Dynasty

by Jen Davis et al.

  He spread his arms wide. “It would take more than what Antonio Reyes could dish out to put me down. I was the one who won the fight last night.”

  The old man lifted his cap to rub over the top of his bald head. “You don’t have to tell me. I watched them carry his sorry ass out of here last night on a stretcher. At least you walked out on your own two feet.”

  Yes, Freddy. Build me up.

  “Damn right I did. Might’ve had a bit too much to drink. Made me a little sloppy, but hey, lesson learned, you know?”

  “I figured it had to be something along those lines, Brick. Nothing else makes any sense,” Freddy agreed, buying in deeper to the story with every word. “So where did you get to after the fight?”

  “Buddy of mine showed up. Maybe you saw him. A biker dude.” He paused while Freddy nodded eagerly. “He picked me up. Took me out.” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Between you and me, I barely remember what I did last night. I only remember waking up wearing nothing but a smile…and finding a pink pair of panties on the floor.”

  Freddy whooped. “Nights like those were the best ones of my youth. Enjoy ’em while you can, Brick. Enjoy ’em while you can.”

  He chuckled. “Fucking right, my man. Now, I’d better get my ass home for a shower. I smell like day-old pussy. Did you save my shoes for me?” He gestured to his bare feet and Freddy scurried to his office.

  Handing over the shoes, Freddy patted him on the back. “You’re a lucky bastard.”

  He smiled and turned for the door.

  “Hey, Brick?” He stopped. “Lay off the booze before the match next time. You don’t want folks to get the wrong idea.”

  He lifted his hand in a wave as he made his way out into the street.

  Mission accomplished.

  He texted Liv.

  Brick: Made it home. Will call you later.

  Fishing his keys out of his left shoe, he looped the keyring on his pinkie until he strode up to his apartment. He held his head high and his shoulders, back. There was no room to show weakness. No letting his guard down until he could close the door behind him.

  As he jammed his key in the lock, he could already hear the theme song from The Golden Girls coming from his neighbor’s TV. The guy watched TV Land every weekend. The walls were thin, but he could ignore the noise. He just wanted to collapse in his well-worn recliner.

  Only, someone else already sat there. “Sucre.” Fear skittered up his spine. Forcing himself to appear unconcerned, he pulled his phone from his back pocket and glanced at the screen. “Were you trying to reach me?”

  His boss wore his shiny green suit, one ankle resting on the opposite knee. He looked like a Mexican Wizard of Oz. “Word on the street said you disappeared last night. You didn’t come home. But you didn’t make a run for it.” He lifted the black ornamental cane with the silver handle he had leaning against the chair and tapped the hollow leg of the table. “I knew because you left your precious stash of money here.”

  He choked back the wave of nausea churning with what Sucre’s words revealed. Where had he gone wrong? He’d been so careful. Canned laughter from his neighbor’s TV show filled the short silence.

  “Didn’t think I knew about the money, did you?” The bastard shot him an evil grin. “There’s not much I don’t know about you. I’m a businessman, and you are my business. So, satisfy my curiosity. Where were you last night?”

  Fuck.

  Bullshitting Freddy was one thing. He thought he’d have more time before he’d have to face Sucre. “A friend of mine from my day job picked me up after the fight.”

  His boss steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “The long-haired man with the beard.”

  He prayed it would be the end of the conversation, but he knew Sucre better.

  “Are you fucking him?”

  For a second, he couldn’t even respond. The question stunned him. “Sir?”

  “Are you. Fucking. That biker?”

  “No, sir.”

  Sucre dropped his hands to his lap and began rubbing them together. “I ask because I don’t see you taking advantage of any of our local merchandise. No girls.” He raised his eyebrows. “No boys. I figure you’ve got a side-piece somewhere nobody knows about. A special someone.”

  It took everything he had to hold a neutral expression on his face. “No special someone.”

