by Laikyn Meng
Not sorry that Killian isn’t following in my footsteps. Honestly, I am glad he would outshine me.
Syron is familiar with my tongue and isn’t ashamed. The other parents and patrons around us gawk openly. Yet, Syron isn't embarrassed by the comments I just faced her with; she is suddenly quiet and slowly nods her head.
"Have a good night."
"I can't believe your mom just said that in front of the entire town." Pipsqueak one pipes up, clutching Syron's arm.
"She's not my mom." No dear, but I control her too.
Chapter 10
Roulette
I wasn’t the type of girl to wear bows. I was the type of little girl waiting for baby birds to plummet to the ground, trying to fly.
I am the worst kind of sly villain. Placing ants in the webs of spiders. Knocking over a beverage or two. Creating a systematic ripple of unfortunate events would later end in death, or even more chaotic, divorce.
Born in a town with chaos, bright lights that blind your morals. I was the girl watching the men get conned, tricked, bamboozled by the women who flutter their eyelashes, push out these fake boobs. Men are very visual creatures when it comes to desire. They are easily tempted.
Patch was my first and favorite love.
I couldn’t let him know that, though. Even after our first meeting, he had this raw intention about him; even as a teenager, I knew that.
I would have given up my whole life plan of world domination for him. But he didn’t stick around, ran back to Oklahoma with his buddy Knox.
I still miss him to this day.
“Patch?”
“Yeah, Lettie?”
“Promise me you’ll come back.”
“I can’t promise you.” He adjusts his glasses on his nose, pulls on his pants. And if I had a heart, his words surely would have broken the damn thing.
Knox was handsome, sure. But damn, his friend held mysteries I wanted to explore. He was the second-hand man you ignored. But those always give the best surprises.
Dante told me to stop crying; I didn’t have to pretend anymore now that they were gone. “Maybe it’s time to let the infatuation with the Oklahoma boy end. Roulette, we didn’t come here to be beggars. We came to steal the throne.”
He was right; no man that ran away was ever going to withstand the detonation of a queen claiming her power.
Jordan had the money, but I held power. Patch was love; I couldn’t help to endure; it made me weak. The only option was to give it up.
“Do you think it’s fun to play God?” I should have seen this coming, but maybe I was lost in my head. Stressed over Dante’s infuriating mistakes. Roman’s absence, everything was building, I hope I wasn’t going to explode.
“Your deep, too deep.” I try to pull back on Jordan as he pushes inside of me. I’m not in it, but I allow him to use my body anyway.
“Never deep enough. Eventually, I’ll be so deep in you when I cut, you bleed. When I jack off, your clit spasms by my touch. When I wash, you become clean. You are the darkest chance to being in Heaven. Yet, being blind has given you sight.” Jordan wraps a hand around my throat, and I lean into my own strength.
I close my eyes as my head is shoved into the soft pillow. Jordan slams into me from behind. Turning my head, I view his position.
“You are on your knees.”
“I’m on my knees, and you are impressed with my progress?”
“Don’t talk unless it’s dirty. I am trying to concentrate.”
He pounds harder into my core.
“Remember our talk, how I bleed you bleed?” Always must make sure I am listening.
“Yes.”
“Well, I can walk now, which should mean you are going to be off your feet for a while.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think it is time the Empress took a vacation from her throne.” One last grunt inside me, and I hate to think he has won.
“No, wait, Jordan, don’t!” But the world goes black, and silence slips in. I shouldn’t underestimate him. Even if when I wake, my reign will be rimmed with fury.
HE IS GOING TO PAY for this.
Slowly, painfully maybe with needles or a butter knife. I have yet to determine the weapon I shall use. But I only do this to avoid looking around the room. Of course, Jordan would imprison me inside the cauldron. My own private dungeon.
I get up and pace, not scanning the bed. I try and keep my calm, but for three days, I can’t bear it any longer, as I slump to the ground. Crawling to the bed, ignoring the familiar smell in the cauldron.
