Empire

by Rachel Van Dyken

  “Oh, hell.” Phoenix rubbed his temples with his fingers.

  “Please!” I yelled. “Phoenix attacked Trace!”

  Phoenix shoved his chair back. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

  “Drink!” Nixon stood between all of us spreading his hands wide. When Phoenix didn’t attack, he cleared his throat and pulled a bottle of whiskey from one of the cupboards. “Or, we play Russian Roulette with Tex’s gun, and we all know he doesn’t play fair.”

  We all sat.

  For the first time since Andi’s death, we all took a shot together.

  And for once, it didn’t feel like a tribute.

  More of a what the hell do we do now?

  Lovers and madmen have such seething brains. –A Midsummer Night’s Dream

  Valentina

  I STAYED IN my room like a complete coward all night. Thank God I had a stash of licorice and protein bars in one of my bags from work.

  The piece of red licorice hung out of my mouth as I tore open the next letter. So far, they hadn’t given me any clues as to who was actually sending the things.

  My money was on Frank.

  Until I saw Frank and he seemed more… distant and cold, not the type to send letters from the grave.

  Not at all.

  There were only three letters left.

  Panicked, I went back through to make sure I’d counted right.

  Three?

  Could that be right?

  So what? I’d been given seven?

  Frowning, I pulled the sheet of paper out. It looked like it had coffee spilled on it, but it smelled like the Victoria Secret coconut vanilla lotion I wore.

  Over and over again the cycle continued, the prince, or the beast, struggled with his demons. His past calling to him while his future was laid out perfectly. But beasts, they are trained to fight against what feels wrong. Emotions can be so fickle, can’t they? Patience. Be patient. I imagine you’ve received your dress, the shoes, something old, something new, something blue. I also imagine that he saw the shoes. So just in case you don’t still have them, you’ll receive another package tomorrow. Don’t open it until ten minutes before you walk down the aisle. Wear everything and give him the other half of the package with his name on it. And remember, it isn’t how you start, but how you finish.

  All my love,

  R

  More and more the letters made no sense and bordered on creepy, as if the individual knew me personally or was at least watching me and writing the letters in real time.

  Was it one of the guys?

  Or their wives?

  Ugh, my head hurt.

  I guess it didn’t really matter who it was, because it changed nothing, right? It changed absolutely nothing.

  Something loud clanged from downstairs followed a few seconds later by another loud clanging. Panicked, since it wouldn’t stop, I tore out of my room and ran down the stairs.

  Yelling and clanging got louder, and when I entered the kitchen I nearly fell over backward.

  Sergio and Tex were arm wrestling.

  “One way or another bastard, I will beat you!” Tex roared.

  “More shots!” Chase yelled slamming a shot glass onto the table and then turning around offering whiskey straight out of the bottle. Phoenix held his stomach as he leaned against the counter cursing Chase to hell, while Nixon looked completely sober.

  And yet, he was drinking like it was water.

  “Ahhhhh!” Tex yelled using all his strength to slam Sergio’s hand to the left, while Sergio leaped to his feet. “Cheating!”

  “You never said I couldn’t stand!”

  Tex stood.

  Sergio stayed standing.

  “It’s amazing how they won’t give up.” Nixon shook his head. “Guys, call it a draw.”

  “Shut the hell up!” they said in unison still trying.

  “Well, one’s going to have a stroke.” Chase seemed overjoyed at the idea.

  Finally, Tex flinched causing Sergio to switch positioning, but clearly he was bluffing, he slammed Sergio’s hand against the table and stumbled back screaming. “Are you not entertained?”

  Chase slow clapped.

  Nixon took another sip of whiskey.

  And my mouth dropped open as Sergio pulled off his shirt, tossed it in Tex’s face and said, “Best out of three.”

  “Great, maybe next time we’ll get lucky and I’ll detach your arm from your skinny little body.”

  Skinny?

