Devil’s Kingdom

by King, Bella

  I used to find comfort in their presence when I was younger. They meant safety and security, and that I wouldn’t have to feel fearful when walking to the store alone. Once I joined forces with criminals, their pleasant smiles and protective presence turned into a threat. I’m the one they watch out for now, but I never wanted to be.

  I tighten the drawstrings of my hoodie over my face, keeping the cold air in as I stride up to the store. My hands are tucked into the single pocket across my stomach, my injured one cradled in the palm of the other. It still hurts just as much as when I sliced it apart in the bathroom.

  I use my shoulder to push the door to the shop open, the jingling bell at the top ringing with a sound of victory. Now, all I have to do is make it back home. That shouldn’t be so hard, should it?

  Chapter Ten

  Diavolo

  We’re out of coffee, and I’m not the type to enjoy tea.

  I should be going to bed and getting rest for the long day tomorrow, but my anxious mind doesn’t allow that. There are too many things going on, and I want to break them down in the silence of night before the daylight brings with it people and obligations to distract me.

  If Jenny were still alive, we’d still have coffee.

  I sigh, pulling a thick black wool coat over my shoulders and stepping into a pair of leather boots. Sometimes I wish I had company, even if I enjoy my time alone. It would make life a little more meaningful.

  I chuckle softly at the thought of dating. Any woman who dared get close to me would surely be after my wealth, power, or a spy sent to take me down. I wouldn’t allow it. It’s a little sad, but my purpose is higher than the illusion of love.

  I check and double-check the guns I have strapped to various parts of my body before stepping out the door. I’m untouchable, but someone around here is getting cocky, and I’m not taking any risks from now on.

  My boots make satisfying thuds against the wooden ground as I head down the port toward the exit to the main road. It’s a single two-lane street that heads into the town center. Halfway there, a 24-hour shop serves alcohol, snacks, and little packets of instant coffee. When in need, I pour three into a cup of hot water.

  There aren’t many people out – not unusual for this time of year, but still unsettling with what’s been going on lately. Witnesses are a good thing, even if they’re crooks like me. Nobody shanks a stranger when there are people watching.

  Still, I managed to slip onto the main road without encountering any threats, and I move quickly up the hill, my mouth already watering from anticipating freeze-dried coffee. I’m not sure why, but even the cheapest coffee has an appeal.

  Cigars aren’t the same.

  A police officer is perched at the top of the hill, and I give him a nod, touching a finger to my forehead and flashing the symbol on the back of my hand. He steps back upon noticing it, submitting to my position of power. Especially at night, a lone police officer has no interest in getting tangled with anyone from the Devil’s Kingdom.

  I smile to myself as I walk toward the glowing entrance to the 24-hour store.

  The light is bright inside the store, too much for my nocturnal eyes, and I blink rapidly as I adjust. The place smells like old beer and the stringent acidity of off-brand lemon cleaner, but it’s better than the dealer’s shop that stank of bleach and recent death.

  I glance over to the man behind the cash register, but he avoids my gaze, looking down at his hands and rolling his shoulders forward to make himself small. I’m not here to cause trouble, but everyone gets nervous in my presence. It’s normal.

  I turn from the register, taking a step back as I bump shoulders with a young woman who has her hood pulled up over her face. A white plastic bottle of extra strength ibuprofen clatters to the linoleum floor, rolling to my feet.

  “So sorry,” I say, reaching down to grab the bottle for her.

  “Sorry,” she mumbles back, taking the bottle from my hand and hurrying past me.

  The smell of wildflowers and rain rushes over me in the wake of her departure, filling my nose with all types of pleasantness. It’s a stark contrast to the way the rest of the shop smells, and I feel compelled to be near her, if only to save my nostrils the misery of lemon-scented cleaner.

  I look over my shoulder to find her at the register, pulling a wad of cash out of her pocket with a bandaged hand. She moves as though she’s in a rush to get away and return home. Perhaps she’s afraid of the night, or maybe she’s strung out on crack.

  She smells too good to be a druggy, though.

  I snatch a few packets of instant coffee from the self and walk up behind her, curious about what she’s doing here so late at night. The ibuprofen is indicative of a headache, but the bandaged hand tells a different story.

  I observe her movements from behind like a lion would watch an antelope he doesn’t intend to catch. It’s something to take my mind off the stress that’s been eating at me since I found out the triple bad news today – two people dead and a missing boat full of valuable cargo.

  The boat is more important because it’s carrying something impossible to get my hands on in this country. It’s not Black Sugar, but we wouldn’t have the drug without it.

  The woman in front of me takes her change and rushes out the door, as though someone was chasing her out into the night.

  I frown, looking up at the cashier. “What’s up with her?” I ask, laying down the packets of instant coffee.

  The cashier’s eyes bulge out as though I asked him if he wanted a bullet in his head. “I don’t know, sir,” he blurts, ringing up my order.

  People are always so nervous around me, but especially so when they’re familiar with the Devil’s Kingdom. We’ve been the cause of plenty of deaths in this town, but I prefer not to use violence. It draws too much negative attention from the authorities.

  “Free for you, sir,” the cashier says as I pull out my wallet.