  “Excellent. Then, I have a little surprise for you.” Sucre snapped his fingers and three nude women walked out of his bathroom. They must have been waiting for the signal. A blonde, a brunette, and a red-head. Of course. “You worked hard for me last night. Let me show you my appreciation.” He gestured to the women. “Pick one.”

  It wasn’t a question. A hundred denials ran through his mind. None of them would hold water with Sucre. The man was trying to prove something. If he turned down the offer, it meant he had something to hide. Once Sucre caught wind of a secret, he would be a dog with a bone until he uncovered it.

  The laugh track from next door felt like fate crowing at his misery.

  He pointed to one of the girls without even looking. “Her. Thanks, boss.” The woman stepped forward, and he started leading her toward the bedroom. Hopefully, he could figure out a way to buy her silence.

  “Ah. Ah. Ah. Now you wouldn’t rob me of the chance to watch you unwrap your present. You can fuck her right here on the couch, no?”

  He couldn’t have sex with another woman.

  He couldn’t.

  Turning down this gift, however, practically shined a spotlight on Olivia. Sucre might not find her today, or even tomorrow, but he wouldn’t stop until he figured out who had stolen his heart. He’d be putting a loaded gun to her head for the rest of her life.

  The girl he’d selected, who he could see now was a buxom brunette with bright red lipstick, rubbed against him. “Maybe just a little blow-job, Papi?”

  His hands moved to his belt, but he froze as bile churned in his stomach. Sucre had broken him in a hundred different ways over the years. Some were big, like the times he’d fucked him to prove he could. Others were subtle—or at least as subtle as Sucre could be—like when the doctors “couldn’t find” his grandma for a couple of hours last year after he’d disagreed with Sucre over how many fingers needed breaking on Paul Franco’s left hand.

  But this? This was, perhaps, the worst cruelty of all.

  He finally had something good in his life. Someone who cared about him. Someone who someday might even love him.

  And Sucre was forcing him to destroy it.

  “No,” he murmured.

  “What did you say?” Sucre narrowed his eyes.

  “I don’t want a blow job. I don’t want a girl. I want to go to sleep.”

  Sucre grabbed the brunette by her upper arm and jerked her back. “Get out,” he hissed. All three women grabbed the clothes piled on the sofa and scrambled out the door. The moment it slammed shut, the boss turned all his venom on him. “Who the fuck do you think I am? Un pinche idiota?” Spittle flew from his lips with the force of his words.

  “No, sir.” He kept his voice calm and even.

  Sucre slammed his walking stick into the old mug Brick had left on the coffee table the day before. It bounced onto the carpet, the handle snapping off in the process. In stages, he drew his rage inward until his face was once again a placid mask. “Give me your phone.”

  On instinct, he did as Sucre commanded. Only then, did he question what might be there for the man to find.

  His boss clenched his teeth as he swiped through the screens.

  No GPS. No contacts. He’d cleared the call history—

  A satisfied smile lit Sucre’s face. “Tell me, Brick, who exactly did you text when you got home?”

  Fuck. Why hadn’t he erased it the second after he sent it?

  He couldn’t think. His ears locked in on the commercial playing the familiar Andy Griffith whistle. None of this felt real. It was some kind of fucked-up nightmare.

 
Only it wasn’t.

  “Cat got your tongue?” Sucre tutted. “Why don’t we call and find out?”

  Before his words could sink in, Sucre had connected the call, and turned on the speaker.

  Please don’t answer. Please don’t answer. Let it go to—shit—not voicemail.

  The phone stopped ringing, but thank fuck, Liv stayed silent.

  “Don’t you want to say hello, Dove?” Sucre’s voice came out syrupy sweet, but his face contorted when Olivia refused to take the bait. He shoved the phone into his pocket. “No me importa. You think you’re so smart. Let’s see what your lover thinks of the real you.” He spun on his heel, then smirked over his shoulder. “It always pays to have insurance, Brick.”

  Abruptly, the TV turned off next door as the slam of his front door echoed in the small living room.

  When had he heard Sucre say those words before?

  Oh fuck.

