The Butcher

by Aaron, Celia

Peter drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “I guess word gets around about the angel of death, even on the inside.”

  I’d been feared to the point of some guys pissing themselves when I looked too hard in their direction. But Con was at the same level, spoken of only in hushed tones, as if saying his name too loudly might conjure him. Both of us were killers, though he seemed to do the job with a little less torture than I preferred. “What’s he like?”

  Peter faked a shiver. At least I thought he’d faked it. “I give him a wide berth. The only one who dares get close to him is Nate, and I can’t figure out why Con hasn’t put the jackass down yet.” He shrugged. “But I’ll give Nate this—he’s loyal to his friends. I’ve seen him get into some shit with Con and both of them came out roses, mainly because Nate will lay down his life for those he trusts.”

  My eyebrows popped up. I’d never thought of Nate as anything more than a mouthy bitch. “You two friends?”

  “I wouldn’t go so far as to say that, mainly because he’s annoying as fuck. But I’ve helped him out of a jam or two, mainly involving sticking his dick where it doesn’t belong.” He chuckled, true warmth in his laugh, as if whatever circumstances he was remembering had been hilarious at the time. “That guy can be a real douchenozzle, though. Like I said, I can’t tell why Con puts up with him.”

  “Maybe Con likes the entertainment factor. Opposites attract, I guess.”

  Peter laughed. “I guess so. Look at me and you. I’m funny, handsome, fucking dynamite in bed, and you’re—”

  I flipped him off while still watching the road.

  He stifled a chuckle. “Anyway, back to business. The layout is pretty straightforward. Serge doesn’t suffer fools, which is fine since I’ll be there and doing the talking. He’s been giving me more and more responsibility working on his books lately.”

  “Anything interesting in the numbers?”

  He shrugged. “Not really. But the one thing that strikes me as important there is that Vince is far more involved in all of it than either Serge or Berty. Serge may be on the throne, but Vince seems a lot closer to it than he should be.”

  “You mean he’s standing behind it with a pistol in his hand.”

  “Could be, yeah.”

  “That’s something to watch. If anything goes down, we need to be on the right side of it.”

  He pulled into a neighborhood where each house was more ridiculous than the last—manicured gardens, fountains, three stories of stone or brick—rich people sure knew how to show the fuck off. “Don’t worry. If anything goes down, I’ll be way ahead of it.”

  “Good.” If Peter already suspected that the winds were changing, we’d have to play our hand close to the vest. Swear loyalty to the old guard while waiting for the younger ones to pounce.

  We climbed out of the car and into the warm, muggy air. The day hadn’t let go of its heat yet, not even when the sun was sitting low, brushing the edges of the trees behind the house.

  The guard on the front steps eyed me hard as I walked up. I couldn’t blame him. Whatever gun he had tucked inside his suit coat would do fuck-all to stop me. If I wanted to, I could break his neck before he even palmed it.

  “Peter.” He nodded at my brother. “And this is your brother?”

  “David.” I didn’t offer my hand, just stared him down.

  “Right.” He reached for the door handle, missing it on the first try.

  Once inside, we passed another guard, and then met the third that Peter had told me about in the hallway outside of Serge’s office.

  “—pussy was so hairy that I thought she was doing some sort of retro seventies look, you know? Like return of the bush or something. But it didn’t matter. Used that shit like dental floss then hit it hard before her old man came home.”

  Laughter erupted from the room. Old Serge was amused, though he seemed to be the only one as I walked in. His face sobered as he watched me, and the man on the couch rose, his hand reaching.

  “Serge, Vince, this is my brother David.”

  Serge relaxed a little, his forehead unwrinkling as much as it could. “The Butcher, eh?”

  I nodded.

  “Good to finally meet you.” He looked me up and down. “And the rumors are true, I see. Built like a truck. I think Vince may need to check his shorts.” He motioned to the man who’d risen from the couch. He was in his thirties, trim, and with shrewd eyes hidden behind an easy smile.

  “David, good to have you out.” He offered me his hand.

  I took it and shook. Firm, but not crushing. No need to get aggressive just yet.

  “And you know Nate.” Peter didn’t even look at the guy.

  I did. He’d changed from a gangly boy into a man. He was taller with broad shoulders and a 5 o’clock shadow. Finally grown. Though, based on his hairy pussy tale, he was still doing some stupid shit.

  “Nice to see you, big boy. Glad the prison didn’t skimp on your meals.” He grinned.

  Cocky little shit. I glared at him.

  “A man of few words.” Serge sat behind his desk. “I like it. We need more of that around here. Everyone, have a seat and get comfortable.” He didn’t move his gaze from mine. “How’s my old friend Rudy doing?”

  “About the same. He’s got plenty of commissary cash and all the porn mags he can handle,” Peter piped up for me. I didn’t mind.

  Serge laughed. “I’m glad he hasn’t changed. And he’s told me all about you, David, how well you took his instruction. Star pupil.”

