by Emily Shore
“Because I have medical skills, girls here grew to trust me quickly, and so did the general. It wasn’t long before he stopped checking in altogether due to how smoothly I started running the Hotel years ago. When he passed away, he made it official and handed me the deed to this place.” She circles a finger in the air. “By then, I’d formed a network, knew who I could trust and who I couldn’t. Many sweepers operate under me. I know every one by name. Soldiers, too. They’re not all on our side, and more and more girls arrive every day from different cities across the country. But if one or two go missing, nobody notices.”
“You do what you can,” I say softly and look down at the tea. I can’t even bring myself to drink the rest. “How can you choose?” I squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting to fathom how difficult a decision it is.
She narrows her gaze, lashes reminding me of tiny needles. “The mothers go first followed by the youngest ones. Others don’t even end up on the roster. They stay here, get food and shelter and clothes, but they don’t work. Or at least not in the way you think.”
“How is it possible? You get shipments in every week. What keeps them coming? How is it all paid for? Do you ship girls out for payment, too?”
“We charge a high price for the experience here. Most of our clients are elite vacationers from outside, who want the “Ghetto” experience. I guess we’ve become a tourist trap, especially with urban rumors of a roof-topping Fox.” She pauses to grin at me before continuing, “Gangs try to compete on our level but lack the trust of our business. Contrary to what you might think, we are not the only form of currency in this world now. The Hotel might be the Ghetto lifeblood, and girls may be traded back and forth like disposable items within these borders, but there are other methods of currency.”
“And all the food?” I ask the obvious question.
“We source some of it ourselves. Greenhouses on our property. Other sources provide some of it.”
“And what do those other sources expect in return?”
“Protection for one. The Hotel is a network. Our soldiers don’t just patrol the bridges. We provide protection for dozens of other cities. We spread the propaganda that soldiers only keep to the bridges because it’s the only way to keep other gangs from taking over the Ghetto. The Brothers and Sisters are hard enough without having to worry about more competition.”
More bloodshed she means.
“You said for one. What else?”
Angel lowers her head, folding her hands on the counter to respond, “I won’t lie to you. Sometimes, we must ship a girl out for trade. It’s rare, but it’s necessary in order to keep the rest of them safe. And I ship them out when I know it’s for breeding purposes as opposed to slavery purposes. Breeding at least guarantees full bellies and warm beds even if it still burns me up every time I do it.”
Angel is a strong woman. There’s no way I could fill her shoes. Such a position of having to pick and choose would never allow me one night’s rest.
“What did you mean when you asked her to remember what you taught?”
Scooping up her mug, she walks toward the sink and places it inside while responding, “I teach them what I know. Medical skills. It’s a valuable tool in their belts. If they want to learn other trades, they have plenty of time here to learn.”
“And what about the other girls? What about the ones who keep the Hotel running?” I almost bristle, clamping my lips down tighter than a bottle cap.
“Some aren’t ready to escape yet. If I tried guiding them down the path I want, they would end up right back in the wrong hands. Hands that would be much worse than mine. Hands that would beat them when they don’t meet satisfaction or perform the right way. Hands that would starve them of food but feed them all the drugs they want.”
“You have to keep the front,” I mutter, understanding even if I don’t like it.
“If the gangs caught wind of what we really do…” Angel begins, but I already know the answer, “…they would try to take this place down and all the girls with it. For now, they think they’re competition. That’s what works.”
“And what about the baby? What is he?”
“Not a mistake despite my first inclinations.” She looks toward the stairs, a fond warmth working the corners of her mouth.
“So you keep the Hotel running, too...” It’s more of a statement than a question. I think the baby is proof of that.
“If a client requests a younger girl, who I haven’t managed to free yet, I always offer my services. And I come highly recommended.”
I’m sure she does. Especially with her moonbeam hair. The thought of what she must do to carry out her plans causes my stomach to churn with miniature whirlpools swirling again and again.
“What about the woman with the glass jars? How does she fit in?”
