by A. R. Breck
On our way to the warehouse, Logan rambles on the many reasons we might be going to the warehouse. We’ve been to The Pit, which is attached to the warehouse. Easton started fighting MMA this year, so we’ve been coming down her a couple times a week. I know that’s where my dad works, but I’ve never actually gone inside of the warehouse.
Guess there’s a first time for everything.
We pull into the parking lot and Easton parks near the door. I light up a cigarette instantly. I have a feeling whatever is about to happen, it’s going to be a big deal.
Life changing.
“Hugo?” Easton says as we near the door. Hugo is Rich’s right-hand man. He’s usually only present for work related issues, not family matters. Which makes me think what we’re about to walk into is something about the business.
“How’s it going, boys?” Hugo says as he holds the door open for us. He’s a big fuck. His Spanish heritage makes his skin bronze, and he keeps his hair buzzed into a military cut. Almost always is he clad in a black tee, jeans, and his aviators. If I were to walk into his closet, I think I’d see a ton of the same outfit. Actually, I’m sure of it.
“What’s goin’ on, Hugo?” Logan says, walking up to Hugo and giving him a slap on the back.
“Not much, Logan. Not much.”
“Where’s my dad?” Easton says, his face still as confused as I’m feeling.
“They’re downstairs. I’ll bring you guys down.” I grab the door from Hugo and go in last. Tossing my cigarette, I exhale with a nervous sigh. I’ve never been to my dad’s work. Not once. We’ve never even discussed his job. So, that fact that I’m coming here, where he works, when he’s here, makes me want to shit my pants. Literally.
We walk through the halls that look similar to those of The Pit. People that I’ve never seen before walk through the halls, not paying us any mind. Stopping at a closed door, Hugo opens it with a loud creak. In front of us are steep, wooden stairs and cement walls lead to a darkened room below, only lit by the yellow glowing light above me.
“Head on down. They’re down there.” Hugo nods his head.
“Shit looks like a torture chamber.” Logan whispers, and Hugo gives to indication whether it’s true or not. Not a twitch of his lips or anything.
Easton heads down first, Logan following him and me last. Hugo closes the door behind me, and my heart starts racing.
What the fuck is going on?
Each creak and groan of the wood under our feet makes this feel like a bad omen. Like it’s telling us to turn back now or our lives are going to be changed forever.
For some reason, I feel like I don’t have a choice in the matter.
“Easton?” Rich’s voice booms from down the hall.
“Coming.” Easton says, looking at us over his shoulder with wide eyes.
Turning the corner, I see Rich, Collin, and my dad all sitting at a table. Nothing else in the room except for this table with chairs placed around it. Three on one side, three on the other.
Rich lifts his hand, gesturing to the chairs. “Sit, please.”
We all nervously shuffle to the chairs, sitting down and waiting for direction. I feel like we’re in trouble. Did we get in trouble?
I think back, trying to remember if we’ve done anything lately that would call for a meeting like this.
Nope. Nothing.
Like I’ve said, our lives have been boring as shit lately.
“Easton, Logan, Jackson. Do you know why you’re here?”
Three heads shake no in unison.
“Okay, then. Let me take it a step back. Do you know what kind of business operation we run here?”
“Yeah.” We all mutter.
“What is it we run here?” Rich tests us, zoning his eyes in on his son.
“One of the biggest trade dealers in the United States.” Easton answers like citing it off a piece of paper.
“What kind of a trade are we associated in?” Rich looks to Logan.
“Guns and drugs.” Logan says.
“And finally, what kind of drugs do we sell?”
Fuck. Of course, I get the hardest question.
“Uh, marijuana and…” Obviously marijuana, but what is the other one?
What is it, what is it, what is it? Fuck, Jackson!
“Cocaine.” I spit off the top of my head. Because I don’t think that they would be as disgusting to deal with meth or anything, but am I right with cocaine? Or did I fuck up?
