by Sadie Grubor
Felix's voice pulls both our attention to him.
"Did you think a whore would be my undoing?" he shouts, moving closer to Gio.
"Felix, I don't know what she—"
A second shot from his gun drives a bullet into Gio's left knee. His shrieks of pain pierce the air as my eyes shift to Mei once more. The corner of her lips twitch, but I'm unsure whether she wants to cringe or smile.
"The only words I want to hear from your mouth will be ones begging for your life," Felix shouts, spit spraying Gio's face, adding to the tears coating his cheeks. Straightening, Felix looks around the room.
"Anyone else want to challenge me?" He meets each man's eyes, pointing the gun at them to emphasize his question.
When they land on me, he motions to the moaning Gio. "Saint," he says, addressing me by my feared nickname, "he's yours."
The creature inside me, the culmination of every dark urge lingering in my deepest parts, roars to life, my eyes zeroing in on my prey. Injured and easily captured is my usual preference, but I won't walk away. I can't. I've been groomed and shaped into this demon that haunts the dreams of criminals and psychopaths—their own living, breathing nightmare.
Stalking over, I unsheathe my knife with my left hand, grab him by the back of his jacket, and drag him out of the room. Most look away, but the heavy weight of one set burns into me, causing me to glance over my shoulder. The curiosity and desire lighting her face is almost enough to make me forget the traitor begging Felix to listen to him, but the creature will not be denied his prey, regardless of how drawn I am to feed off the darkness in her.
Mei
I wait for the scream, the shock, to come, but it doesn't. Instead, I close my eyes and travel back to the Victorian style house. To the room beyond his study, beyond the doll room, beyond the place where I was designed and corrupted. I remember the books, the drawings and pictures—a place I would continue to sneak into whenever I could…until that day.
"Please, let me out," she cries from the toy box.
"You want to play?" I ask, thrilled to have a doll who can talk.
She falls silent for a long time—so long, disappointment washes through me.
"Yes," she finally answers, my excitement growing once more. "But I can't play in here."
Rushing to the toy box, I push on the lid.
"Do you see a key? You need a key," she starts to cry.
Squatting down, I glance through the small opening between the slats. Her face is wrong. She's too dark. Her eyes widen at the sight of me.
"Oh my God," she gasps, tears pouring from her eyes. "You're just a baby."
"I'm not a baby," I argue, crossing my arms over my chest.
"You're right. I'm sorry." She wipes at her cheeks, brushing away tears.
"Why are you crying?"
"I want us to play and I can't get out," she explains.
My eyes move to the large silver lock.
Glancing around the room, I find a wall of little hooks and keys.
"I'll get you out," I shout, eager to play with a new doll.
Jumping up, I run to the keys and hop until I get some to fall. Carrying them over, I start trying different keys, until one fits and opens the lock.
"I did it!" I shove the lid open.
The doll rises, grabbing the sides of the box to steady herself.
"Let's play," I shout, clapping.
Climbing out of the box, the doll rubs her face and runs for the door.
"Hey," I shout, following after her. "You said you would play."
In the large play room, she stops, turning in a circle. Tears still stream over her cheeks.
"What…what is this?" she asks, her voice nothing more than a whisper.
"Our dolls," I explain, smiling proudly.
"Oh my God," she gasps, then thrusts her hands under my arms to lift me.
"I like that you can play back with me," I tell her, wrapping my arms around her neck. "The others don't talk or move."
"What?" The doll pulls back, studying my face.
"Some can blink, though," I brag.
Her hold on me tightens and breathing becomes difficult. Then, she spins and runs from the room.
"The dolls have to stay in the play room," I protest.
Still in her arms, I squirm and shove to get free.
Inside my father's study, my efforts become too much for her and she places me on my feet.
Lifting my head, I watch her scan the room.
Unsure what she's looking for, I take her hand and try to pull her back into the play room.
"We aren't allowed to–"
"Let's play outside," she suggests.