  He had to get back to Liv’s place before Sucre made his move.

  ***

  Liv

  Liv trembled as she disconnected the call. She had no doubt one of Jonathan’s associates had just tried to figure out who she was.

  Could he trace her through her phone? Should she get out of the apartment?

  She forced her labored breathing to slow. Panic wouldn’t help anything.

  It hadn’t been Tre. She would have known his voice anywhere. And even if Sucre himself had been on the other end of the line, and he was trying to figure out who she was, she hadn’t taken the bait. He couldn’t identify her, and more importantly, he couldn’t find her.

  Still, it wouldn’t hurt to keep a knife from the kitchen next to her on the sofa.

  She texted Will to be on the safe side. He agreed with her conclusions, but he promised to come over anyway. In the meantime, she needed a distraction. The pictures from Amicalola Falls always made her smile. She mirrored her phone onto the TV and scrolled through them. The warm memories soothed a little of the chill seeping into her bones.

  Until a text flashed across the screen. A video?

  She tapped the vidbox and brought it full-screen, then pressed play. The video quality was terrible. Someone obviously had shot it on a dark street, the low light making everything grainy. Still, Jonathan was unmistakable as he charged a smaller man in a torn white T-shirt, standing in front of a non-descript building.

  The guy dropped to his knees, but Jonathan didn’t slow. He held something black in his hand. A crowbar, maybe.

  Her stomach turned as he cracked it over the man’s head.

  Jonathan towered over him, then kicked him hard in the midsection. “Get up.” She could barely hear him, but she understood his growl.

  The man stayed motionless. Even as Jonathan picked him up by the throat. Even as his face grew mangled by one hit after another…after another. His white T-shirt darkened with blood.

  Jonathan slammed the back of the guy’s head into the bricks behind him.

  Then the screen cut to another scene. It was Jonathan again, only this time, he was inside someone’s home. The camera watched from outside a window.

  This time, the image looked clearer because there were lights on, which only made it worse. There was no sound, but the black guy in the hoodie was shaking his head. His eyes were pleading.

  Jonathan backhanded him. Then hit him again and again and again before twisting the man’s arm in an unnatural direction and leaving him in a heap on the floor.

  The video cut to another scene, then another. They were all different, but still the same. More violence, more blood. More begging and crying. And more of Jonathan’s relentless fists.

  Everything inside her screamed to turn it off, but she didn’t. She couldn’t.

  She lifted her thumb to swipe the horrors away when Jonathan’s face filled her screen. Here, he looked different. Younger. His hair was a little longer; it had a bit of wave to it. Here, he wasn’t some punishing machine. He looked relaxed. His eyes were closed, his jaw slack. He lay on a red silk pillow.

  The camera panned down to reveal a woman riding him. A dirty blonde with fake boobs way too round and big to be real. They bounced unnaturally with each rise and fall of her body. Jonathan was silent, but the wet sounds coming from the blonde’s movements were deafening.

  Her breathing grew shallow as another woman crawled into the frame. The newcomer showed no sign of expression; her bare skin was light brown and her body, long and lean. She straddled Jonathan’s face, then rolled her hips. The blonde leaned toward her, and the women lapped at each other’s tongues.

  Was this better or worse than watching Jonathan beat a man to death?

  A bald Hispanic man wearing only gold chains and diamond rings joined the three of them on the bed. A man who had to be the boss Jonathan so loathed and feared. Then, she knew the answer to her question.

  This was worse. So much worse than she’d ever imagined.

  ***

  Brick

  Brick’s heart sank as he watched the horror play over Olivia’s face. He was such a fucking stalker, watching her through the window, hidden in the shadows of some tall bushes, but he couldn’t bring himself to knock on the door.

  The mirror on the far wall revealed the nightmare that played on her screen. One of the nights he’d spent in Sucre’s “office.”

  He barely remembered the details. In a small mercy, he’d had a lot to drink both before and after. But he remembered the worst of it.