I curl into my body and remind myself there is a great lesson to learn. I must have overlooked, underestimated him. Honestly, I didn’t think Jordan had any pride left in his spine.
It’s only in the darkness, the bed shifts. Jordan covers my mouth, and I plead with him not this way. Jordan does not back down, and I revolt against his actions. If he was going to threaten, I would have done it. This place already holds my nightmares; I do not want a replay. Staring at the ceiling, the same spot I did when I was taken here years ago.
I remember something True said, how she would try and turn back the clock and become the less present person and live in the past. Before birth, before breath. In the spirit world where our physical dimensions can’t get hurt.
Where we remain safe.
He struggles to finish, and I don’t blame him. The scene is grunge meets the slaughterhouse. Even as he pulls out, a visible absence, I don’t clamor to cover up my wounds. It isn’t Jordan’s burden to carry, not that I spoke about men's former actions to him.
I refuse to speak up; I take my time to consider my options. When Jordan’s shaggy brown hair flops to one side, his head angled at me, I look to where he wants, believing he has the upper hand. But I shift my dead gaze away.
Jordan may have won this round, but the ugly turn beautiful one day. They were just waiting for a reason to rise through the dirt and reclaim a place among the sun.
It isn’t smart to tease the Empress; he should have learned that rule by now. I keep quiet, I hold my tongue, and when he leaves, I lose all sense of control.
The mirror is the first to be smashed as I gather a long piece of glass and stab the bedding. I close my eyes and listen to my screams. They remind me I am alive; they tell me I’ve survived another minute in this reoccurring hell.
My hands shake with bloody cuts, and I place a handprint on the wall. Never again will I be taken. My body is a blessing to me and others when I choose.
Tonight marks another night I don’t get to look over my son as he sleeps. Another week goes by, and my teeth are clenched in anger. The frustration starts to move me in another direction. Tears stream down my face; they release emotions I haven’t ever felt, insecurity and lack of safety.
The door finally opens, and I rush into True’s arms, not caring who witnesses their leader’s vulnerability.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, biting my lip down. How cruel and awful I have been to my friend. She doesn’t care for the apology. True embraces me with the only comfort I need; someone who understands.
“Fuck, Roulette!” Dante knows he has royally messed up; Roman would have found me in an hour.
“Don’t. I get to tear Jordan’s soul from his corpse.” Jordan didn’t understand sacrifice. He wasn’t willing to stab the hand that fed him and beg for more. I was the one willing to take the next step, the vital move.
Well, except the begging part, of course.
The only person that was standing between my crown on my head was Jordan’s uncle. Who knows if his nephew was spelled out in the will? But doing a little digging, I couldn’t find another heir. Living and breathing, that is, we took care of the rest.
The kingdom would be mine, even if I married a half-wit hick from the desert to get it. There’s a reason the motto is, “No man left behind.” Because the woman was smart enough to leave.
Our first meeting couldn’t have gone better; Jordan was reeling from his high schoo
l sweetheart, breaking his heart right before basic training. But there I was, peppy, foreign, and gorgeous. He wanted to show me off and prove he was better than everyone else. I let him believe he was.
When Jordan was away in Afghanistan, I planned every angle of the hotel. The 13th floor in the Chicago Leo, the same one Dante, Roman, and I squatted for years. It became our headquarters, the sanctuary for the sinners.
I gathered connections in those halls, found the most explicit corrupt side of the law, and with it, loyalties formed at our sides.
It was unfortunate the way Jordan’s uncle died. Who knew he had a bad heart, and shock therapy was not recommended? Oh well, at least he bought me dinner first.
It started to shift after that; I grew into myself, a phoenix from the muck. Once his death certificate was notarized, I was all too happy to play successor.
Gone were the old school ‘70s décor, the awful pimp thug vibe. Now the hotel bore a resemblance to wealth and mystery. By the time Jordan made it back, the Chicago Leo had become a place where a soul could be saved, along with us turning a pretty profit.