Shaking my head, I explain again, "We aren't allowed."
"Can't we make an exception, since I can…" she closes her eyes, taking a deep breath, "talk and play back?"
Her eyes open, staring down at me, and I bite my lip, knowing it's wrong, but the excitement is too much. Grasping her arm, I pull her behind me and show her the outside.
I'd had no idea what that day would bring, what I would learn about my family…myself. That I would learn how wrong it was, how wrong I was…about everything.
Felix's angry words drag me away from the memory, but also call to the evil lurking inside. It feeds off the scent of blood and fear pouring from Gio.
Opening my eyes, I can't help but focus on Vicky. Her once perfectly lined red lips are smeared and gaping. Her jaw is slack and skewed, her head tilted slightly to the right. The shining golden hair fanned out around her head grows darker, redder.
Vicky's blood is darker than the dolls, and he would never mess up her face. There are other ways—cleaner, prettier ways.
The second gunshot sends a rush of ecstasy coursing through my veins, but it's Felix's next words that change everything.
"Saint, he's yours."
The room falls silent as the large man standing to the right of the chair straightens to his full height.
Glancing at the men on the other side of the room, there is a mixture of knowing and fear on their faces. The air grows thicker, a dense collection of horror and anticipation. My skin tingles, prickling with the dark excitement tonight's events have unleashed.
Without any further hesitation, this man, Saint, slips a long knife from his jacket. Moving with purpose and certainty, he fists Gio's collar, dragging him out of the chair and to the floor.
"Felix, please," he begs, causing Saint to tighten his collar until it chokes off his airway.
Malevolence vibrates in his wake, causing others to sit straighter, to look and lean away from him as he passes, but not me. No, I can't tear my eyes from this dark figure. When he turns and our eyes meet, I recognize the uninhibited excitement. Every sin, every lie, every depraved thought dances beneath my skin, begging for me to follow the creature calling from behind his eyes. When he turns away, disappearing through the doorway, the muscles in my thighs tense, wanting to follow.
"Now," Felix waves toward Vicky, "dispose of that," he orders, his eyes fixating on me.
Gun still in his hand and blood spattered across the lapels of his expensive suit, chin, and white dress shirt near his neck, he approaches. Covered in red.
Slipping from the arm of the chair, I stand, putting the chair between us.
At my movement, he stops.
"No one is going to hurt you," he says.
Dropping my eyes from his face to the gun in his hand, I grip the back of the leather chair.
"I wouldn't hurt you," he reassures.
I glance to Vicky's lifeless, twisted body, then back to his face.
He furrows his brow.
"Come here," he calls to me.
Planting my feet, I tense, preparing to use the chair as a shield if necessary.
With a sigh, he lifts the gun out to his side and shakes it.
A large man in a dark suit steps forward, taking the weapon.
"There," he offers me his empty hands, palms up, "better?"
Befor
e he forces me to respond, the large man clears his throat.
"What is it, Nico?" Felix asks in annoyance, his eyes staying on me.
Nico pulls a white handkerchief from his pocket and holds it to him.
Felix's eyes move and focus on the white fabric, but before he can reach out, Tricia, who had been on Gio's lap, appears at his side.
Taking the cloth, she brings it close to his chin, but doesn't touch him. He briefly studies her face before nodding. At his silent permission, she cleans away the blood.
"Everyone out," he commands.
Advancing on Tricia, she drops her hand away and steps back, preparing to follow his orders, but he moves, blocking her.
"You stay," he states, grabbing her bicep. I move with the rest of the crowd toward the exit, but pause at the door, glancing back.
Relaxing his grip, Felix slides his fingers down her arm until he reaches her hand. Taking the white cloth, he moves to stand in front of her once more.
"Open," he commands, his voice deep, restrained.
Tricia parts her lips, but barely in enough time before he shoves the blood-stained handkerchief into her mouth and twists her torso, pushing her over the side of a chair so hard, the legs screech against the tiled floor. Her face contorts as she cries out, though the cloth muffles the sound.
