IMPERFECT MONSTER

by Jennifer Bene

  “And the Martinez brothers?”

  “Here to slit throats or blow shit up.” I shrugged as I leaned against the sink again. “It’s sort of their deal.”

  “What’s the meeting for, Andre?” he asked, and in as few quiet words as I could, I explained what Paulo had said about the changes south of the border. Nathan’s constant smoking wasn’t helping my nerves, but I spelled it all out, feeling the hum of possibility once again. The chance that this could be over soon, that I could get out. Leave Hell like I’d finally done my penance.

  “As soon as I know the location and the date, I’ll reach out.”

  “You better, this could be it.” Nathan was practically salivating on the other end of the line and I nodded, looking up at the ceiling feeling hope for the first time in… fuck, God only knew when.

  Could this shit really almost be over?

  All of the peace and warmth inside me suddenly stuttered. Nicky. What would happen to her? Would she go with me? Flinching, I rubbed my fingers into my eyes, trying to ease the headache. “Listen, Nathan, about the girl…”

  “Don’t, Andre. We’re not risking this over some random girl, I don’t care how hot she is.”

  “She’s innocent, Nathan.”

  “So? If she’s at Paulo García’s house then she’s probably not as innocent as you think. Stop thinking with your dick and focus on the goal. Taking him down and his contacts in South America. This is it, Andre. Everything we’ve worked for.”

  We. As if Nathan had been the one that had worked his way up through Paulo’s ranks. As if he had been the one to torture men, to use his fists, to pull the trigger. Over, and over, and over. I growled, feeling the black rage eat away the momentary flash of hope I’d felt.

  I wasn’t going anywhere without Nicky. I wouldn’t leave her to the wolves. Not even if it meant getting out.

  “Either she’s secure, or I don’t make the move when the time comes.”

  “God dammit, Andre!” Nathan shouted, his own anger flashing across the line in a series of muttered curses interspersed with rough drags on the cigarette. “You have a fucking job to do. THIS is your fucking job, not some girl whoring around García’s house—”

  “Her fucking name is Nicky and she isn’t a whore. He’s got her imprisoned here because her brother made a deal that went south.” I rubbed a hand over my face, feeling the scratch of my beard growth as I tried to contain the rage, to push down the black that wanted me to ruin everything just to spite him. “Either she is safe, or I don’t play the game. That’s the deal on the table.”

  “There’s no fucking deal, Andre. You report to me, and if you want to keep your badge when this shit is over, and have the department’s support when you’re testifying to all the shit you’ve done undercover, then you’re going to do whatever I tell you to.” Nathan’s voice was dangerously soft, and the black washed through me, turning me cold.

  “That’s how it is?”

  Nathan laughed. “Yeah, Andre, that’s how it fucking is. You knew going into this what it was, it’s not my fault you got a hard on for some random bitch in his house.”

  “If something happens to her, I’m going to make sure everyone knows that I told you about this. About an innocent girl being imprisoned and hurt because you wouldn’t act.” As I spoke I tried not to think the word killed. Just the idea of finding her dead, of knowing I could have done something… I’d never come back from that. I’d kill everyone involved — Nathan included.

  “Then figure out how to take Paulo and his connections down before something happens to her. I expect a call soon with whatever details you’re able to get. Understand?”

  “Yeah, I got it.” I wanted him to hear the rage in my voice, the threat. “I gotta go.”

  “Me too. I’ll get a team ready to move and update my superiors. You just do your job.” Nathan was already losing focus on the conversation, but my thoughts were completely centered on the innocent, naked girl in my bed.

  “Sure. Ciao.” I hung up before I did something stupid like threaten him outright. I’d probably already crossed a line trying to give him an ultimatum, but I didn’t give a shit. Thirty-one months of my life, and three days with Nicky, and none of it mattered to him.

  He didn’t care about the black marks on my soul. The stains that I could never wash clean.

  I was probably damned, doomed, all so that we could stop Paulo García and whoever the fuck was taking over the supply chain from Columbia. Which felt so fucking pointless, because someone would just step in to fill the openings, to feed the needs of the US. Sure, they’d be weakened for a while, but it was a never-ending war. One I was tired of being on the front lines for… and Nicky didn’t deserve to be here.

