Cursed Angels

by Edwards, Anna

  “I wish I could share the sentiment, but when your men came for me, I was balls-deep and left decidedly unsatisfied,” I growl at him. The rumbling starts low in my throat and travels up into a torrent of spit-out words. I’m pissed off, but I’m also the master of distraction. While my enemy focuses on the rage spewing from my mouth, my hands make short work of the woefully inadequate bindings. In an instant, I’m secretly free. The rope tears apart with the brutal strength I possess. Nobody is behind me because my back is against the cold, external wall. A perfect place to gain momentum in the ensuing fight. One man stands to my left. He is shorter than me and half the size, so he won’t be a problem. Another two are holding guns behind the prick speaking to me; they offer me more of a challenge, but it’s not one I’m worried about.

  “I’m afraid we had to take you at your weakest moment,” Mr. mohawk-and-suit speaks.

  “Can we dispense with the crap? What is it you want?” I’m already bored and looking forward to getting back to my whore. I had unfinished business with her. Not that it’s anything like I imagined it being with Samara. Where the hell did that thought come from? I shake it away and scowl back at my captor.

  “You took something of mine, and I want it back.” He slams his fist hard into my face. I crack my jaw to alleviate the pain.

  “I’m afraid the money has already been allocated.”

  “Making toy soldiers at that so-called orphanage of yours is not why I gave it to you. I want an army of grown men now.” Another punch comes, this time to my stomach. I clench the muscles together to bar against the force of the assault. It was one of the first things I learned when growing up. It was the only way to survive. If I’d shown evidence that they’d hurt me, they would have rejoiced and done it again. The weak were prey for the strong. It was man up or die. I choose to become a man way before my time.

  “You gave us the money for unbeatable troops, and that is what we’re going to provide.”

  “When?” A direct hit again to my jaw. Another, and I’ll feel it tomorrow.

  “Right now.” I allow the soldier inside me to take over and make a lunge for the small guy. His neck cracks deliciously, and he falls dead to the floor before anyone else has time to register what is happening. One down, three to go. The men with the guns point them in my direction. I’ve been shot twice before. It hurt like a motherfucker. I don’t plan on letting a bullet enter any part of my body today. I haven't got time to dig it out and get back on the job.

  “I want my army." The boss, a man I know as Lionel Nelson, takes a striding step over the dead body and bears down on me. Gunman “A” goes to his left and “B” to his right. I make sure to keep my eyes on all three as best as I can.

  "Nobody makes demands of our company. We make them of you,” I point out. It was discussed at the initial meetings on the deal to provide them with soldiers, but it seems as though they have forgotten.

  “Fuck you. I’ve paid fifty million dollars and got nothing for it.”

  “You were told you needed to be patient.” I raise my eyebrow in irritability. Do people not read the fine print anymore these days?

  “My patience has worn thin. Get on the phone, and have my army delivered here, now, or I’ll deliver you back to your boss in fifty pieces.”

  I have to laugh at that one. It’s so absurd to think they would even succeed in chopping off one finger.

  “Unless you have another ten men out there, I would say I’ll be going back in one piece.” That’s to be the final word on the matter. Gunman “A” cocks his gun. I pounce on him before he can shoot and use his weapon to shoot Gunman “B” right between the eyes. I break the arm of the man who still holds the gun when I turn it back on his head and fire again. This time, brains scatter all over me when Gunman “A” takes his last breath.

  “Damn, this shirt is my favorite.” I shake the gun from his now lifeless hand and point it at Mr. Nelson.

  “I believe I’ve just given you a demonstration of what your army will be able to do. They will be delivered in six weeks. Are you prepared to wait?”

  “I want them now.” He still wasn't going to waver in his supposed superiority despite the fact that I obviously had the upper hand here.

  “Why we do business with people like you is beyond me.” I shake my head and then pull the trigger. Mr. Nelson falls face first to the floor. Dead. Blood flows from his body to tarnish his crisp suit. I can't help but think it looks better now that it matches his hair color. I run a hand through my neatly trimmed brown locks. Maybe I should emulate his style. Maybe not. I screw up my nose in repulsion.