“Very good.” Rich nods his head, and a thousand pounds sweats off my body to the ground. Fucking hell.
“We’ve called you boys here today because it’s now time to start integrating you into the family business. You’re all sixteen, and we fully expect you to take over our roles someday.”
“What about fighting?” Easton says, and I can tell he immediately regrets it by the look on Rich’s face.
“What about fighting, Easton? You out of everyone here should know what kind of lifestyle you’ll be living someday. Fighting is your hobby, but this will be your life. One day you will be the business.”
Easton sits back in his chair and nods.
“This is a serious job. There’s no fucking around and there’s no fucking up.” Collin says, looking his son in the eye. Understandably. Logan is known as the class-clown everywhere he goes, and this is a big deal.
We all nod.
“To be able to work in this business, you have to be able to deal with the good, the bad, and the nasty. That includes dealing with people who want to hurt you and the ones closest to you. What would you do then? How would you react?” My dad says to me.
“Kill ‘em.” I mutter. Thinking about anyone coming after Easton or Logan… I would kill them. I’d always protect my mom, too. I’m still deciding on what I’d do if someone threatened my dad, though.
“Exactly. Good job, Jackson.” Rich appraises me. “The first step in working in the family business is to make sure you have the ability to work in the field. You might say you can, but when it comes down to it, can you really do it?”
We sit there, staring at him. What the hell does that mean?
Rich scoots his chair back. “Come on, boys.” All six of us stand up, and we follow Rich to a closed door at the end of the hall.
Opening it up, I try my best to not act shocked at the scene in front of me.
Three men are tied up in front of us by the wrists. Their wrists are bound by rope above their heads, and their flushed red faces wet with perspiration as they look at us with terror. Strips of cloth are shoved in their mouths and tied behind their heads to quiet their pleas for help.
I don’t think anyone’s coming for them.
“These men are here for you, boys. They’ve done us wrong and their time has come. For you to be able to start working in the business, it’s going to be your job to dole out their punishments.”“What did they do?” Easton asks, a flick of excitement lighting up his eyes.
“These three men are the lowest on the totem pole. Low life drug dealers who think this life is a fucking game. Three men who tried to rob one of our dealers and take their stash. Pulled a gun to one of our men. Killed him. Now it’s time for you to kill them.”
My dad walks out and comes back with three small boxes. Handing one to each of us, we open it up. Three, black, sleek guns shine back at us.
“These guns are for you. Keep them all you at all times. Know how to use it. We have a gun range up north. Go there often, get acquainted and skilled. Become a professional. You fuck up, you will die.”
“So, don’t fuck up.” Collin orders.
“Go ahead, Easton.” Rich orders, pointing at the first man.
Easton takes his gun out of the box, setting the box down on a chair next to the door. Looking it over, he feels each dip and groove, memorizing the metal.
He takes out the clip, makes sure it’s loaded then cocks it back into place. He walks up to the man on the left. Cocking his head to the side, he watches the man squirm in anxi
ousness at Easton’s gaze. Easton lifts the gun, a slight shake to his palm, giving away his nerves.
I don’t blame him. None of us have killed anyone before, and this is a big deal. Am I ready to take someone’s life? I know without a doubt that I am. Are they?
Easton brings the gun up and slams it down in the man’s cheek. He instantly cries out in agony, trying to move away from Easton, although he can’t get far. Easton checks his palm and sees a streak of blood on it. I watch as his eyes flare in delight. I start trembling in excitement to have the same feelings run through me.
I can’t wait.
Bringing the gun up again, he levels it between the guys eyes and pulls the trigger.
Bang.
And just like that, the man lulls to the side as blood starts pouring out of the bullet hole. I watch it, mesmerized by the blood and the dead man in front of me. The two other men scream and cry, moving their legs away from their dead friend but their hands prevent them from getting more than two steps.
“Good job, son.” Rich pats Easton on the back.