Booking as a teenager became my first religion. Eventually, when that grew, washing money came as quickly as finding individuals who required a fresh start. Some who would pay anything to receive it.
I could have been successful without Jordan’s inheritance. But why have all the wealth in the world if you can’t show it off?
Too bad Jordan didn’t know how much my capital investments were worth. Because, technically, we weren’t even legally married. So, it wasn’t like I was lying; he never asked. Jordan saw the poor hot girl, who he saved. Let him think what he wanted, that he was the second coming of Jesus for all I care. I’m the puppet master when it comes time to play.
Chapter 11
Jordan
“Dad, where is Mom?” Killian comes right in like he owns the place. I’m not dead yet, son.
“She is on vacation; she will be back soon.” I wave him off, not interested in his concern. “Run along, Killian.” Ignoring my son’s concerns.
My son glares at me confused for a few seconds, and then walks out the door. A few minutes go by and my brother-in-law joins the party.
Dante progresses, my men stop his warpath. “Where is she, Jordan?”
“The cauldron.” I sit behind the desk and familiarize myself with the notes on the business. My uncle passed it down to us—a token for our wedding gift; at least that is what Roulette said.
“You are the biggest idiot known to mankind.” Dante has no respect for anyone.
“Another insult is going to make my men remove their guns and pick targets.”
“I told him not to put her down there.” Marley stares at Dante, who he has been loyal to for so long.
“Now you fucking speak?” I spout out a laugh.
Dante brings a gun to Marley’s forehead, “how long has she been down there?”
“Whoa, whoa, now calm down, gentlemen. Roulette is no longer in charge.” I stand and try to ease the tension.
“If you even think that is true, you are an even a dumber dead man than I first realized.” Dante rarely makes comments to me; when he does, it’s most vicious.
“Eight days, fourteen hours, and fifty-two minutes.” Marley swallows like he fears my wife more than me. I don’t like that feeling.
“What’s the big deal, buddy?”
Dante is the first to drop his aim and stalk his way over to me. “Let me paint you a pretty picture. One night, she goes out to an underground fight; walking back she was attacked by level seven scumbags.” He drags the tip of the gun along the desk, scratching it. “Our guys take her there, rape her twenty ways to Sunday. It isn’t until one pulls at her wig that they see who she really is.”
My stomach clenches, and the new sensation in my legs, make them wobble a bit.
Fuck, what did I do?
“How many men were there?” I ask, because I need to find them and make them pay. Roulette needed to learn a lesson; she has gotten too comfortable with our world.
“Marley, go down to that hole and get Roulette. Find Denver and True, make sure she gets checked out. Better wish on those lucky stars you are gone when she recovers.” Dante’s low rumble makes the entire room go quiet. I see some version of Roman in him; Roman didn’t even give me the time of day. But I always wondered why he had the letter L tattooed on the back of his neck. When Dante’s eyes meet mine, I witness something else.
“Jordan, did you fuck her down there?” Dante doesn’t move away from me.
“Yes.”
Her brother doesn’t move; he leans in closer. “I think you forgot who runs this world of ours. If she even blinks, an okay, I will chop off your balls.” He stands up tall, straightening his suit. “Let’s head out, boys.”
“When did this happen, Dante?” I lean back and fold my arms.
“Virginia.” He checks that his bullets are in position.
“I didn’t know.” Speechless. Virginia? I went there because my friend died. When I got back, I picked a fight with Roulette; she wouldn’t let me touch her. I told her she was worthless as a wife.
“We know dipshit, Yankee. You aren’t the smartest fucker in the world.” Dante leaves me, and I slump back into the chair.
I imagine I am going to regret being able to walk again.
The door opens, and Marley tries to hold up Roulette, but she pushes him off her as she falls to her knees.
“Roulette.” She lifts her head to see me, only to shake her head. Because I want to beg for her forgiveness in ways I didn’t understand.