In flurry of movement, he moves in behind her, undoing his pants. Tearing the micro skirt away, her body jerks. Tricia's head comes up on a stifled yelp, and the fear in her eyes turns to regret the moment her thong is yanked out of his way.
Nico appears, blocking the scene and using the size of his body to force me into the hallway. He closes the door behind us, but not before I hear Tricia once more.
Her cry is soft, pitiful, and no matter how much of a bitch she's been, I can't help but take a step forward, wanting to help her. But Nico stands guard at the closed door, not letting me pass. His meaty hand grips my shoulder, causing our eyes to lock in a silent battle of will.
"Mei," Natasha says, wrapping her arm in mine, "come," she whispers, pulling me away from the room.
"Tricia…?"
"Made her choice," Natasha states, leading us to the dressing room. "She knew exactly what she was getting into with Felix."
I want to ask why, but I know why. Felix's attention is exactly what Tricia thought she wanted, and I can't help but wonder if she still feels that way.
I don't. It was stupid to even consider these men an out, an escape. In reality, it's simply choosing which cage you want. The dark seedy, rusty cage I currently find myself in, or the gilded cage of a mafia mistress.
Vicky's broken body flashes in my mind. Giving myself a mental shake, I focus on getting back to the dressing room, collecting my shit, and getting the fuck out of here.
As soon as we enter the room, Natalia grabs my bag and starts helping me pack. I furrow my brows, following her actions. Glancing up, she catches my questioning look and shakes her head.
"I overheard Joey," she says, setting my bag on a chair and meeting my eyes. "Saint wants you."
Mouth now dry, I swallow twice.
"Out of all the men, you don't want Saint," she explains, her eyes pleading for me to understand.
I want to shout at her, tell her I don't want any of them, that she's just as much the fool for getting involved with these men, but I don't. Mistaking my silence, she grabs my hands, squeezing them.
"Every man in that room fears him for a reason, Mei," she says, her accent always making my name sound rougher. "Even Felix would cower if faced with Saint."
"Why?" My curiosity wins out. Though I saw his darkness, I know why they are afraid.
"He's sick," she spits out. "I've seen some of the things he's done. He's their butcher—the hired killer no one wants to cross. The last time he requested a girl…" she pauses, "we never saw or heard from her again."
I swallow once more—only, this time, I'm swallowing my shame. The excitement I felt in that room, surrounded by menace and death. The way my body reacted to a man so dangerously dark and deadly. Dropping my face, I shove the last of my things into my bag, not wanting her to see what lives inside me.
"You don't have time to change," she says, throwing a long coat at me.
Wrapping it over my shoulders, I secure the buttons, throw my bag over my shoulder, and run from the room.
At the exit, I come face to face with Joey.
His eyes, hard and set, search my face before softening.
"Go, Mei, and don't come back for a few days," he says on a sigh, shoving the door open, aiding my escape. "You got lucky tonight, but just in case, you need to stay away from here. If you were smart, you wouldn't come back at all."
I hesitate a moment too long, and he shouts, "Damn it, Mei, go!"
Instead of my usual bus stop, I power walk three blocks before hailing a cab back to my apartment—where I lock myself inside, leave all my lights off, and try to shower away the desire and shame.
Climbing into bed, I mentally calculate my savings and contemplate running. I have enough to do it. To find a new dirty city and hidden away strip club, but these aren't the kind of men to give up. No matter where I go, they'd eventually find me and deal with their loose end—and I'm not done in this place yet.
Burying my face into my worn pillow, I scream.
He won't give up.
They won't let me disappear.
Always the hunted, the prey.
Rolling back over, I allow a few tears to fall, vowing they will be my last as I stare at the stained ceiling in the darkness.
No more. If they want me, they can come find me. I won't give up, not without a fight. I won't make it easy.