Angel chuckles, drumming her fingertips on the counter. “She’s a woman from history. Another time, another place that was also called the Ghetto. She risked her life to save children who were also like slaves. Except they were children who were just going to be killed because of what they looked like. I find her to be…inspirational.”
“And the glass jars?”
Angel grins. “She wrote down all the names of the children she rescued, put them in glass jars, and buried them in her backyard.”
“And what do you do?”
“I write the names of mine on bricks in the Hotel basement. It’s effective enough.”
At first I wonder how many bricks she’s written on, but then I think of all the unwritten names. All the girls left behind.
I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Right now, I’m a house of cards balanced finely on the edge of a tightrope between two skyscrapers just waiting for one wrong brush of wind to collapse me. I need something firmer that I can hold onto.
“You said you had a plan,” I remind her.
“Yes, but I’m going to need your help. It will be risky, but if we pull it off, it will solve all our problems.”
I curl my fingers tight but don’t form a fist. From this point on, I have to think of Ink and whatever I can do to save him.
So, I muster up a deep breath, nod my head, and tell Angel, “Start talking.”
“Are you ready.” Angel asks, escorting me onto the second-floor balcony. As much as I’d appreciate the challenge of trying from the Penthouse, we don’t have the time nor should I tempt fate given my leg.
Bracing myself, I give her a solid nod and throw my leg over the side. She adjusts the backpack, hands careful as it’s weighed down and she wouldn’t want to upset my balance. After my other leg joins the first, I pause and our eyes meet ― two invisible chains locking them together. We both nod right before I press my lips firm together and start working my way down to ground level. Just as planned prior, I drop into the sewers, gas mask back on, but with a new destination in mind. Angel’s adjustments to my map have added one more location. It will take longer to reach it, and I pray I can get back in one piece.
No more soldiers to worry about in the tunnel. Angel says she only sends them there when she’s ready to send out a girl in one of the trucks. They search for gang girls or orphans who might be taking shelter in the sewers.
I keep the flashlight trained ahead of me and pause every time I come to an intersection to double check I’m going the right way. There’s no room for error now. Angel is very detailed in her directions, however, and within a half hour, I’ve reached my destination. A manhole cover awaits me this time, and I must work to pry it open. Careful not to lift the lid too high, I scan the area above my head first. As predicted, security isn’t as tight here as it was at the Hotel. No one openly picks a fight with the gang on their home turf. At least not until now.
Only one crew member is mulling about, and he’s not too happy about it since he’s shivering from the cold weather, huddling as far into his wool coat as possible. Snowflakes have just begun to settle on the ground, their white fingers kissing the asphalt and turning it to cold, whi
te fluff. The gang member reaches up a gloved hand and brushes off the annoying dust like he’s swatting a fly from his shoulder. Just after he’s rounded the corner, I heave myself out of the hole and position the manhole cover back in its place. The snow will soon wipe away any trace of my footprints.
A new obstacle arises when I reach the wall. It’s much harder to find handholds on this building as it’s all smooth sandstone. However, I realize I won’t need to when I notice the ladder on the first-floor landing. All I need to do is jump to reach the first rung and tug it downward, praying the noise doesn’t attract anyone. I look behind me to see if anyone’s coming, but only the wind and snow follows me. Hopefully, one of the upper windows will be open, otherwise I’ll have to climb all the way up to the roof and find an access point from up there.
I don’t stop till I reach the top floor but thrust my body to the side of the window when I notice the light flicker on. It’s a small window with blinds covering it, but I can make out a patch or two of the room through the gaps. Ugh...not a sight I was hoping to find. I’ve already witnessed my fair share of Sawyer, and I’m in no mood to have that experience again. That’s when the idea dawns on me. No better time to act like the present. His guard is down, expectation is low, and the thought of payback is already stoking the flames of my adrenaline. Only one thing left to check: the window latch.
At first, I’m surprised when it starts to creep open, but then again, Sawyer’s ego is only unmatched by his pride. He never expects a break in. It’s why he uses displays like the head stuck on a pike out front.
