “I’ll show you,” Glenn said.

  With hands on her hips, she waited. Watching his every move, she had no qualms with beating up a kid who couldn’t even vote for the president yet. But instead of picking up the phone, Glenn’s hands went to the tiny television on the counter. He slowly turned it around.

  “The sound keeps going out,” Glenn said. “So I have it muted.”

  Mary Jane read the tiny stream of words at the bottom of the news station. On the screen was a photo of Wulf in his standard uniform and a camcorder high angle close-up shot of Mary Jane from the jailhouse. It had to have been a cropped frame from when Wulf was escorting her to the exit prior to her taking his gun. On the bottom of the screen the newsfeed read:

  Santo Cruces City cop goes on shooting rampage with stripper, murdering the pastor and first lady of Santo Cruces City Friendship Church and five other parishioners. The current total dead count is seven.

  Her mouth tensed. The pastor and his wife didn’t deserve to die. It took her a moment to calm her frazzled nerves, then Mary Jane looked Glenn square in the eyes. “That’s not me.”

  Glenn’s head cocked to the side. “That’s not you?”

  When she reiterated, his head cocked to the exit. Through the sun’s glare against the window, she noticed a man headed toward the door. Glenn motioned for her to come behind the counter. She hurried through. On her tiptoes, she pivoted inside the door that read Employees Only and flicked on the light as Glenn closed the door. In two seconds, she’d taken in her surroundings—an old couch and an out-of-order vending machine. To her side, a hallway led toward the restroom.

  Mary Jane’s ear went to the cool, chip-painted door.

  “Mornin’.” The voice on the other side was deep and strong.

  “Good morning, sir.” The soft, nervous voice had to belong to Glenn. “Do you need a room today? We usually don’t open for check-in until the afternoon.”

  “What do we have here? Hmmm. Have you seen the woman on this television?”

  “Yes.”

  Mary Jane’s eyes widened. I could have snapped your scrawny neck with ease!

  “Where is she?” the deep voice asked.

  “On the TV.” Glenn laughed.

  The left side of her lip curved toward the dust-bunny ceiling. At the sound of a fist pounding the counter, Mary Jane jerked slightly.

  “Are you alone, boy?”

  Glenn didn’t miss a beat. “Yes.”

  Moments passed. “Are you lying to me, boy?”

  “No, sir.”

  Mary Jane stepped away from the door. She panted heavily, but she couldn’t save Glenn. She jogged down the hall and into the unisex, one-stall bathroom. It smelled of piss and mild disinfectant. Stepping past a mirror smeared with dust and dotted with water spots, she found a rectangular window. Pushing up the glass, she climbed out.

  On the side of the building, she waited for the man to exit. There were no shots fired or Glenn’s high-pitched voice, so she assumed the stranger had dealt cleanly with him or left him alive.

  She watched the man dressed in leather studs and with a thick beard walk out of the lobby door. He stalked toward the driver’s side of a blue F-250.

  She turned around to go in the opposite direction, but a man blocked her way. A thin, tall man with the same features as the stranger who had just asked about her in the lobby. Before she could sidestep him, she was cold-cocked on her temple.

  Karma.

  11

  Wulf slowly stood to his feet and rammed backward into the wall. Again, he pushed back against the wall. The top of the chair slammed into his shoulders with each hit. The legs finally snapped at the seat base. Still confined at the arms, Wulf cursed himself for giving into Mary Jane’s bedroom eyes. He cursed her existence while freeing himself.

  Wulf kicked away the piece of wood. His tense lips twitched as he pulled a splinter of wood from his left forearm. He slipped on his undershirt then pulled on his uniform pants and shirt. In the bathroom, he yanked his boots out of the toilet bowl.

  “I’m going to kill her,” he muttered, turning the boots over and watching the water pour out. The minion could no more be a secret agent than a menace to society.

  Seated on the bed, Wulf put on his socks. The one sh
e’d stuffed in his mouth was soggy. The boots squeaked as he pulled into them. On his way out of the room, Wulf mulled over his move from Los Angeles. Only a woman. He cursed his luck.

  The second he turned around, it seemed his luck may have changed. About sixty yards away, Mary Jane was climbing out of a tiny window. He opened his mouth to curse, but the words lodged in his throat. A male, approximately six and a half feet tall in overalls pistol-whipped Mary Jane on the temple. Every nerve in his body set on fire.

  “Get the fuck away from her!” Wulf shouted, sprinting at top speed.

  The thin man tossed Mary Jane over his shoulder so quickly that her head bounced on the back of his leather vest. She lolled unconscious as he ran to a waiting truck. A Ford. Beasley!

  Mary Jane was tossed into the bed of the truck, and the man hopped into the passenger seat. Just as the door closed, Wulf lunged himself toward the truck. But there was another huge man in the driver’s seat. Wulf breathed in the putrid exhaust smoke as the truck skirted off, over the curb and into oncoming traffic.

  “MJ!” he yelled but she didn’t get up. If they were in an accident, she’d be tossed from the back and killed.

  Wulf backtracked toward Tobias’s truck.

  “Keys! Shit, I hot-wired it.”

  He bent down to look at the mess. Mary Jane or maybe her abductors had cut all the wires. The colorful coiled wires were spaghetti heaped on the floor.

  “Sir?” The soft voice made Wulf glare. “If you, um, come with me, we can save Mary Jane.”

  Wulf eyed the attendant. “Magic boy?”

  “Uh, Glenn. Just come with me. All right?”

  Wulf stood up, slammed the door, and they ran toward a souped-up Grand National. Instead of wondering why Glenn drove such a muscle car, Wulf hopped in the passenger seat.

  His body jerked forward as Glenn slammed on the gas, going into reverse. Then his body went backward, the seat belt barely holding him as Glenn began to drive. Jet fast.