Devil’s Kingdom

by King, Bella

  “A robbery gone sour,” I mutter, shaking my head. “Someone is getting cocky.”

  “There’s a lot of thieves around here,” Slate adds.

  I shake my head. “Small thieves don’t kill Devil’s Kingdom merchants. Something else is going on around here, and I’m going to find out what.”

  Slate looks around the room, searching for more clues, but I doubt he’ll find anything.

  It’s becoming apparent that something is sweeping through the port, whether it be madness or something more organized, that’s driving people to make such bold moves. Jenny’s death was odd, but the slaying of the dealer and the theft of our designer drugs leads me to believe that this is a trend.

  And it’s a deeply disturbing one that could undermine the legitimacy of everything I’ve worked to achieve. Slate doesn’t realize it, but I do. The Devil’s Kingdom is under attack.

  Chapter Seven

  Zella

  I’ve received some odd packages in my life, but nothing like this.

  I take a step back, examining the square piece of flesh lying on my kitchen counter from a healthy distance. As if my heart rate wasn’t already through the roof, it doubles as I realize that there’s scarring on the top of the skin in a distinct geometrical pattern.

  “What the fuck?” I mutter to myself, coming closer and leaning in to examine the deliberate scarification on the skin. It’s in a pattern that I recognize but have failed to encounter in the past five years of searching.

  It’s the symbol for the Devil’s Kingdom.

  My head is spinning. Why on earth would Anthony send me something like this without calling me? It’s a huge revelation, and I must know where it came from.

  I’m reluctant to leave the kitchen, holding the unreasonable fear that the skin will disappear by the time I return with my phone. I tear my eyes away from it, the symbol floating in my vision even as I force myself to walk to my bedroom and grab my phone.

  Anthony had better pick up this time.

  I snatch my phone up and hurry back to the kitchen, checking the counter to make sure I’m not having some kind of fucked up dream.

  No, the piece of flesh is still there, displaying that awful symbol. I remember seeing it scarred into my sister’s hand too, and that alone is enough to make me sick to my stomach.

  I unlock my phone, glancing at my notifications. Anthony hasn’t attempted to call me back, and for some reason, I doubt that he will. Still, I dial his number and press the phone to my ear as I pick up the yellow envelope that the package arrived in.

  The call fails to connect.

  “Shit,” I mumble, putting the phone in my back pocket and examining the envelope further. I squeeze the sides of it, looking inside to see if there’s anything I missed.

  There is.

  I reach my gloved hand in, pulling out a slip of paper typed up and printed in a hurry, judging by the lack of proper editing. The letters are slightly smudged, as though it was slipped into the envelope before the ink was even dry.

  I frown as I read the text, my stomach sinking, and my anxiety heightening as I take in the words.

  Devil’s Kingdom initiation ceremony is tomorrow at midnight.

  Scarification required. Use the symbol provided, and put it on the back of your hand.

  Wear a black robe and red mask of your choosing that covers your entire face.

  Go alone.

  Coordinates are below.

  The coordinates are scribbled in red ink at the bottom of the page.

  My brain moves faster than I can process, my thoughts blurring into one another as I try to figure out where this came from. Someone knows that I’m interested in the Devil’s Kingdom, and they’re giving me what seems like the perfect way in.

  But why?

  I know for certain that Anthony wasn’t the one who delivered this package. He barely knows anything about me, much less that I’m obsessively searching for the man who took my sister into his criminal organization and made her vanish without a trace.

  If it wasn’t Anthony, then who could’ve sent this to me? It certainly wasn’t the dealer who I gutted just an hour ago. He knew something about the source of the drugs he was peddling, but he wouldn’t tell me. All that he said was that it was close.

  Was there someone else there, someone I couldn’t see, who witnessed our conversation?

  I have no way of knowing, but I’m about to find out just how close the Devil’s Kingdom is from here.

  I slip my phone from my pocket, unlocking it again and quickly navigating to the map app to punch in the given coordinates. I frown at the location that comes up, tapping on my phone screen.

  This can’t be right.

  I double-check the coordinates, but there’s been no mistake. The location for the supposed Devil’s Kingdom initiation is on the same port that I was this evening, tucked as far into the closed-down area as possible.

  I press my fingers into my eyes, trying to make sense of this. It could be a trap, or it could be my ticket to get revenge on the leader of the Devil’s Kingdom for pulling my sister into a life of crime, and ultimately, her assumed death. I won’t know until I show up.

  My phone buzzes, another message popping up on the screen. It’s from Anthony.

  Finally, that idiot decides to respond.

  Good luck.

  I furiously type a response, demanding an explanation that I know I won’t get. Anthony can’t be behind these messages, which means I have to call someone else on the team and figure out what happened to him. It’s possible that his phone was stolen, but the reality is probably much worse.

  I sigh, punching in the number of another one of my people. There are seven in total who regularly travel with me, but I think I’m going to have to leave them all behind and go solo tomorrow night.

  My phone rings twice before someone picks up. “Hello?

  “Hey,” I say, holding the phone to my ear with my shoulder as I grab the square of flesh and move it to the bedroom. “Are you able to reach Anthony?”