  There are bodies strewn all over the floor. Common sense says I should feel something at having taken away the lives of four people, but conditioning has rendered me cold to that particular emotion. Remorse is not a sentiment I possess. I place the gun into a tight pocket of the dark denim jeans I’m wearing. I find it’s always handy to have another gun because you never know when it will be needed. There’s a dusty patch on my jeans, and I brush it down. I’m meticulous about my cleanliness; it’s a result of my training. I notice a mirror in the corner of the room. Strange for a warehouse, but then I look at the position of it. It’s directly opposite where I originally sat. An old-fashioned form of torture, to see the pain being inflicted as well as feeling it. They had some brains, just a shame they hadn’t used them where it counted. I make my way over to the mirror to inspect the cleanliness of my face. I feel spots of blood on my skin, they will need to be removed before I leave this place. Thankfully, the shirt I’m wearing today is black and will hide the evidence of my crime. I don't recognize the person staring back at me. He looks like the person I saw in the mirror this morning, but he is a stranger to me. His eyes are dark and frozen with malevolence. Is this really me? A cold-blooded killer? A streak of crimson mars the five o’clock shadow on my square jawline. I run my finger through it and bring it in front of my eyes to wonder at the brutality of such a simple-looking liquid.

  “Archer, hold me? I need you.” Her emerald eyes sparkle with the fear she feels. I pull her close to me and wrap her in my protective embrace. “She’s gone. She’s actually gone.” I swallow the lump in my throat and stroke down the vibrant, cherry-red tendrils of her hair. It was a gesture to bring comfort to the terrified girl resting in my arms but also to my chaotic emotions. I can barely breathe; the metallic stench of death invades my nostrils still. She is dead, murdered, and there is nothing I can do about it.

  “It will be ok. I’m here. I’ll look after you.” I press a soft, reassuring kiss to her forehead then bring her head down onto my adolescent chest. I hope she doesn't feel the too rapidly beating drum of my heart. I will do whatever it takes to save her.

  “Samara?” I gasp out of my vision. My eyes blink several times as if the ghost of the past has burnt my retinas. I’ve not thought about her in a long time. I’ve pushed her to the back of my mind, to escape from the sadness I feel at our parting. The regret I suffer from that fateful day has changed the course of both our lives. My chest hurts like my heart is breaking. I wonder what she's doing now. Did she make it to safety?

  The bodies on the floor reflect back at me in the mirror.

  I’ve done that?

  I’ve killed people.

  I’m wrong.

  I’m evil.

  I place my finger back on my cheek and swirl the blood into my flesh. The red lifeforce that smears in a pattern of ever-decreasing circles makes me look like an ancient tribal warrior.

  “No,” Samara screams out. I clamp my hand over her mouth and drag her backward. The body on the floor twitches, blood oozing from the gaping hole in the head. I feel the vomit rise into my throat but swallow it back down. We need to get out of here as soon as possible. I can’t allow her to become like them.

  The door slams behind me and draws me out of my reflection. My palms are sweaty, and a thin bead of perspiration trickles down my brow.

  “Arch, man. You ok?” The familiar face of my comr
ade, Liam, appear before my eyes. “Your blood?” He nods his head toward my face with a twist of worry on his lips. I shake my head. “Thank fuck for that. I’ll get a cleanup crew in here. I take it the boss was right, and Mr. Nelson wasn’t a man prepared to wait for his army?”

  “No, patience wasn’t one of his strong points.” The mists of my training descend again, the flashbacks of Samara from moments earlier burying themselves once more, deep in my subconscious so that they don't see the light of day.

  “Now breathing is even an issue for him.” Liam lets out a big chuckle. I join him. Nelson was an imbecile who deserved everything he got.

  “At least we are fifty million richer out of it, and we can use that fact to sell more.” I pat my comrade on the back.

  “How do you mean?” he asks.