  Sergio wasn’t as built as Tex, but he was still massive. Muscles bulged in all the right places, tightening like a freaking cord around his midsection, his traps alone seemed like they were swelling before my very eyes.

  Add in his smooth skin and the few tattoos, and I suddenly felt like I was getting a free show.

  Tally marks marred his side in the form of a harsh black tattoo.

  There were a lot of them.

  “What are you up to?” a voice asked behind me.

  With a yelp I nearly slammed back against the wall as Frank stood to my right, chuckling out a curse as Sergio and Tex went at it again.

  “I, um, was… I heard noise.” There, that sounded normal, not like I’d been staring at my future husband with my mouth open. Hey, at least I wasn’t panting. See? Progress.

  “Eh, they’ve been at it for the last three hours. Those boys sure can hold their liquor.”

  Chase stumbled to the floor and started laughing so hard tears ran down his face.

  “Clearly.” I nodded.

  Nixon tried to help him up, but Chase pulled him down with him. I thought Nixon was going to pull a gun on him or something, and then he burst out laughing while Chase made pretend snow angels on the wood floor.

  Frank cleared his throat. “They’ve had a stressful few years. It is good to see them relax.”

  Sergio chose that moment to slap Tex on the face with his left hand while they still held the same position on the table, neither arm moving.

  “Aw, Tex, does that sting?”

  “I will literally, LITERALLY…” He screamed, his face turning red. “…castrate you in your sleep.”

  “Tex likes his dirty work,” Chase sang from the floor.

  Phoenix stumbled toward Nixon and Chase and slumped to the linoleum. “I need water.”

  “NO!” Tex roared. “Water’s for pussies. You get no water! Hell no H20, hell no H20.”

  Sergio joined in the yelling, and what was once a battle turned into them shaking hands and doing some weird handshake in the middle of the table while Chase’s head bobbed and tried to peer pressure Nixon into snapping his fingers.

  “No snaps,” Nixon growled. “I think we drank all the whiskey.”

  “How much have they had?” I whispered to Frank.

  “Not much,” he said confidently. “I believe they stopped at the fourth bottle.”

  “Four bottles?” I hissed. “They could die!”

  “It will never be alcohol that takes an Italian, only a bullet, or perhaps a bomb.” He seemed to think about this. “Yes, a bomb seems more likely.”

  “Great bedtime story, thanks.”

  He grinned. “It is my specialty. Would you like another?”

  “No, no.” I offered a polite smile. “I’m good, I’ll just head up to bed.”

  I was maybe five steps away from Frank when he called, “Val.”

  “Yes?” I didn’t turn around.

  “Sometimes what we say we don’t want is exactly what we need, what we crave. Do you understand?”

  I hung my head. “I’m not sure.”

  “Yes, you are.” Footsteps neared, and then his hand was on my back. “Men are stupid. We have our pride, we have what we think is best for everyone. We would rather sacrifice our own hearts and happiness than feel, or have the opportunity to feel and lose. When you mourn love, you never want to repeat that same feeling because it is always worse the second time. Believe me, it is always worse.”

  “How?” I croaked. “
How is it worse?”

  A long heavy sigh emitted from behind me as a large hand gripped my right shoulder. “I have loved. I have lost. More times than I can count. And each time, you promise yourself you will not feel as deep, you will not care as much. It is always the times I lied to myself — to the people I loved — that I felt the most. Oh, how I wish I could go back and change words that were said, but once words are released into the universe, they have a way of staying there until we take them back and, even then, the damned memory remains, does it not?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Even those who have accepted the state of being lost… dream of being found.”

  He patted my shoulder twice before walking away.

  But the scent of Frank, my uncle, lingered.

  Like cigar smoke and spice.

  He smelled of warmth — comfort.

  And wisdom.

  He reminded me so much of my other uncles, but there was a terrifying strength about him that had me wondering if he would even hesitate when faced with pulling a trigger.

  No. He’d fire first, then ask questions, and if he was wrong, simply shrug, and clean his gun.

  Was it horrible that I liked his attitude?