  I raise an eyebrow. “I’m capable of paying.”

  He swallows hard, his eyes still wide. “It’s a pleasure to serve, sir.”

  I roll my eyes, snatching the packets of coffee from the counter. Someone in my organization must’ve given him a hard time recently. We’re not supposed to harass innocent civilians. It’s not the way we handle ourselves.

  I leave a few bills on the counter, more than is needed, and turn around to leave.

  I’d like to question some people in the organization and make damn sure they know not to bother innocent people from the town, but I doubt I’ll have the time for it. I must prepare for the initiation. It’s as much of a test of their physical handling of pain as it is of their mental strength, and I have to make an example of myself before the newcomers before they will accept it upon themselves.

  I pull the door open, dropping out into the night. I still have much to do and to think about, but at least I have some coffee to do it with. It’s the small things that I find most comforting.

  Chapter Eleven

  Zella

  The buzz of my phone jolts me awake. There aren’t any windows in my residence for security reasons, but I already know that I’ve overslept. I didn’t manage to fall asleep last night until three or four.

  My hand slaps down on the bedside table, and I let out a gasp as pain shoots through my entire arm. I jerk it back, cradling it against my bosom as I use my uninjured hand to grab the phone.

  “Hello?” I ask as I sit up straight, my eyes blurry from the heavy sleep.

  “Hello, ma’am. Anthony has been located.”

  “Oh, thank god,” I reply, placing my hand over my heart. “I thought for sure that he would be –”

  “He’s dead, ma’am.”

  Shit.

  I toss the blankets from my legs, sliding out of bed onto the carpet and dragging my feet to the kitchen to grab an energy drink. I don’t eat breakfast.

  “What happened to Anthony?” I ask, waking up quickly as I take in the new information.

  “A single gunshot
through the back of his head. It appears to be an assassination.”

  I wrinkle my nose. “And I’m assuming his phone is missing.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I look down at my hand, the scarification now a crusted scab against my skin. I carved it in under the recommendation of someone who killed one of my workers. Acting on impulse might not have been the best idea, but there’s no going back from it now.

  I’m breaking away from the rest of my team tonight and going solo. It’s what I’ve been waiting to do since I started building a criminal following.

  Even wrapping my hand around the fridge handle is painful, the scabs on the back of my hand cracking as my palm curves. I wince, pulling the door open as I speak through the phone. “I have something I’d like you and the others to take,” I say.

  “Anything you want.”

  “It’s a kilo of Black Sugar, the drugs that the Devil’s Kingdom has been pushing. Take it, sell it, and go find someone else to work for,” I say, pulling out a silver can of something with more caffeine than coffee.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I don’t understand.”

  I raise my voice, my heart fluttering in my chest as I announce the dismissal of my team. “Take the kilo, sell it, and get the hell out of this town. The game is over. We’re finished.”

  “Is this about Anthony?”

  “No,” I grumble. “It’s about being finished. Don’t ask questions, or I won’t send you away with anything at all.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Do you want me to tell the others?” he asks.

  I pause, thinking about the best way to go about this. Making a big announcement isn’t the way I want to do it. I just want to be done with this shit and move on toward my next goal – bringing down the leader of the Devil’s Kingdom.

  I place the energy drink down on the granite counter, leaning against it with my forearm to keep the pressure off my injured hand. “Yes, I’d like you to tell everyone, but do it after I deliver this brick to you.”

  “Alright,” he replies, still sounding bewildered.

  His reaction is understandable, but I’m not about to explain my reasoning to him or anyone else. Nobody must ever know my goals, and it’s deeply unsettling to me that someone managed to find them out, even if they do seem to be helping me.

  I don’t bother to say goodbye before I hang up the phone. I place it down, using the same hand to open the slender can in front of me and bring it up to my lips.

  The sweet liquid flows down my tongue, soothing the back of my throat. I always end up with a dry throat after sleeping so heavily. If I’m really exhausted, I sleep with my mouth open.

  I finish the entire can in one go, grabbing another one and cracking it open like I need caffeine to live.

  Forget Black Sugar. It’s this shit that should have the general public worried.

  I leave my phone in the kitchen as I got the bathroom, following my usual routine of showering, putting on aggressive makeup, and layering on skin-tight black clothing until I look like I’m on my way to bust a rich man’s balls for a living.

  I feel sexy in it, but that’s a byproduct of feminine power more than the product of a bit of lace. I throw that on underneath, where nobody will see.

  My sister’s pendant swings around my neck as I hurry to put my boots on and get out the door. I still don’t’ know what time it is because I never bothered to check, but I’m sure it’s well into the day, and I need to grab some things for the Devil’s Kingdom initiation before tonight.

  I grab the paper note that I have folded up in the pocket of my pants from yesterday, rereading it to make sure I know what all I need. It’s a good thing that it’s so close to Halloween because otherwise, finding a red mask and a black robe would be a substantially more formidable task.

  This is outlandish, but I’ve already decided that I’m going to take the risk on it. If the dealer said that Black Sugar was being provided from somewhere closer than I thought, then who says that it’s not being made right here on the port? It’s an odd sort of place for manufacturing illegal drugs, but it does make sense if they’re shipping it out to other countries.