“I'd rather you cauterize my broken wounds than stitch them closed. I was never one to shy away from the cruelty of a burn.” Roulette tells a man whose father was my doctor.
“How many stripes, sister?” Dante pulls out a knife and spins it around.
“Twenty-seven, on my thighs.” She pulls up her dress and exposes the thin, bruised legs.
I don’t understand why they are punishing her. But I know she doesn’t deliver me to the wolves, so I can’t claim I took anything from her.
“Empress, it is not your transgression.”
“Marley, your words do not comfort me. Ask my husband if I cut will he bleed?”
“Don’t do this.” I move to stop this vicious act.
“On my inner thighs, lines of nine. I will take the pain, just to watch you bleed, Jordan.” Rou’s body isn’t scared of the stretch as the knife breaks open her barrier.
“I don’t want to see you hurt; I love you. I’m sorry, Rou, please, it was selfish to make you suffer.” I almost beg them to stop.
She forces a soft smile. “I’ll try and stay awake.” The blade loosens her skin, and my namesake flows from her beautiful thighs—some more profound and more prolonged, others shorts and jagged.
“Don’t hit any major veins, or she’ll bleed out.” Marley gives his two cents about the situation, equally uncomfortable with the blood staining the rug beneath her.
“If you do, let me die. Tell my son he is the next in line. Remind him who his mother is.” My son, Killian, catches his mother’s head as her eyes roll back and close.
“What kind of fucking monster are you?” I can see the tears he won’t let drop. There is nothing I can say, and I follow as they bring her up to the suite.
I watch from the chair in the corner. A few new men come in, they don’t talk to me. I sit and fester; Killian left with Cassian’s daughter, Syron, a little while ago. Dante excused himself to go freshen up; I wonder what drug he uses to do that.
“Remember that day you asked if I had been with anyone else?” Roulette comes out of the bathroom as I sit on the bed, babysat by some guy from a gang called the Sonny boys.
“Yes?” Her towel drops, and I see the gauze covering her stitches.
“One of us did fade to another outside of our union, but you know it wasn’t me.” Her body is beautiful, like the first time I saw it.
I stare down at the carpet a
s the man hovers in the corner. “Do we really need to have him here?”
“Hudson, give us a minute. I’ll be dressed in fifteen.” He turns and leaves without a word. “Strange, they always say the ones who are suspicious of cheating usually are the cheaters.”
“I don’t know what you are referring to.” Lacing my knuckles to calm my nerves.
“It’s okay; you lie so easily these days.” Her thick accent coming through, I thought she forgot that part of her. Maybe I was just hoping she would.
“Lie?”
“The three women in Virginia. When your buddy died, and you went to bury him.”
“That was—”
“An excuse.”
“Roulette, they didn’t—”
“Mean anything?” Shaking her head in disbelief.
In dirty clothes, I stand stiff in my frame, not letting the ghosts haunt me.
“Were there any other infidelities?”
“If there were, you would know.”
“Unless I am giving you the option to speak honestly for once.”
“We were nineteen when that happened.”
“But I am not nineteen now.”
“No one else.”
“Why don’t I believe you?”
“Do you want a divorce?” I ask her because maybe she won’t kill me.
“We aren’t married, Jordan.” She stands, clenching her jaw with the pain on her legs. Her dress covers her wounds.
“What do you mean?”
“The nurse claims her child is yours. It’s a boy; your dynasty continues.”
“You’ve got to be shitting me.”
“It isn’t the worse scandal of Las Vegas; it surely won’t be the last, sweetie.” She opens the door before I can ask her what is going to happen.
“She’s here, Jordan.”
“Rou, why would she and her son live here at the Chicago Leo? This is our home.”
“Not our home, my home. My son and I will be staying. You are welcome to any of the other floors.”
“I can’t leave; we will work this out. Don’t take my son from me.” This doesn’t make any sense; I just wanted to be me again with Roulette at my side.