  Olivia’s hand covered her mouth, and her shoulders jerked forward. Her face twisted, and tears streamed from her eyes.

  Hot shame washed over him. How could he ever face her after this?

  It was one thing for her to think she knew the worst of him. It was another for her to see it with her own eyes.

  Tires squealing in the parking lot had him crouching deeper into the foliage. Will strode to Liv’s front door and into the apartment without bothering to knock. She turned off the TV, jumping to her feet and falling into his arms.

  Even if she had a broken heart, at least she’d be safe.

  He shuffled back to his truck, the filth and despair of that night and others like it, threatening to drown him. The ride home passed in a blur.

  Once inside, he shed his clothes and shuffled into the bathroom. He turned on the shower and climbed inside. He knew from years of experience, he couldn’t wash any of the memories away. Still, he tried.

  As always, the water was lukewarm.

  But the tears rolling down his face boiled blistering hot.

  ***

  Liv

  Jonathan didn’t call her Saturday night or Sunday. Afraid of who might answer his phone, she didn’t call him either. But she needed to talk to him about what she’d seen. It couldn’t wait another day.

  Her stomach still churned over what played out on the video file she received. Not because she’d seen him in bed with someone else or even because it was a man. It was the absence of horror in his face over what he had to endure. The absence of anything, really. It was the dead emptiness in his eyes as he’d followed every command his boss had issued. A blank stare and an obedience without hesitation.

  After bearing witness to even a sliver of their dynamic, she had no doubt there was nothing Jonathan wouldn’t do for his boss. The monster’s control over his creation was excruciatingly complete.

  But that wasn’t entirely true now, was it?

  He was risking everything to be with her, and not only did Sucre have some inkling about it, he was obviously displeased. What kind of punishment would he think of to fit the crime?

  Heart in her throat, she drove to the house on Burgundy Street before her first class on Monday morning. She saw no sign of Jonathan’s blue truck. Still, she got out and peeked in the open front door.

  Kane stopped working on the kitchen cabinets and ambled her way, his eyes pinched with concern. “Everything okay, sweetheart? Did Brick take a turn for the worse? I got worried when I heard he wouldn’t be in this week.”

&
nbsp; All week? Could Sucre have him? “He looked fine when he left me Saturday morning. I mean, he was still sore and swollen, but he was walking around…talking.”

  “Was it the last time you heard from him?”

  She nodded miserably, debating how much to tell him. “I think his boss tried to call me. Sent me some really nasty videos. I’m really worried.”

  Kane grimaced. “If it was really his boss, you should be.”

  “I’m afraid to call him. I don’t even know where he lives.” What if he was hurt? What if Sucre was torturing him for information about her? She couldn’t breathe as the possibilities rained down on her.

  “The best thing you can do for him is to sit tight.” He touched her shoulder. “I’ll go down to his neighborhood. I’m not sure which apartment is his, but I’ve been to his gym. Let me sniff around. See what I can find out. I promise, I’ll let you know, okay?”

  She didn’t like it, but she didn’t have a choice. “Give me your phone, and I’ll put in my number.” Once he handed it over, and she’d saved her contact, she gave it back. “You’ll call me? As soon as you can?”

  “I’ll call you. Whether I find him or not.”

  ***

  Brick

  The longer Brick took refuge inside his apartment, the more the dingy walls threatened to close in on him. A hundred times, he relived his exchange with Sucre, looking for a way he could have handled it better, but there’d been no way to stomach any intimacy with the girl his boss offered. Anything short of letting her suck his dick—well, the particulars might have changed, but the outcome would have remained the same.

  Sucre would have still seen through him, and Olivia would still know his deepest shame.

  He shuffled to the refrigerator and looked inside. The very idea of food made his stomach lurch, but a Budweiser longneck wasn’t out of the question. His hand was an inch away from the closest bottle when a knock sounded at the front door.

  The temptation to ignore it overwhelmed him, but if Sucre stood outside, it would be a bad idea to make him wait. He had already met his lifetime quota on bad ideas.