  “We just became more exclusive. One man took out four without blinking. Don’t mess with us, or you end up dead.”

  “You’re a genius, Arch.” He slaps my back and wraps an arm around me.

  “No, I’m just a cold-blooded killer who doesn’t appreciate being messed around with,” I retort with a voice full of darkness and foreboding for anyone who would dare mess with me.

  I take one final look at the dead body of Mr. Nelson. I kick him over so he is staring at me, his eyes glazed over with death. I spit in his face and leave the room. There is no room for sentiment in my job. I made my decision eight years ago as to what I would be in life. Samara is no longer a part of it. She is forgotten, a distant dream I will never see or touch again.

  Chapter 3

  Samara

  Taking the turn-off to the familiar road that was once my saving grace, I can’t help my mind from reeling as I see buildings that have haunted my nightmares for eight long years. Memories seep through my blood, both hatred and anger mixed with pain and love. I lost so much here, and coming back is walking into a life that’s tainted me.

  The small cabin I rented sits on the edge of town, and that’s where I make my way. Once I pull into the parking lot, I exit the vehicle. Pulling my rucksack from the trunk, I make my way into the foyer of the rundown building. Its upkeep has been ignored, and the old man sitting behind the counter looks as dilapidated as the building itself.

  “How can I help you, miss?” he says, offering me a smile. It’s kind, nothing like the kind of looks I’m used to from men. It never mattered what age, it was always a sneer or some hunger-filled stare.

  “My name is Sam Torres, and I’m picking up the keys to the cabin I rented from you for a couple of weeks. We talked on the phone last week, and I wired you the deposit.”

  It should be enough time to finish what I came to do and get out of this shithole. The faster I can leave, the better.

  He drops his eyes to the book sitting on the desk before him, scribbles something, then rises with a groan of agony. The keys that hang on the wall behind him are dust-laden. They clearly haven’t been used in months, possibly years.

  He grabs one set of keys and turns to hand it to me.

  “Thank you,” I say with a smile.

  “Don’t break anything in my cabin, anything else you need, there is a convenience store in town.” He points toward the general direction of the main center of this shitty place. “If you need anything, come back and ask. My wife will be here until about six.”

  “That’s fine. Thank you again.” I head toward the exit and back to my car. It’s not a far drive down the dirt road that leads to the thick forest where the cabin is hidden.

  When I reach the door, I unlock it easily, shoving it open. The creak in the wood as I take each step reminds me of that place. I’ve lost myself to the hatred and anger for far too long.

  Stepping inside, I can’t stop the cough that seizes my lungs as the musty smell grips my chest. As old as this place is, and as dusty as the cabinets are, thankfully the bed looks like it’s been freshly made up.

  The windows are shut, framed by heavy floral curtains. Dropping my bag, I shove them open quickly in the hope of getting some air into the cabin. Shuffling off my leather jacket, I drop it on the bed and stare out the window, taking in the view of the town I once lived in. I should set up the computer surveillance, but all I can think about is the bed calling my name.

  It’s late and I’m tired. I head toward the bathroom and turn on the shower. Once I’ve stripped, I step under the spray and allow it to ease the ache in my muscles. Thoughts of why I’m here unravel me, and I find myself crying under the cascade of water. I feel like I’m drowning, and the only way up is to finally get vengeance.

  The water runs cold, and I realize I’ve been in the shower for too long. I step out onto the small blue mat that looks old and threadbare. I grab a towel and dry myself before walking into the bedroom naked. The cool breeze picks up and causes me to shiver.

  Once I’m dressed, I slide into bed and stare up at the ceiling. My eyes flutter, and exhaustion hits me. I allow sleep to drag me under.

  * * *

  Something awakens me. A sound. A soft voice. And I’m sure I’m not alone, but when I open my eyes, I am. It’s dark out. I push off the bed and pad over to the open window. The breeze turns into a howling wind, causing the curtains to billow, and the scent of jasmine hits my nose. A memory slams into me painfully as I recall the boy I loved a long time ago.