I inch the window open a little more until I notice him get up from the toilet, but instead of pulling up his pants, he removes them and heads for the shower. Tonight just keeps getting better. I wait a couple minutes for the steam to hug the glass walls and mirror before opening the window all the way. Thrilled even more that the sound of the water masks my entrance, I slowly withdraw the weapon Angel gave me from my belt and tap on the shower wall twice while sliding the door open.
“Oh, shit!” He leaps back against the wall, flinging a bar of soap to the floor while suds rain down his face so he has to squint one eye in order to see me.
“Can’t say it’s nice to see you again, Sawyer, but I did tell you I’d get those photos back,” I remind him, then place the tip of my finger against the knife’s point like it’s doing a proud little twirl.
“What the devil, girl?!” He wipes off the suds from his eyes and mouth, spitting bubbles.
“No, but close enough for tonight. Now, I can see you’re very unarmed.” I open my mouth into a grin like a flower bud in spring. “And since I’m very good with a knife, I’m sure you don’t want your two closest friends to wind up like your thigh, so photos if you please...” I gesture him out of the shower.
“Piece of work,” he mutters under his breath but obeys my command. “You know what I’ll do to you for this?”
I give his left cheek a satisfying thwack with the edge of my blade, rewarded with the sound of his yelp and the sight of him sliding forward on a wet floor right against the bathroom sink.
“I think we’re beyond words, Sawyer. My photos,” I repeat again and grin as he trudges out of the bathroom as I keep the blade close to his skin the entire time. He makes his way to his bed. Mounted on the wall above his frame is a mosaic of photos ― all of nude women and girls. I recognize most of them as his gang girls. Part of me almost wonders if he can even perform anymore without the photos but only a twisted microscopic part of me that I crush back to my subconscious.
In the center of the sick mosaic are the snapshots of me, the one of us together the most prominent.
“No sudden moves, Sawyer. Remove them now or I will remove what you love most,” I threaten.
One by one, he rips them from the wall and chucks them at me. Without letting my eyes stray from the gun, I catch each one. He saves the one of him with me until the very last, hesitating just a little.
“Hmm,” I muse to myself. “I wonder if it’s possible for the bullet to penetrate just one side―”
“Take the damn thing.” He tears the photo in one move and crumples it up. “You got what you wanted.” Sawyer keeps his hands where I can see them. Good, he’s not a total dumbass after all. “How do you plan on getting out? I’ve got men out front and back.” One lip curls back to show teeth, which seem dull as pebbles to me.
I snigger. “Not as many as you think. Besides, it won’t matter. No one will even know I’m here.”
With that, I smash the edge of the gun against the back of his head. Not too hard just hard enough to stun him but not knock him out. Just like he did to me. Gives me enough opportunity to tie him to the bed with the rope I have stuffed in my sack. Amidst his warbled protests, I loop the rope around his wrists and wind it through the holes in the bed frame. Déjà vu but without handcuffs. However, I keep the knots loose just as planned. All I need is a little head start. Just enough to maintain distance but not too much so they can’t follow me. If it all works according to plan, I’ll get Ink, and Angel will get what she wants, and Sawyer and Big Sis will get exactly what they deserve.
“How does it feel, huh?” I taunt him, blowing Sawyer a kiss from the window. “A girl getting the jump on you?”
“Not for long,” he warns me, eyes turning brutal right before he starts shouting at the top of his lungs and jerking on his wrists so one of my sloppy ropes comes free. That’s my cue.
Just before he undoes the final rope, I climb out of the window, scale the little ledge, and make an impressive leap onto the ladder, which drops from the momentum. On my way down, the breeze, chilled, catches my clothes, sending shivers tunneling into my spine like earthworms. But my adrenaline soon cheers on my blood, shooting tiny lightning bolts of warmth into my skin, especially when several gang members spill out of the nightclub exits and shoot spotlights on me. Little do they know I’m not a target. I’m just the arrow leading them to the real target.
