by Kenya Wright
She hit me again.
“Are you done?”
“I loved you, but you fucked it all away with all those women—”
“I’ve heard that song. I want a new tune. The one that talks about trackers and Yakuza.” I walked off.
“Wait.” She grabbed at me.
I pulled her off me.
“Don’t get Jean-Pierre. Please. I’ll talk.”
She wouldn’t.
“I’ll do anything.”
She would try, but it would never be enough.
Shalimar was no longer the woman I had fallen for with. She’d brought death to my doorstep. I’d almost lost Giorgio this evening. And, as much as he annoyed the shit out of me, I fucking loved him.
Eden was gone. I liked her. I relished in the way she made Jean-Pierre feel. The days when she was around, everyone laughed more. We did more than carry guns and kill. We had fun. We went to carnivals, on trips and played games, and shit.
What did Shalimar ever bring to the family?
In this dark world, flooded with blood and violence, the people who made me laugh were more important than the people who made me cry. I held the fun ones close. I protected them.
Shalimar grabbed at me again.
I opened the door and called out to the guards, “Make sure she has clothes on by the time Jean-Pierre arrives.”
“No!” Shalimar screamed as my men grabbed and dragged her to the bed.
I headed back to the car. The whole time, my mind reeled in a million different directions. I climbed in, took a deep breath, and ran my hands through my hair. My stomach felt like someone had slammed a metal pole against it.
But my heart had returned. It was in my chest. Perhaps it had been there all along. But I did notice the new cracks at the core. The darkness. Deep in my mind, I knew what would happen when Jean-Pierre went to Shalimar.
That might kill me. Whether I loved her or not.
I hadn’t made the call to Jean-Pierre about Shalimar.
I had to talk to him in person.
And then my chest felt empty again. And I knew my heart had never returned. That damn woman still had it.
Maybe there is another way to get the answers. Maybe. . .
There was nothing I could do.
Love or not. Broken-hearted or back in action. There was pain in the corner parts of me.
Nothing will ever be the same.
I drove forward, taking the long way back to Jean-Pierre’s penthouse.
The sky remained black.
No blood moon in sight.
Just never-ending darkness.
Chapter 15
The Voice in the Darkness
Eden
Hours Earlier
Giorgio had been shot.
I’d been dragged into Jean-Pierre’s penthouse, by masked men.
And then the lights went out.
Darkness swallowed my view. I screamed. One of them, probably the Devil, grabbed and dragged me off. I fought to get out of his tight grip, but it was useless. I punched. I kicked. I bit at his arm. I scratched at the mask.
I couldn’t see anything, but I heard a door open. He dragged me through it, while I kicked and screamed, “No! Help!”
Hyped up on adrenaline and the need to live, I fought him. My limbs burned. My lungs tightened. And the Devil was relentless. It was like fighting a wall. The more I hit him, it hurt me. The more I shoved forward, I went nowhere.
But I continued to fight, because I didn’t want die, and I didn’t want to go, and I didn’t want to never see Jean-Pierre, my dad, or Aunt Celina again.
“Help!”
But no hope came, and neither did success. Banging noises and gun shots sounded off in the distance. The men spoke in hushed whispers to each other, talking about others that were in their crew. They had some sort of communication system in their ears.
The one that had grabbed me, slung me onto the floor.
If I could just see, I would know where to run.
I felt the familiar lush, thick texture of the carpet. I knew we were in Jean-Pierre’s room. Rafael loved cold marble floors. Polished and sleek. But Jean-Pierre preferred softness and warmth.
Okay. The balcony is on the right. I can run out and hit the staff’s balcony entrance.
I crawled away. Escape was the only thing that sat in my mind.
“The tracker is moving with her,” a man said. “She definitely has it on her.”
Of course they could see me with their night goggles. I couldn’t see them, but I kept on crawling, ready to bite or scratch out anyone who came close.
“Yes. It’s on her. Good.” The Devil’s voice sounded loud and clear. Too close to me. “Then, we’ll take her for now. I’ll kill her later.”
No!
“Misha said, not to kill any more people.”
The Devil growled. “Misha doesn’t have the fucking Corsican to deal with. Taking her buys us a travel route out of Paris.”
“Or, it blocks it completely.”
“Shut up and stick to the plan.”
“She wasn’t part of our plan.”
“But she was part of mine.” A shot came, and I knew the Devil had killed the other man.
My body trembled in the darkness. I paused, knowing that he could see me. He had on night goggles, and I was blind.
Seconds later, he grabbed me.
I beat at his head.
“I won’t be so nice.” He slapped me. My head rang with pain. Warm liquid dripped from my nose. I felt congested, like I had a cold. I blinked right as he lifted and slung me over his shoulder.
A door slid open.
No!
We stepped onto the balcony. The full moon glowed bright outside. Cool air whipped against my skin. I still had on the white gown, but it was now smudged and torn. I touched my nose and looked at my fingers. Blood drops dotted them.
The Devil kept me on his shoulder with one big arm. With the other, he took the goggles off.
Three men stepped onto the balcony. I had no idea where they’d come from.