  She’d just wanted to save her brother. To keep that idiot from getting killed, and now she was trapped here. Trapped with every fucking monster in this house… myself included.

  If I were a good man I’d stop touching her, stop hurting her, stop fucking her.

  But I wasn’t a good man, and as I tightened my grip on the phone in my hand all I could think about was crawling back into bed with her to soak up as much of her warmth as I could. To breathe in all of the summer I could from her hair, and hope that it would push the darkness back enough that when the time came I could get her out. Let her go.

  Eighteen

  Nicky

  Sitting on the floor with my plate in my lap, I felt like something less than human. All of the men were sitting at the table, most of them already done eating, as they talked and laughed and made jokes. A good portion of the jokes were about me, and what they would do to me if Andre allowed it.

  I kept my head down, staring at my slice of the frittata the woman had made. A different woman this morning, but she still didn’t look at me. Andre had been the one to give me my plate, my coffee, my fork, my napkin.

  He had woken me up the second time today much more gently, not a word spoken about our early morning fuckfest, or the drunken insanity of the night before. I was sore between my thighs, aching all over like I’d had an intense workout, but he was just… him. The other men laughed and nudged him, and occasionally he would even smile, but it was never the smile I saw.

  The wicked one. The one full of promise and life.

  All of his smiles outside of his bedroom were hollow echoes of the real one. So what game was he playing? I swallowed and picked up the coffee cup, blowing on the surface before I took a sip of the hot, bitter, caffeine-fueled beverage. I needed it. I’d drank myself into oblivion the night before, barely managing to stumble to the door when I became aware of Andre’s fist pounding on the door.

  Everything else was a blur of hands and mouths and tongues and orgasms. Rough sex and oblivion. The morning hadn’t been much different, except I’d been more in control, more aware, but the results had been the same. Me, unconscious in the bed, completely naked, soaking wet and incredibly sore.

  My clit hadn’t had this much attention since I’d binge-watched True Blood with Elise’s login.

  Stabbing my fork into the sausage, I took a bite, catching the grease with my napkin before I wiped my mouth. The food was sinfully delicious. Homemade and not healthy. I was amazed that none of them weighed a thousand pounds, because I sure as hell would if I stayed here. Doing nothing but reading in Andre’s bed and occasionally being fucked into a liquid puddle.

  God dammit. Trying to hide in my hair, I glanced at the men at the table. There were more of them now, ones I didn’t know. Two of them were about the same age, but one was older. Stoic and cold, and he kept looking at me. It was unnerving, because he wasn’t participating in the joking and boasting that the other men were. They talked about conquests, kills, fights they’d been in — and Paulo’s absence was glaring.

  I was relieved, but also concerned. Andre had influence over the others, that was clear. Mostly because they were afraid of him, but there was only one final say in this house… and that was Paulo García. I cursed myself as I took anothe
r bite of food. From the moment I’d arrived at the address, I’d known that this asshole wasn’t some run-of-the-mill dealer that Chris had messed with. To have a place this big, this beautiful, in Miami of all places, meant he had to have a lot of money. Money that came from a lot more drugs than my dumbass baby brother had ever hidden in the trunk of his piece of shit car.

  Everything, fucking everything, was in that envelope I’d brought here. My hopes for a down payment on a house someday, mine and Chris’ financial security — gone in a goddamn blink. The worst part of it was that, as I ate a cold bite of frittata, I didn’t even know if my actions had made a difference. I didn’t know if Chris was alive or dead. The last of my family, the only person I had left in the world that was physically connected to me… and I was failing him.

  If I hadn’t failed him already.

  The thought of him dead in the hospital morgue turned the food in my mouth to ash and ruined the rest of my appetite. I poked and prodded at the rest of it on my plate, listening to the laughter and conversation at the table. A raucous clatter of male voices, each trying to one-up the other, but I hadn’t heard Andre participate.