Easton nods, keeping his head down as he flicks the safety on and slips the gun in his waistband of his jeans.
Collin, who has been leaning up against the wall, stands up. “Go ahead, Logan.”
Logan has been quiet this entire time. I’m almost nervous for him. I know he would take over this business with no issues, no qualms, and no hesitations. It’s the part of killing someone. He’s not a bad guy, Logan. He’s good, funny, and loyal. It’s his loyalty to this family that will make him pull the trigger. Not his thirst for blood like me and Easton. He likes the business side of the job, not the killing part.
Logan takes his gun out of the box, dropping the box to the floor. He checks over the gun, making sure the safety is off and the gun is loaded before lifting the gun and shooting the weeping guy in the middle without a second thought.
Bang.
He turns around, flicking the safety and sliding it into his pants. His dad watches him, but Logan gives nothing away. For the first time maybe ever, Logan has a poker face on.
“Your turn, Jackson.” My dad’s words spill over my spine like a thick tar. His taunting voice, like he doesn’t really believe I can do it.
I look at the gun laying in the box in my hands, then up at the remaining guy. He has tears streaming down his face and his muffled pleas are the only sounds that fill the room. The scent of blood has filled the room and I’ve never smelt it this strong before.
I have this anticipation humming through my veins and I don’t remember the last time I was this excited. Maybe it’s the knowledge that my life now has a purpose. Maybe it’s the fact that I can do something to make my dad proud.
Or maybe it’s just the fact that I want to gut this fucker like a fish.
I set the box down on top of Easton’s, and I can hear the surprised noises from behind me.
“Jackson, pick up the fucking gun!” My dad barks at me.
Ignoring him, I walk up to the last man standing and take a deep breath. I inhale his fear and bask in his terror.
I want to swim in his fucking sweat.
Reaching behind me, I pull the knife out of the holder I always keep on me. I’ve had this knife since Iowa. I found it in our old trailer park, abandoned and full of dust. I brought it home, sharpened and buffed it, and have kept it on me since. Every day, the knife has never let me down. It gives me a sense of safety that I need when I’m around my dad. I need it with the life I live in.
I slide it against my finger, closing my eyes when it cuts through the first layer of skin. This blade is incredibly sharp and will cut through skin and muscle like warm butter. It’ll take no effort from me to take a life.
Plunging it into his stomach, I watch his eyes widen in shock then turn into misery. The poor guy maybe still had an ounce of hope that he would survive, but it’s gone now. Blood starts dribbling from his lips in spurts of his wet breaths.
I pull the knife up, smirking when the knife does exactly what I thought it would as it cuts through his skin. I cut into his organs as I pull it all the way up to his chest. It’s tough, but it’s worth every second as I take my first kill. Warm blood spills over my hands and covers them in a thick red.
When he takes his last breath, I pull the knife out and look down at his intestines hanging out of his stomach.
Holy shit. I just killed someone.
I’m a murderer.
Turning around, I look up at the shocked faces of my friends, their parents, and my father.
“You will do just fine here, Jackson.” Rich says, pushing off the wall and walking over to me. Laying a hand on my shoulder, he appraises me. “Excellent. You were brilliant.” Turning around, he says, “Welcome to the business, boys. I expect you here tomorrow at nine a.m. for your first job.” He takes out his phone and starts dialing someone. Putting the phone to his ear, he looks at us and barks, “You’re excused.”
And, so it begins.
21
Cara
Seven Months Pregnant
“I’m here. I’m here.” Rose says as she walks in my house with a garment bag in hand.
“Ugh, thanks. I’m going to be so late. Jackson’s going to kill me.” I take it from her and run back to my room.
Today is the funeral for Jackson’s mom. I don’t know how it’s going to go, and I’ve been so nervous I’ve had the worst heartburn all morning. He hasn’t spoken about his mom or anything since the night she died. Personally, we’ve been good. We’re dating now, and Rose did lose her shit. But now we’re past that and just ticking down the days until I pop.