Probably the staff entrance. Oh my God. Did they kill them too?
The men wore all black, with the same black masks as the Devil’s helper had. One went to the balcony’s edge, latched a metal hook to the railing, and snapped the lock. A long, thick black rope hung from the end. The man flipped it over the ledge. The long rope fell over and I stared at the length. It kept going and going.
No. No. No. We’re not going over the edge. We’re not.
I struggled.
He hit me. “Move again and I’ll just sling you over. What the fuck do I care?”
I sucked in my cry.
The man with the rope, stirred as he watched. “Who is this and why do we have her?”
The Devil growled, “Shut the fuck up and stick to the plan.”
The guy didn’t move.
For a moment, I thought he might feel some sense of humanity and help, but fear filled his eyes, as he went back to work, hooked a different metal hook to another part of the railing and slung more rope over the balcony.
Another man spoke, “We couldn’t keep control the building’s system for long. The lights are back on. Rafael is close. Jean-Pierre too. They’re on the elevator. Men are running up the staircase.”
“They’ve been alarmed.” The Devil took me to the edge. “Plan B.”
No. No. Please, no.
In a flash, he slung one leg over the railing. “You better hold onto me, princess, and not struggle or you’ll fall.”
I gazed down and shouldn’t have. My head went dizzy. My stomach crashed to the bottom of my feet, with no hopes to ever rise. Only street, iron gates and designer cars resided more than fifty feet below. Nothing to break our fall. Nothing to save me.
I hooked my arms around his neck and closed my eyes.
“That’s a good girl.”
And we fell, bouncing.
Ah!
My heart raced. Blood pumped fast through my veins. We
bounced and then descended again. My feet numbed and prickled. Sweat dripped down my body. My throat burned like it was hoarse, and I hadn’t even screamed. We bounced again and fell one more time, before he carried me over something else.
Terrified, I opened my eyes.
He put me down onto a new balcony.
Okay. We’re still in the building, but three or four levels lower.
The balcony door opened.
Another man in black came outside. “That was too close.”
“It is, what it is.” The Devil guided me past him.
The man called after him. “Where are the codes?”
“Somewhere on the girl.”
They all stared at me.
What fucking codes?
The Devil pushed me into a dimly lit living room.
And then the fire alarms blared all around us.
Another guy got up from a gray couch. “They’re trying to clear the building. They hit the alarm. They trying to smoke us out.”
“We still need to get the codes before we leave.” The Devil stared at me. “Take off your clothes.”
“What?” I hugged myself.
“Do we have time for this?” another said from behind us.
How many of them are there?
I scanned the room. At least twenty dark figures gazed back in black masks, looking more like shadowy creatures than human beings.
The Devil stomped my way. “Take off your clothes or I’ll take them off for you, and it won’t be that fun, baby.”
I trembled. “My…boyfriend will give you—”
“Anything I ever wanted, to have you back?” The Devil moved closer to me. “What if I wanted something that Jean-Pierre took from me and couldn’t give back?”
I opened my mouth, unsure of what to say.
The Devil took his mask off. Some of the men turned away.
I screamed at the sight.
His face was mangled, ripped up, and torn. He had a place for a nose, but none that would be called one. His forehead had grooves and step-like tissue on one side. His bottom lip was there, but not his top.
The Devil spoke other words in French, “This is what Jean-Pierre does, when he doesn’t approve of one’s behavior.”
I couldn’t speak.
The fire alarm continued to blare in the building.
He switched back to English. “Take the gown off!”
With shaking hands, I undressed.
One of the guys whistled, as a baby blue corset was exposed. I didn’t have on the thong. Jean-Pierre had ripped it up earlier. The garment now lay on the floor of his limo.
“Hand him the gown.” The Devil pointed at a man next to me.
I did.
Even though the others wore masks, I could tell that they were looking at my body. The angles and directions of their faces gave it away. One lifted his head to inhale, moving in closer.
Another said from the side, “It’s still on her.”
“It’s obviously the necklace.” One pointed at the violin resting at the center of my cleavage. “She doesn’t really have anywhere else to hide the codes.”
“Of course. It was the necklace.” The Devil reached his hand out to my breasts. “But that wouldn’t be much fun. Would it?”
I edged back.
He yanked me his way. “Stop moving, before I have all of them fuck that fat pussy, between those princess-pampered thighs.”
I could barely breathe.
“That probably would turn you on. Having all of them dirty their dicks with you.” He grabbed my hair hard and pulled my head back. With the other hand, he snatched the necklace away and threw it at the guy that had been holding my gown. “Check it.”
Another said, “The tracker moved.”
The man threw my gown on the floor before turning the pendant in his hand. “The code is in the back of the violin.”
Aunt Celina, what did you do?
“Open it up.” The Devil threw me to the ground and marched over to the man with my necklace.
I scrambled to my gown and put it on. On my side, two of the men watched me the whole time, not giving a damn about the codes.
I have to get out of here. No matter what. I won’t let them touch me. I won’t let them. . .
I directed my view to the balcony. That would be my path, if things got too. . .hard.
My heart boomed in my ears.