  I just don’t want to end up in some sick trap, at the mercy of the man who ruined my sister’s life. But how would he or anyone else even know what I’m doing here? I changed my name, my appearance, and my life plans in order to hunt down Diavolo Morte. Nobody should know that I’m here or that I’m coming for him.

  And yet, at least one person does, and they’ve made it very clear that they’re willing to kill, probably more than one person, judging by the square of carved flesh I received yesterday.

  I finish off my second energy drink, grab the black brick in my room, and slip out the front door with a pistol and a six-inch blade tucked close to my side. Tonight, things are going to get very interesting.

  Chapter Twelve

  Zella

  I figured it would be easier to find a red mask, but after discovering that nearly all of the shops in town didn’t have Halloween stock in yet, I’ve worked myself up into somewhat of a frenzy as the night grows near.

  Thankfully, a large arts and crafts store sits close to the town center, and they seem to have everything under the sun.

  “Ooo, red,” the cashier says, taking the sleek plastic mask and holding it up.

  I give her a forced smile, digging into my coat pocket to retrieve my money.

  “You know, they also come in clear,” she says, looking over the mask. “It’s a bit less threatening than this color, and people will be able to see your face.”

  I laugh. “That’s the last thing I want.”

  She makes an exaggerated surprised face, raising her paper-thin eyebrows halfway up her forehead. “Oh? But you’re such a pretty young woman.”

  “Thanks,” I mutter. “But, the red one is fine.”

  “Halloween isn’t for another three weeks,” the cashier says, still holding onto the mask like I’m not supposed to be buying it.

  “Well, I like to be prepared,” I say, maintaining my fake smile the best that I can with my growing irritation. Sure, she doesn’t mean ill, but I’m in a hurry, and her comments are unwarranted.

  “My daughter went out and bought a red mask, too,” she continues. “Is it one of those internet things?”

  “What?” I ask, thoroughly confused. “It’s for Halloween.”

  “Oh, I mean one of those memes.”

  “It’s not a meme,” I reply, but in my head, I’m thinking about how likely it would be that her daughter is also attending the Devil’s Kingdom initiation. They got my sister when she was just eighteen.

  The cashier frowns, looking over the mask again. “I don’t like it. These things creep me out. It’s so… evil.”

  “It’s a piece of plastic,” I reply dryly, unable to hide my irritation anymore. “Just scan it, and you won’t have to look at it.”

  “Very strange,” she says, shaking her head.

  I sigh as the loud beep tells me that she’s scanned it. I don’t need any more questions about what I’m doing with the mask. To be honest, even I don’t know what’s going to happen once I put it on.

  “That’ll be nineteen ninety-nine,” she recites with an overemphasis on her articulation.

  I thrust a twenty-dollar bill out to her and grab the mask from the counter.

  “Would you like a receipt?” she asks, but I’m already pushing my way out the door.

  I’m met with a gust of cold air, and I already know that tonight is going to be much colder than the last. The pain in my hand is being managed by a hefty dose of ibuprofen, but it still throbs if I move it too quickly.

  I hurry down the street, keeping my head low as I rush back home. I only have a few more hours until I need to show up to the initiation on the far end of the port, and I want to make myself unrecognizable in that time. I don’t trust the mask to do its job. I need to take further precautions against being seen.

  For one, I’m cutting my hair again, c
ropping it up as high as I can without dreading looking at myself in the mirror. In addition, I’ve bought new soap, new perfume, and a completely new wardrobe to wear under my robes so that I’m in no way associated with the Zella Black who dove into the underworld in search of revenge.

  Now, I will be Zella Black, the woman who brings the devil to his knees. I will use any tool I have at my disposal, anything at all, as long as it doesn’t end with my death. If so, it will have all been for nothing. Revenge must come coupled with victory.

  I arrive back at my residence with a feeling of excitement buzzing in my stomach. It’s unlike anything I’ve felt in the past five years, and I’m not sure what to think about it. On the one hand, it’s thrilling that I finally have a way into Diavolo’s fortress. On the other hand, I could be walking into the arms of death. I’m going to meet the devil.

  I strip down at the doorway to the bathroom, leaving the old Zella behind as I walk toward the sink with a pair of silver scissors in my hand. I don’t allow myself the time for hesitation before chopping through the long black locks that have brushed against my shoulders since I took this godforsaken road into a life of crime.

  The scissors struggle against the thickness of my hair, but I manage to crop my hair short enough to make me look at least a little different in the mirror. I stare at my nude upper half, marveling at the way that a simple haircut can change who I am.

  My stomach sinks as I realize that the pendant will also have to go, at least until I’m able to return and place it back around my neck. There can be no ties back to my past. I will not allow myself to be found out and taken prisoner.

  I yank the chain that holds the little triangle pendant to my neck, breaking it and letting the gold dangle from my clenched fist. My sister gave it to me when I was playing in the school band, and she told me that even the triangle player was an essential part of the music. I didn’t believe her then, and I’m not sure that I believe her now, but I’ve always kept it around my neck in her memory.