I take the long route on purpose, picture Sawyer scrambling into his clothes to join the pursuit. In the back corner of my mind, I wonder if Malachi will join them. In the other corner of my mind, a voice reminds me why should I care? As far as I’m concerned, he’s no brother. Whatever blood was ever between us is gone now. Diluted by his gambling debts and his signature brand of liquor.
Flashlights lick the edges of my boots, and I turn down another alley. The city is one giant labyrinth, but I know every dead end and every shortcut, which I use to my advantage and keep them just on the brink of catching me until I approach my destination. The point of no return.
Just as promised, she is there. Just as predicted, her crew is also. There’s no chance Big Sis would travel alone in the Ghetto, especially not after dark when the city comes to life. I’m only glad that she agreed to my suggestion of a rendezvous. The clock tower is between gang territory on the outskirts, so it was the perfect choice. It surveys the scene unfolding like a dark angel. Any moment, I almost expect the clock to strike, to signal the end of one or both gangs.
Big Sis’s eyes narrow to slits ready to bruise when she sees the gang flanking my movements.
“Ran into some trouble,” I say with a spring in my step.
“Form a line!” she orders to the Sisters around her.
“Where’s Ink?” I demand, but as soon as the Sisters form a ragged line, I have my answer. One of them is keeping him toward the back, bag over his head, hands bound behind his back. If the bag comes off his head and I find he’s even more damaged than the way I left him, I’ll...
Focus on the plan.
I just hope she arrives soon otherwise this could get messy.
The Brothers keep their distance, maintaining a gap of a few feet upon seeing the assembly of Sisters. Unlike them, the Brothers cluster together, but one voice draws closer, pushing past his crew.
“Make some room, boys!” Sawyer barks an order right before shoving aside a couple of his crew in the front. Typical man. Relying on his
fists to keep order when all Big Sis needs is her voice, though I hope I will never have to hear that sugar-laced voice disguising the stench of poison after today.
“You have something that belongs to me, Big Sis!” Sawyer confronts her, raising his voice while stepping forward.
“Oh, you mean this?” She mocks him by toying with the patch of skin stolen from his thigh.
Sawyer tenses from the comment, back tighter than an unused bow string.
“That was the last time you thought you could ever bed me.” Her eyes bear down on him so hard, I’m searching for indents somewhere on his face.
“The last time you imagined you could,” he tries his own method, but Big Sis only sneers.
“You can never hold onto your girls, can you, Sawyer? Looks like the Fox is working for me now.”
“You’re wrong, Big Sis!” A familiar voice slashes the darkness like a katana. Everything about that voice is clean, even, and steady.
Grinning, I find myself slinking backward, away from Big Sis, Sawyer, and both their crews until I reach Angel’s own army of sweepers and soldiers with their automatic weapons with none other than the Hotel owner herself standing in the front. Reaching her side, I place the gun back in her hands. As soon as her fingers clutch it, Angel wastes no time. No speeches given. No warnings issued. No monologues granted. One bullet is all it takes. Embedded right in the center of Big Sis’s skull. Her eyes become empty eggshells. Her body crumples to the ground.
“That’s for my child,” are the only words Angel speaks right before she turns and fires one more bullet. This time, it travels right through Sawyer’s eye, lodging in his frontal core. No matter how opposite they once were, Sawyer’s body still mimics Big Sis’s in death and crumbles, too. “That’s for stealing my shipments. And for Chastity.”
“Chastity?” The word leaves my mouth in a gasp.
“A girl he managed to pluck from me years back.”
Both crews are too stunned to know what to do in the face of what’s just happened. This was an execution, pure and simple with Angel as judge, jury, and executioner. With her son’s life on one end of the line, I can’t blame her. With the Hotel on the other, nobody else would. The question now is, will the crews retreat or try to take up arms against the sweepers and soldiers on Angel’s side? Right now, they seem aimless. Dozens of heads swivel back and forth, hands lifted, voices littering the air with murmuring questions all reminding me of the body of snake with the head fresh cut off. All wriggling, curling chaotic with no end goal in sight. With how long both gangs have been enemies, they don’t know what to make of a new foe and a superior one at that.