  Maybe I was changing, growing up, or just coming to accept the fact that I was more my father than I had originally thought.

  An hour later, I stared up at my ceiling; thoughts of the next day made it impossible to fall asleep. I was getting married.

  I sucked in a breath and slowly exhaled.

  I repeated the same process five times before I admitted to myself how useless the stupid calming exercise was.

  A knock sounded on my door before it burst open and a very drunk and loud Sergio barreled in. He made a beeline for me and my bed, then with a huge grunt nearly collapsed on top of me.

  “Rough night?” I whispered.

  “I think that if you ran, I’d enjoy chasing you.” He held up his head, it was hard to make out the features of his face because of how dark it was in my room. “I think I would enjoy watching your legs run away almost as much as I would enjoy the feel of them wrapped around me, when you came…” He blinked and whispered. “…home.”

  “Home?”

  “My home. Her home. I guess it’s our home now.”

  “You’re drunk.”

  “I’m inebriated, big difference.”

  “Spell it and I’ll believe you.”

  “I-n-e-b-r-i-a-ted.” He nodded. “Easy.”

  “You sounded out the last part.”

  “What are you? The damn grammar police?”

  “Or spelling police?”

  “Move over.” He shoved my little body and then wrapped his right arm around my stomach. “I promise I won’t seduce you.”

  “Was I in danger of that or something?” Why was I arguing with a drunk person?

  “Hah,” Sergio shot back. “You have no idea. Every time I see you, I tell myself you’re young. You’re innocent. You’re good. I’m bad. So bad. I keep track of my bad, right here.” Before I could stop him, he lifted his shirt over his head and pointed to the tally marks. “I keep track of them here.”

  “Them?”

  “Kills.” His voice was muffled by the pillow.

  “And that one?” I pointed to the one tally mark that was fresh, larger, and a red color.

  “That’s what loss looks like.” He divulged. “It’s red, it’s angry, it makes you bleed, it makes you mourn, loss looks like an angry, red check mark, that you can’t erase no matter how many kills you have.”

  “Loss.” My mind whirled. What was he talking about?

  “Red marks the spot.” He yawned. “I told her I’d remember her, I’d give her that honor. I got a tattoo on my arm to honor her. I added the tally mark to give her the respect due.”

  “What if I died?” I just had to ask the drunk man who refused to fall in love with me. Brilliant. But he was so loose lipped I wanted to at least try to pry some sort of information out of him.

  Sergio surged to life as he covered my body with his. I let out a grunt as his stare intensified by the minute. “No.”

  “No?” My heart sank.

  “No, you can’t die.” His eyes were wild. “Promise me.”

  “Wh-what?” I stammered.

  “Promise me!” His hands moved to my cheeks, and he lightly squeezed my face between his fingertips, and then he rolled to the side, and his head ducked as he pressed an ear against my chest. “I won’t let it happen again. I won’t.”

  “Sergio, everyone dies.”

  “No,” he murmured his voice getting quiet again. “I won’t make it through again, don’t you understand? I don’t want another red tally mark. I won’t do it, I won’t honor or respect your death, because it won’t happen. It won’t. It can’t.”

  “And if it does?”

  “Then I die with you.”

  “Are you Romeo now?”

  He chuckled softly. “I always thought Juliet was hot.”

  “Go to sleep, Sergio.” I patted his head with my hand.

  “You didn’t promise yet.”

  I sighed. “I promise I’ll try to stay alive.”

  “Good.” He blinked up at me. “Now kiss me.”

  “You’re drunk. And you smell like whiskey.”

  “You’re cranky.”

  “Gee, I wonder why?”

  He refused to budge off of me until I shoved him to the side and even then it was impossible to escape him as he grabbed my body and spooned me. He wrapped one leg over top of me and nuzzled my neck. “You smelled like her, that first day. I hated you.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Now you smell like you.”

  “Is that good?”

  He inhaled deeply. “And the beast was tamed. For one night, he was tamed.”