  In a moment of weakness I looked over at him, finding his gaze already on me, and I saw my own feelings reflected in his expression for just a moment. A convoluted combination of regret and hunger. He wanted me, and I wanted him. We’d fucked too many times, and I couldn’t even pretend I didn’t want it. I’d begged for it, screamed for it, demanded it. Hell, I wanted him even now. Even as I watched him among the other monsters in this house. There was something about him, something more, and I just couldn’t figure out what it was.

  He was gentle with me, speaking softly even when he was saying the most horrible, arousing things. Even when he was fucking me to the point of pain, making me scream, making me choke and cry and beg… he was still careful. All of those muscles, those bruised and bloodied knuckles, could do so much more damage than he’d inflicted upon me.

  And while that definitely wasn’t a love story, it was strangely nice.

  Why hold back? Why tell me about Paulo? Why tell me didn’t want to kill me… even though he never promised not to? This situation was so fucked. In a million different ways, in a hundred different directions. Completely and totally fucked. But when we were alone, it felt right and wrong at the same time. Like puzzle pieces almost fitting, just needing a hard tap to fall in place.

  I just didn’t know what it would take for that click to finally happen, or if that was even possible.

  “You sure I can’t have a little fun?” A man’s voice caught my attention. Too close. I glanced up and saw one of the new men standing near me, looking down with a smirk on his lips. He had light brown hair and a dark tan, his thumbs hooked into the pockets of his jeans as he stared at me like I was on the fucking menu.

  My eyes went to Andre, and I was relieved to see the aggression there. It meant I was safe for now. He wouldn’t agree.

  “I’ll be real sweet to her, I promise,” the man said, grinning wider when I looked up at him.

  “She’s mine, Samuel,” Andre answered. Cold, clear, finite.

  Samuel raised his hands up, laughing as he took a few steps backward. “Alright, alright. I just wanted to see. I don’t need a lesson like Diego.” The man laughed. “How is your face today, cuadro?”

  Diego flipped him off, and I risked a look in his direction. Feeling way too much inner happiness at the swollen, discolored nature of his nose and mouth. José was next to him, and the two of them were talking, but their eyes were moving between me and Andre. Not good.

  “I heard you bought her from Paulo… do you plan to sell her?” The older man finally spoke, and I felt a cold frisson of fear run over my skin. Panic made my mouth dry, my lungs tight, and I stared at Andre, willing him to protect me. To save me again.

  His silence lasted longer than I was comfortable with, long enough for the side-conversations to stutter to a stop as everyone turned their eyes to him.

  “I’ll pay well,” the man added, as if they were already negotiating. Over me.

  Andre wasn’t moving, alarmingly still as he stared down at his plate, and I wanted to speak up for myself but my mouth wouldn’t work. Nothing was working, except for my heart that was trying to beat its way out of my chest. After what seemed like forever, he set his fork down and leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms over his broad chest. Biceps bulging under the sleeves as he stared across the table at the man. “Luis.”

  “I am only asking. I do not mean it as disrespect. If anything…” His eyes moved to me again, trailing over me in a way that made me nauseous. “If anything it is a compliment.”

  Finally, Andre turned and looked at me. Dark eyes boring holes through my skin, but I wanted him to look at me. I wanted him to see me and remember that I was a person. His jaw clenched tight, slipping his hand into his pocket to hold out the key, and then he tilted his head towards the doorway. “Go upstairs. Now.”

  With the weight of too many male stares on me from too many dangerous men, I didn’t hesitate. Setting the plate down on the tile, I pushed myself up from the floor and took the key. Then I practically ran out of the kitchen, grabbing onto the banister of the stairs to haul myself up faster.

  The second I was inside the room I locked every single one of his crazy paranoid locks. Although, it wasn’t being crazy or paranoid to think that any man in the house could kill you. They would kill on Paulo’s orders, they’d do anything on Paulo’s orders.

  Walking back to the bed, I toed my shoes off and climbed back in. It smelled like sex and Andre — as if those were two different scents — and I grabbed onto his pillow and pulled the blankets up over my head. Just like I had when I was a kid, hiding from the monsters under the bed.