I’ll jump off the balcony, before I give the Devil the satisfaction of raping and killing me himself.
My heart hurt to think of that path. It ached. What would happen to my Dad who had already lost his wife and his mind? What would happen to Aunt Celina?
I stopped that thought. Anger rose.
They wanted the codes in that violin. Not me. This had nothing to do with Jean-Pierre, even if this guy hates him. This has nothing to do with me.
Did Aunt Celina tell Shalimar to give me those codes, or did Shalimar decide to do it herself?
“Misha said we can’t kill anymore.”
These were the men who killed my roommate and my cat.
I let out a long breath and gazed at the balcony again.
Better to die like I want to, then…
I turned back to the two men watching me. One had pulled out a knife and slid his hand along the blade. I was glad he wore a mask. He was probably smiling. There must’ve been desire on his face, because his pants showed a bulge.
You sick motherfucker. You won’t touch me. You won’t touch me.
“It’s only one of the codes. There are two small compartments. That was what Misha said.” The Devil walked back over to me. “Where’s the rest?”
“I…I didn’t even know that was in the violin.”
He rushed over, lifted me up, and pushed me into the wall. “Lies.”
“I’m telling the truth.”
“Of course she is.” The one who’d been ogling me and playing with his knife rose. “Clearly, neither Jean-Pierre nor she knew what was on her neck. You think he would have allowed it?”
The Devil nodded. “Still, I want more answers. Who gave you the necklace?”
“Sh-Shalimar. She said my Aunt Celina wanted me to wear it and remember where I came from.”
He pushed me away. “So, you’re Celina’s niece. I assumed you were connected the way Jean-Pierre had been drooling after you the past three days.”
He’d been watching us for that long?
The Devil asked, “When did Shalimar give you the necklace?”
“Uh. . .three or four days ago.”
The other man nodded his head. “That’s why we tracked the codes to here, after arriving in Paris. Shalimar had escaped us in Belladonna and Montreal, but—”
“Doesn’t matter. Shalimar has the other part of the codes and there’s no tracker.” The Devil punched his wall. “They attach together.”
He pulled a tiny, black square out of his pocket. It was barely an inch long and wide. The others stared at his palm. It was what had been in the violin.
“Do you think you should just keep it in your pocket?”
Footsteps pounded outside our door.
“They’re evacuating the building.” The Devil dragged me over to the sofa. “Let’s go. Stick to the plan.”
Everyone changed, pulling off their black shirts and pants. My heart broke, as I saw their cop uniforms underneath.
The first one that was completely dressed and donning a cop hat, cleared away all of their earlier clothes. Another went to the gray loveseat near me and lifted the cushions.
I gasped.
It hid a wooden compartment, the length and width of the loveseat. And an old dead woman was inside. They piled the clothes on top of her and shut the lid. No one walking into the room or sitting down on that loveseat would know that a dead body resided underneath them.
“Here.” A man gave me two bottles of water and a long package of crackers. “Make them last.”
“What?”
He lifted the sofa the same way
as the loveseat. Another dead body was in that too. This time, a skinny old man with a balding head.
“Go on.”
“No.” I shook my head. “No. I’m not going in there.”
They pushed me into the sofa.
“No!” I tried to climb out. “I’m not staying in here!”
The Devil slapped me, but he’d hit me more than enough and I was eyelevel with his crotch. I bit at it, clamping my mouth down on the material, and what I figured was his disgusting penis.
I couldn’t grip anything.
He slapped me again.
I fell back.
Another shoved me down into the sofa.
The Devil gave off a wicked laugh. “I don’t have a dick anymore, princess. You have Jean-Pierre to think for that.”
My heart pounded. I was now on top of the dead body. My knees dug into the cold man’s stomach. And no one looked to give me a way out.
And so, I glared at the Devil and spat out the next words. “Did he cut off your balls too?”
“He did.”
“I can tell.”
The Devil raised his hand to slap me.
I didn’t flinch. What was the point? No amount of acquiescing was going to sway this crowd of monsters.
“Let’s go!” Someone yelled from the balcony.
One of the men by the sofa, picked up the water bottles and crackers that had fallen out of my hands. He threw them into the sofa cavity.
The Devil looked at him. “What’s that for?”
“So, she won’t starve.”
The Devil chuckled. “Who cares about that?”
“Don’t you want her healthy for when you kill her?”
“Good point.”
I glared at both of them. “I’ll kill myself before you two. Trust me.”
The guy shook his head. “She’s insane.”
The Devil laughed. “You think Jean-Pierre could find a normal woman to fall for him? No. Something is definitely wrong with her.”
And then he shoved me back in. I hit the wood walls of the sofa, and they clamped the top down.
“No!”
It was like being in a coffin, just one big enough to hold an old man, a small snack, and a screaming woman.
In the darkness, I banged against the wood with my fists. I punched at the surface. I kicked at the walls. I hit and fought against the sofa’s top. Feeling more like I was beating at the world.
In the darkness, I screamed until my voice was hoarse. I yelled. I cried. I pissed myself. It warmed my leg. I had no dignity. No pride.