  I froze. “What did you just say?” It was exactly like the story in the letters, and for the second time, Sergio referenced a beast and compared himself.

  But the room was quiet.

  Except for his snoring.

  Of course.

  Tongue, lose thy light. –A Midsummer Night’s Dream

  Sergio

  CLANG, CLANG, CLANG.

  What the hell?

  I squeezed my eyes shut tighter.

  Clang, Clang!

  “For the love of God!” I said in a harsh whisper. “Stop banging things!”

  The banging got louder.

  I opened one eye, and then two.

  Val was towering over me, a bat in hand and a freaking cowbell in the other. “Where the hell did you get a cowbell?”

  “I was a cow in my first grade Christmas pageant. Dante played Joseph.”

  “You were a cow,” I stated flatly as I tried to get to a sitting position. “And you kept the bell?”

  “I’m a pack rat.” She raised the bat again to hit the bell.

  “No!” I surged toward her, then in a wave of dizziness, collapsed back against the bed. “I think I might puke.”

  “Oh?”

  “Shhh.” I lifted my hands into the air in a desperate attempt to gain some silence, but the buzzing in my head continued, and then I burst out laughing for no reason. “Holy shit, I think I’m still drunk.”

  This time the bat slammed into my shoulder jolting me out of my own amusement. “Ouch!” I leaped to my feet and reached for the bat but she moved out of the way and hid it behind her back. “What are you so angry about?”

  “You almost smothered me in your sleep last night and then you…” Her cheeks reddened.

  I felt my eyes go wide. “Did I, try to—?” Holy shit. My entire night was blank after the whole snow angel episode where Chase convinced all of us to lie on the floor and pretend we were gazing at the stars at Christmas time. Frank turned off the lights for us. It was beyond ridiculous.

  But the last time I remembered laughing that hard with any of the guys was when we were ten and had a slumber party for Nixon’s birthday.

  “No,” Val sai
d quickly. “Well, I mean, you tried to take off my shorts and at one point begged me to flash you, but—”

  I groaned, and covered my face with my hands. “I’m such an ass.”

  “A drunk horny one.”

  “Well, that was helpful.”

  She grinned. “Yeah well, this bat really did come to good use where you were concerned!”

  I frowned and stared at the bat, really stared at it. “Where did you get that?”

  “It was a gift.”

  “From?”

  “A secret admirer.”

  “Guys don’t get girls bats. Sorry, that’s not how love works. A bat is a weapon. Someone gave you a weapon?”

  “He or she said I’d need it where you were concerned.”

  My happy mood faded enough for me to feel a slice of pain through my chest as I struggled to breathe. “Just like the shoes, huh?”

  Who the hell was sending Val Andi’s stuff?

  “You should go get ready. It’s bad luck to see me before the wedding.” Val offered a polite smile. “And maybe try to sober up before you say ‘I do.’ I’ve been dreaming about this day a really long time.”

  Feeling like shit, I hung my head and scratched down my neck. “I’m sorry it’s not how you envisioned it.”

  She grinned. “It sorta is.”

  “How so?” I frowned, taking the bat out of her hands and pulling her into my arms. “You always dreamed of chasing a horny Italian out of your bed with a bat? Is that it?”

  “No.” She stiffened a bit then whispered. “But has anyone ever told you… you look like a medieval prince? Or a knight from a story book?”

  “I’m no knight.”

  “No, you’re the beast.”

  I froze. “Right…” The list in my pocket might as well have burned a hole and singed itself on my heart. I’d gone to Beauty and the Beast but done nothing else to honor her memory.

  She’d told me something similar before she died.

  “Be the man. Not the beast,” Andi whispered one night. “Girls want the guy to storm the castle with a sword and a smile, not all snarling and angry. I would never suggest you become tame, but maybe… not as scary.”

  “I’m not scary.”

  Andi’s eyebrows shot up as she choked on a laugh. I didn’t join in. “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were making a joke. Next time warn me when you’re trying to be serious.”