  * * *

  Andre

  The moment Nicky’s footsteps faded up the stairs, I took my time to look around the room at each man. I could feel the rage moving inky black through my veins, that low hum in my ears as my blood pressure spiked and adrenaline dumped so that I could beat one of these motherfuckers to death.

  Because apparently the lesson with Diego hadn’t been enough.

  I’d bit my tongue through most of breakfast, trying to ignore their jokes, their comments about taking turns with Nicky. Nicolás and Samuel and José had smoothed each fucked up suggestion with a loud round of laughs. Even Marco had cracked a few jokes, while Diego just talked about how good she’d looked crying with José’s gun in her mouth. Describing it in detail for the brothers.

  The twitch of my cock at that visual had only made me angrier, and then Samuel had actually approached her, and fucking Luis was talking about buying her off me like an old car?

  No. This was going to stop now.

  “I want to make something very clear. The girl is mine.” I moved my stare from Marco to Jose and Diego, and then to Samuel and Nicolás. “I’m not sharing her, I like fucking her. Alone.” Finally, I stared directly across the table at Luis, who I had thought was different, less cold than Paulo — but now their closeness made more sense. It wasn’t just his loyalty, or his work ethic, it was because he was just like him. Just as hollow on the inside, as dark and tainted as every killer in the room. “And I’m not selling her. She is mine. Just mine.”

  “And jefe agreed to this?” Luis asked, not showing a hint of a reaction until one eyebrow lifted a bit. “You going to use that knife, Andre?”

  Glancing down at my hand I saw that I’d picked up the knife I’d been using on the sausage, my thumb stroking across the sharp edge. For a flash I measured the weight of it in my hand, a little too back heavy to make for a good throw, but it’s not like any of the bastards were far away. It wouldn’t have to fly straight for long.

  Be smart. Don’t fuck this up. You’re so close to getting out, and if you can get out, you can get Nicky out too.

  “No. I just like knives.” That wasn’t a lie, I loved knives. Had an entire case of them in the floor of my closet, but I knew
that had nothing to do with why I’d picked up the blade subconsciously. I wanted to hurt them. All of them. But… I couldn’t. It wasn’t even possible to take them all on, and I was sure the brothers were carrying guns anyway, so I pressed the knife back to the table.

  Luis tilted his head, studying me like Paulo always did, but I was skilled in keeping up the mask, the empty expression that made his efforts useless. Luis leaned his elbows on the table. “I asked you what jefe said about your decision to keep her for yourself.”

  “I went to him first, Luis, and he agreed to it. She became mine when I handed over the money to cover her debt.”

  “After he kicked me out of the basement so he could fuck her first.” Diego looked like shit. Bruised, swollen cheek, his nose was a wreck, and I had to fight the urge to smirk at him.

  “I wanted her, cuadro. So I took her.”

  “I was going to fucking take her, you pulled me off her, cabrón! Fuck this!” Standing up, he flipped me off and stormed out of the kitchen, shouting a series of insults over his shoulder. I waited to see if I heard his feet on the stairs, but he’d moved towards the front and I refocused on the more immediate threat.

  Luis sighed, clearly not entertained by Diego’s antics, and his steady gaze returned to me, as if we didn’t have an audience to whatever the fuck this was. I was aware though. José was smirking, Samuel and Nicolás were leaned back on the tall counter, whispering to each other, and Marco was sulking at the far end of the table. That bitter glare that he wore around me all the time now.

  Diego wasn’t the only one throwing a fit over me getting Nicky.

  Grabbing his coffee cup, Luis leaned back, never one to rush his words, and I didn’t want to be having this bullshit discussion anyway so I let the silence stretch. Watching the others in the room, studying José’s amused expression which had all of my instincts pointing to danger.

  It ruined my fucking appetite. Pushing the plate away, I was barely aware when Laura came to take the plate to continue cleaning up. She was purposefully deaf and blind to everything happening, as all of Paulo’s staff were. If I hadn’t been here they could have run a train on Nicky on the tile floor, left her broken and bleeding, and Laura would have just stepped around her to keep picking up. I knew it, because I’d seen it fucking happen.