I really do feel like a whale now. I can’t imagine two more months. And at this point, I really am wider than I am tall. Most of the clothes that Rose gave me before we went to California are now too small. For sure nothing in my closet fits, so Rose went to the store and picked me up something cheap from the maternity section at Target. I hate asking, but it’s this or wearing a blanket because nothing fits me.
“How does it fit?” Rose asks from the other room.
I pull the dress over my head and watch as it falls over my stomach. “Well, it fits.” I frown at my reflection and how big I am. The dress is simple black dress with spaghetti straps and bunching beneath my breasts. It stretches over my stomach in flowy waves and ends at my ankles. How she was able to find something that fits my height perfectly is beyond me.
“Can I come in?”
“Yeah.” I say, pulling open my door.
She walks in and her face lights up. “Oh, Cara. You look great! That dress looks so good on you.”
I shrug.
“Why are you acting like that! You look so nice. Don’t be so hard on yourself.” She rubs my shoulder.
“I just feel unattractive. Me and Jackson have just gotten together, and he has to deal with me being double my normal weight. We haven’t had sex since California. He probably doesn’t even find me attractive anymore.” I sigh, feeling like I need to tell her about the worries I’ve been having for the last few days.
“His mom just died, Cara. Give him a few days to grieve.” She rolls her eyes at my dramatic rant.
“I know. Ugh, I hate this. With Logan it was so easy. I don’t know why. With Jackson, I feel like I’m second guessing myself all the time.”
“That’s pretty normal, trust me.” Rose laughs. “I think I second guess myself with Easton every day.” My eyes go wide with shock. “Not with our relationship, but just stupid shit. I don’t know. It’s a part of being a woman. Get used to it.”
I flick her off and check my phone. “Fuck, we’ve got to go. Now.”
“Let’s do it.”
Sitting through the service was the most painful thing I’ve ever done. It was small. Only the families from the park attended, or at least the ones who remembered to come. And let me tell you, that was only a couple handfuls. It was pitiful and sad, and I felt like cringing through the entire service.
There will be no bur
ial since Randall has decided to cremate Mary and doesn’t want to spend the money on a burial service.
Did I mention I want to stab his eyes out since Jackson told me about what a piece of shit he is? I hope he realizes it, too, from the way I glared at him through the entire service. He’s a horrible person and I hope he rots in hell for putting his son and wife through what he did all those years.
I hope that now that Jackson’s mom is now gone, things at home don’t get any worse.
From the raging look on Randall’s face, I have a feeling my hopes are as good as dead.
Now it’s just Rose, Easton, and me waiting for Jackson to finish saying goodbye to everyone. Easton said he wanted to have Jackson over and get really high and play video games like old times. Sounds boring as hell, but Rose and I will go along anyway. I want to spend time with Jackson. I couldn’t really give a shit if we went bird watching.
The last of the guests leave, and then Jackson starts walking away.
“Hey! Jackson!” I shout. “Guys, he’s leaving.” I point to Jackson’s retreating form.
“Yo! Jackson!” Easton hollers.
Jackson turns around and gives us a wave goodbye.
I don’t think twice, I start running—more like waddling—my way to Jackson and shouting his name. He looks over his shoulder, and when he sees me struggling to catch up, he stops.
“What, Cara?” Jackson sighs.
“Where are you going? We’re supposed to go to Easton’s house.” I lift my hands up in a what the fuck gesture.
“Yeah, not in the mood.” He turns and starts walking away.
“Jackson, what the fuck!” I grab onto his arm to halt his movements.
He rips his arm out of my hand. “Let go, Cara.”
“Why are you acting like this?” I frown at him. “What happened?”
“Oh fuck, Cara, I don’t know. Life happened. My mom died. I’m not in the mood to go fucking hangout with people right now. Can you leave me the fuck alone, please?”
“But—”