  “No, ma’am. I was about to call you about it, but I didn’t want to wake you up in case you had already gone to bed.”

  I enter the bedroom, heading now for the bathroom. “Well, I think something happened to him. I got a message from his phone, but he won’t pick up, and I think he’s been compromised.”

  “Shit…”

  “Shit is right. I need you guys to investigate. Find out what happened to him, and give me an update tomorrow morning,” I say.

  “I’ll do my best,” he replies.

  “Do better.”

  I hang up the phone and let it drop from my shoulder onto the bed before stepping into the bathroom.

  I don’t have time to think about what to do next. I’m excited about the directions I’ve been given, but I’m terrified that they could be coming from the man I’m hunting down. It could be a trick, but this symbol is very real, and it was taken off someone’s body. It would be easier to come to my residence and kill me if they actually wanted me dead.

  I want to know who’s helping me, but for now, the only thing I can do is follow their instructions. Unfortunately, that means taking a scalpel to the back of my hand and permanently altering my appearance.

  I’ve lived a life of crime for my sister, and I’ll carve the Devil’s Kingdom symbol into my flesh for a chance to avenge what happened to her. The worst that can happen is death, and I’m halfway convinced that I’m already dead. There’s nothing more to lose.

  Chapter Eight

  Diavolo

  Eight photographs sit in front of me, swiped straight from the police station just hours ago. They won’t miss them overnight, and by morning, they’ll be back in the locked desk of the lead investigator of this case, who will likely dismiss it within a few days when nothing comes up.

  They know that its mafia stuff. That’s standard practice, especially when the victim has no immediate family.

  I push the photos out in a grid formation on the d
esk, arranging them by their level of importance. All of the up-close shots, the scenes of Jenny’s hand, and the one of her face tell me what I want to know.

  She died today, no sooner than this morning. Her body wasn’t tied down properly in the bag, and it washed up on shore. I doubt whoever did this is experienced in killing and body disposal. If they were, she never would’ve been found in the first place.

  I lean into the picture of her face. There are no signs of torture, only a single bullet hole coming forward from the back of her head. By the looks of it, someone used a pretty small-caliber weapon, but it was still big enough to go through her brain and come out on the other side. They wanted her dead on the first shot.

  This looks more like an execution than a kidnapping-and-torture plan for information. The trouble is that the only thing that was taken from her body was the scarification on her right hand. Her personal belongings were left untouched.

  I’m led to believe that either she had bad blood with someone I don’t know about or that whoever tried to rob her got spooked when they saw the Devil’s Kingdom symbol and cut it off her hand. They would’ve then tossed her body as quickly as they could, abandoning their initial plans to take her belongings.

  I wish they would’ve stolen something from her. It would make her killer easier to trace since they would eventually be sold, and I’m on good terms with everyone around these parts who flips stolen goods.

  And that brings me to the dealer. He was slain, no doubt, but his body hasn’t been recovered. My immediate impulse is to think that Jenny was questioned about where to find Black Sugar, then killed so that the perpetrator could go rob the dealer.

  The only problem with that theory is that Jenny was shot in the back of the head. It looks more like an assassination than anything tied to the dealer’s disappearance. Besides, with a little asking around, it wouldn’t be hard to find a dealer on the port who had access to Black Sugar.

  I drum my fingers against the mahogany desk, taking a puff of the cigar I swiped from the dealer’s shop as I lean over the photos of Jenny again. There’s no mistaking the simplicity of what happened to her. As far as I can gather, she was shot, carved, and placed in a trash bag tied to a rock to be thrown off the dock. It all happened within a few minutes, and there weren’t any witnesses.

  I gather the photographs in a stack and place them to the left of me, grabbing the police notes and reading them over again as I lean back in my chair. I won’t be getting very far with this tonight, I assume, but I will find out who is responsible.

  Of all people, I don’t think that Jenny deserved what she got. I’m supposed to protect members of the Devil’s Kingdom. We’re untouchable, and that idea needs to be instilled in the heads of every new member.

  Speaking of new members, tomorrow brings on the sixth wave of initiation. Everyone joining the organization was handpicked by prominent leaders in the organization and stripped of any identity they once had. They have no families, no names, and no purpose other than to serve the Devil’s Kingdom. The contract is lifelong, and initiation is their final separation from the regular world.

  I will be setting down new security measures in light of recent events, but they won’t be ready until after initiation. The port will have eyes everywhere, the perfect test for new recruits. I’ll break the news to them once they’re initiated.

  I stand up from my seat, moving to the bookshelf in my office and pulling out an instruction manual for the ceremony. The steps involved are complicated, but they’re necessary to the success of our members. The Devil’s Kingdom isn’t a playpen for curious rebels. It’s a commitment to serve under the devil – me.

  I thumb through the pages of the manual. The last initiation was a full year ago, and my memory of the events, especially the recitable scripture, is fuzzy from the number of things I’ve had to keep track of. With aggressive expansions and new advances in how we produce our drugs, I’ve had no time to think back into the past. The only way to go is forward.