  “Mara, you’re the prettiest girl here.” Archer’s voice is rough with emotion. We’re not meant to be here. If they found us, we’d be whipped. He leans in, his lips soft against the sensitive skin of my cheek. I’ve just turned sixteen, and I’ve had a crush on him since I first saw him at the tender age of thirteen. At the time, I didn’t know it would blossom into something so real, so fierce, but when Archer looks at me, I feel like time stands still, and the only thing that exists are him and me.

  “You always say that, but you know there are so many other girls here. They’re also pretty. Also . . . I don’t know if I’m worthy of your attention.”

  I’m not sure why I push him away. Perhaps I’m scared he’ll leave me. Like my parents did. They told me they loved me, but in the end, I wasn’t good enough. It’s been four years since I walked into this place. I thought it was my salvation, but I slowly learned it’s my damnation. All the children here are toys in a sick game the adults who are meant to care for us play.

  “I won’t let them hurt you, Dollface. I swear.” He always promises. Every day, he says the same words, but I can’t bring myself to believe them. Everyone leaves. It’s part of life. Whether they die or they’re taken from you, ultimately, you’re alone.

  “Arch, just stop. I . . .” My words falter when I meet those eyes, the color of blue chalk. Sometimes they’re the color of the ocean, and sometimes, they’re the color of a stormy sky—gray steel with thundering emotions dancing in them, and I wonder if I’ll be swept away in the blizzard. The jasmine flower Archer brought me twists between my fingers as I nervously twirl it.

  “I’m not asking for promises. I’m not asking for forever, baby.”

  Nodding, I sit back and glance up at the stars. “They’re all sitting up there, looking down at us wondering why the hell we’re here. Why do we stay when they treat us the way they do?”

  “Because we can’t leave until we reach eighteen.”

  “Why? Who says we have to sit here taking the beatings? It can’t be right. How can people, grown-ups, take children into care when they’re hurting us?” My words hang heavily in the night sky. I’ve seen what happens in the cellars of the house. I’ve seen the bruises, the cuts, and I’ve experienced them too.

  I’m afraid that I’ve now hit a certain age that there are worse things they’ll do to me. To us. Things I’d rather not think about. Deep down, I know what else goes on, but in my mind, I push it aside. I hide it in the depths where I can shut it away with the other things I’ve seen.

  “Look at me.” He always speaks with conviction. Giving me orders I want to obey. So, I do. Meeting those steel eyes in the darkness. I feel the tingle in m
y core. It’s been happening every time we’re close. When he touches me. When his lips find mine. That ache, that ever-present need, is there, and it’s only for him. “We’ll get out. I swear.”

  I nod. It’s the only thing I can do. Not because I don’t want to believe him, but because I can’t see a future. When I try, there’s nothing but a black hole.

  “We will.”

  A shrill ring rips me from the memory. My phone. Scrambling for it in the mountain of blankets and sheets, I grab the offending device from the bed and swipe my finger across the screen.

  “Buttercup.” The deep rumble of Hunter comes from the speaker, reminding me how long it will be before I’m able to have him inside me again.

  Even though we’re not a couple, I still enjoy the attention he gives.

  “Missing me already, Hunt?”

  A chuckle, low and gravelly, travels through the line and straight to my core. “Not just yet. I’ve got information for you.” Glancing at my watch, I notice it’s three in the morning.

  “And you decided that three a.m. is the time to call?”

  A sigh greets me, then his deep tone. “Something’s happening. One of the owners of The Factory you had TJ scope out, he’s gone missing.”

  “What?” This is news to me. Shocking me into action, I rush toward my bag and pull out my laptop. As soon as I wake it from its sleep state, the screen lights up, and I open my email.

  “Yeah, I’ve sent you all the information we could find, but something’s not right. He wasn’t reported missing by anyone. It’s as if he’s off on vacation or some shit, because the house is locked up tight, his car is gone, and there have been purchases on his credit card showing him traveling through the state to the West Coast.”