Shoving the covers away from my body, I climb out of bed and move to the mirror on my wall. There's just enough light from the street lamps to make out the pale face in the mirror.
It's time to accept the fact that the girl I was is gone. It's time for the blonde hair, green-eyed women staring back to become me, and for me to get comfortable behind this mask.
Pressing my palms against the wall on either side of the mirror, I lean closer and focus on my reflection. "You will no longer be the prey. You are Meissa Winters, stripper, whore, survivor."
Saint
"What do you mean she's gone?" I try to keep my voice level, calm, though I'm feeling anything but when Joey returns without the blonde.
"By the time I got to the dressing room, she was gone," he repeats.
"Where does she live?" I ask through clenched teeth, slipping my arms back into my white dress shirt.
"How the fuck should—?" he begins, before remembering whom he's speaking to.
Pausing on the third button up, I glance to him and raise one brow, and his tone changes quickly.
"I mean, I don't know."
"Christ," I growl, snagging my tie and black suit jacket from the wall hook as I charge from the room.
"What am I supposed to do about—?" He motions to the carnage behind me.
Gio proved to be an excellent outlet for my needs. Now, I just need to get my hands on the tiny little blonde to ease this new curiosity and suspicion.
"Call the cleaner," I shout, not letting him finish.
Loud thumping permeates through the VIP room door where Nico stands guard. "He's busy," he informs on a strangled rasp.
Knowing Nico would put his life on the line before disobeying Felix, I pause and let my eyes wander to the thick, jagged scar running across his neck. A wound inflicted during an attempt on Felix's life and forever altering Nico's vocal chords is a testament to his loyalty.
The thumps begin to increase in volume and frequency as a woman's voice calls out. "I want it," she shouts. "Yes, do—" she cuts off on a strangled gurgle as Felix groans.
"Sounds like the fun is over." I nod to the door.
Moving aside, he knocks three times, pauses, then two hard thumps. It's the code to tell Felix who's at the door—my code.
"Come in," Felix responds, and Nico opens the door, wavi
ng me in.
I have to give him credit. He's loyal as fuck and follows procedure regardless of what I could do to him.
The smells of sex and cigars filter through the space. Felix lounges in the leather chair, pants pulled up but his fly and dress shirt still undone.
"Finished so soon?" he asks, placing his cigar between his lips.
"I could say the same for you," I taunt.
He grins, glancing down at the crumpled woman on the floor.
My eyes follow the same path, waiting to see if she shows any signs of life, his tie dangling from her neck and red marks decorating her back.
"Christ, Felix, is she even fucking breathing?"
"Of course," he abolishes the very idea, like he hasn't done it before.
Leaning forward, he grabs her chin, pulling her up to her knees. She clasps his forearm with thin, shaking fingers, her chest rising and falling in quick succession, bruises already starting to form on her thighs.
"She's a good girl," he praises, placing a kiss to her forehead before releasing her face.
The woman rests her cheek against his knee.
"Joey's calling in the cleaner," I tell him. "I've got some business to attend to."
"Does this business have anything to do with the sexy little blonde I had in my lap earlier?" He drags from his cigar before continuing. "You're losing your touch, Saint."
I scowl, causing him to chuckle.
"You think I didn't notice the way you watched her?" he presses, and I remain silent. “It only made me want her more." On his confession, I tense.
"Then where is she?" I ask, spiteful.
Felix may be a boss, but his easily sidetracked dick puts blinders on him.
"She couldn't handle things," he releases a white cloud of smoke, "and this one," keeping his eyes on me, he runs his hand over her head, "stepped up to play."
"Too bad you weren't watching the other blonde as well as me," I insult. "Maybe you would've caught the same odd behaviors I did."
Felix laughs, until he sees my face. His smile falls. Shoving the woman from his leg, he stands. With only a foot between us, he narrows his eyes on mine.
"Where is she?" he asks, finally catching on.