  This year, the initiation falls in autumn, the traditional time for it to happen. We’re not always able to do it then, but I’m pleased that this year we’ll have that opportunity. One mustn’t underestimate the impact that atmosphere has on the young minds of fresh members. It’s a night they’ll never forget.

  I bring the manual to my desk and move toward the closet, retrieving the white robes I’ll be wearing. The new members wear black, but I, as the leader, wear white, if only just so the blood will stand out on the fabric.

  My eyes move over the deep copper stains on the robe, five ceremonies’ worth of blood splatters. Tomorrow night, I add another layer of crimson to the cotton fabric.

  I smile at the thought. The Devil’s Kingdom grows stronger with every passing moon.

  Chapter Nine

  Zella

  I’m more of a bleeder than I remember being.

  I hold my hand up, marveling at the fresh wound carved onto the back of my hand as bright red blood beads down to my elbow and splashes into the sink. I compare the wound to the symbol I was given, and the match is perfect. I’ve always had a talent for art.

  If you could call such a gruesome thing art.

  The air is like ice against my exposed flesh, but the rush I’m experiencing from taking a scalpel to my hand is incredible. I haven’t felt this alive since before my sister disappeared, and it honestly scares me a little. I’ve become something that I never wanted to be, but there’s no turning back until I defeat the man responsible for all this.

  I unscrew the lid to a bottle of peroxide, dumping it over my open wound to clean it. My hand jerks involuntarily from the pain, and I suck air between my teeth in a sharp breath as I rush to put the bottle of peroxide back down.

  My eyes water at the pain, which is much greater than I thought it would be, but I hold my hand still against the cold sink as I watch the blood turn into a pink fizz and flow over the sides. I won’t risk infection from this scarification. I don’t want to perform it more than once.

  The pain is throbbing now, growing louder in my nervous system with each passing second. The endorphins are quick to wear off, and I find myself searching for blue gel capsules in the mirror cabinet.

  I come up empty.

  Fuck, I thought that I would be better prepared for this.

  I have medical supplies, but not even the hint of a proper painkiller. Sure, the pain makes me feel more alive, but there’s only so much I can handle, and it will prevent me from sleeping.

  I leave the bathroom, letting the slow trickle of blood mixed with peroxide dot the carpet as I leave. I can’t wrap the wound just yet, and I need something to take my mind off the pain.

  That’s when I spot the black brick on my dresser, the condensed powder sparkling like grains of broken glass in my bleary vision. I shouldn’t even have the slightest urge to touch that stuff, but I heard that even the smallest amount acts as a numbing agent for the entire body. It’s wickedly addictive with regular use, but one time shouldn’t be enough to have that effect.

  I turn away from it, mentally reprimanding myself for even considering taking a taste of the sweet black sugar that the Devil’s Kingdom has been feeding the population. I’ll break it up and sell it to pay the bills, but I won’t succumb to its appeal when I’m so close to finding its source.

  I could run out to the store, but most of them are closed at this hour, except for the twenty-four-hour shop by the center that supplies liquor to the local drunks. It’s not the weekend, however, and it’s unlikely that there are crowds of partygoers looking to get their fix after bars have closed.

  It wouldn’t take long for me to slip in and out, and it’s not like I’m going to be sleeping without something to take the edge off this pain. I figure the risk of going out for a few minutes is less than the risk of staying home with a brick of drugs staring at me, telling me that it can relieve the throbbing in my hand.

  I’ve already made up my mind as I turn around and open the top drawer of my
dresser, sweeping the plastic-wrapped felony inside and slamming it shut. All I need is to throw on a hoodie, and nobody will even recognize me.

  My hand stings as I wrap it up in gauze, screaming at me for what I’ve done. I’m permanently marked with the symbol of the organization I swore to defeat, but sometimes in order to beat someone, you have to join them.

  The piece of flesh that was gifted to me needs to be thrown out, as it’s not going to give me any benefit. If anything, it will start to smell and attract curiosity to my residence, so I don’t want it hanging around. I have enough shit in here to give me a life sentence in prison already.

  Once I’ve thrown on my hoodie, I prepare the package as it was given to me, leaving out the note inside. I shove the yellow envelope into my pocket, content to toss it into the nearest garbage bin on the way to the store.

  My hand sweats under the gauze as I push open the front door, but I find relief in the seaside air, which has grown quite cold as the seasons changed. I’m no longer in as much pain as the cold air wraps itself around my hand, providing a sensation similar to a bucket of ice as I hurry down the street toward the 24-hour store.

  Voices float past me, mostly somber murmurs in the night, occasionally peppered with a shout or a laugh, but I’m not afraid of the people here. The port is where the thieves and dealers live. Nothing ever happens in the main part of town because the police patrol here with wide eyes like owls.

  But even if they weren’t looking over the town, I have my own security packed on my left hip – a suppressed .45 with a red laser sight that never misses. I’ve used it plenty of times, and I’m not afraid to kill. You get over it once you’ve taken the lives of a few street thugs.

  Most of the buildings on this street are dark, but I can see the neon glow of the 24-hour sign at the top of the hill. There’s a cop standing a few yards from the store, and I have to remind myself that they’re not on my side anymore.