  I sank down on one end of a leather sofa. Peter took the other side, and Vince and Nate chose two side chairs. I kept each of them in my peripheral vision. Habit.

  “God, I miss Rudy, but I think you’ll be an excellent replacement.” Serge smiled.

  Rudy Gresham was a particularly violent criminal and Serge’s chief information guy for the past three decades. He’d gotten popped about the same time as me, but his sentence was for life. So many murders, tortures, and mutilations had been linked to him that the prosecutors didn’t even use all the evidence they’d amassed. He was beyond a reasonable doubt within the first few minutes of trial. Serge had made sure we roomed together, and over the past few years, Rudy had taught me everything he knew about extracting information. There was no form of torture Rudy hadn’t tried, practiced, or perfected. Ghoulish and wise, he was an old-world mafia treasure.

  “You did good work for me, David. Cleaned up a lot of situations on the inside that would have otherwise made a mess, cost me a fortune, or both. I appreciate all that. I want you to know.”

  “My pleasure.”

  He winced at my voice. Was I so terrifying that just an utterance brought fear? Good.

  “And now that we have you here with us, you can be an even greater asset.” He leaned back. “I already have a job for you, if you’re interested.”

  “I am.” My hands itched to feel someone else’s blood coating them.

  “No rest for the wicked, right?” Serge smiled, his yellowing teeth showing his age right along with his graying hair and paunch. No wonder Vince was already gunning for the throne.

  “We’re going to get along fine.” Serge held my gaze. “Okay, so, on the agenda is a get-together this evening at the house of one of my associates, Hector Blanco. He’s a known bastard, but he keeps a couple of the supply lines running through Mexico clear for us. Useful, to a degree. But now he’s looking to form an alliance with the Salvador family.” He pointed at Vince. “Lay it out for him.”

  Vince cleared his throat. “For your purposes, all you need to know is that this union must happen. Blanco is going to marry off his only daughter—”

  Serge snorted. “She’s not his daughter. Just some street trash he bought and has been keeping for years. You should see how he makes her dress.” He shrugged and laughed. “You’ll see tonight at the engagement party.”

  “Anyway,” Vince continued, “We want the wedding to happen. There is going to be pushback from the Irish on it, and may
be some other clans, too.”

  Peter nodded. “They won’t want us consolidating those trade routes under one banner.”

  Vince snapped his fingers. “Bingo. But if we play our cards right, make sure the wedding happens, then take out Blanco, we’ll have the most direct line from Colombia via the Salvador connections and Blanco’s Mexican routes.”

  “What if the Mexican connections don’t appreciate you taking out Blanco?” Peter always maintained skepticism. It’s why he was so good at business.

  “They’ll be fine.” Serge waved the question away. “We’ll grease their palms plenty to make it fine. And by that time, the little bitch will be married into the Salvador family, so that alliance will be set in blood. We’ll have her on a leash right along with her husband, Lorenzo.”

  The sofa groaned under my weight as I threw an arm across the back of it. “What do you need me to do?”

  “Go to the engagement party tonight and scope things out. If the Irish are as big a threat as I suspect, there may be some fireworks. If that happens, your job is to protect the daughter.”

  I couldn’t have been hearing right. “A bodyguard? That’s what you want me for?”

  Serge held up a hand. “Don’t get your feathers ruffled. There will be plenty of blood to be had by all once shit starts getting hairy. But you, I mean—” He gave me another up and down look. “With you guarding her, no one will touch a hair on her pretty little head. You’re what we need for this job.”

  Protection wasn’t my forte. I glanced at Peter who gave me a slight shake of the head as if to say, “don’t question it, just do it.” My hands fisted, the knuckles splitting open again where I’d injured them this morning. Fuck. This wasn’t going as planned. I thought I’d be putting a hurt on someone by now, not sitting here and getting a babysitter assignment. My face must have given me away, because Vince turned toward me.

  “It’s just for six months.” He took on an appeasing tone. “Until the wedding. Once the deal is done, the Irish won’t have a move to make.”

  Serge slammed his hand on his desk. “God! I love the bloodthirsty look of this guy. Blanco will piss himself when he sees you show up. And I promise you, David, you do this for us, and the next assignment will be yours to choose. We have a special room all set up in the basement that a man of your talents could appreciate. And you’ll have the run of it. Back in the old days, didn’t the kings have a chief interrogator or something like that?” He wrinkled his brow in thought. “Like an inquisitor or something. That’s what you’ll be for me. Asking questions, getting answers, turning the fucking screws. Do this, and you can write your own ticket.”

  I sat for a few moments, the entire room focused on me. They could stare for hours, I didn’t give a shit. But the look Peter had given me was a warning. If I didn’t accept this job and follow the leader, I could be seen as more of a problem than a solution. Loyalty was everything to the Genoas, and though I may have proven my worth when I was on the inside, I had to do it again as a free man. But babysitting a mafia princess? What a load of shit.

  All the same, I had no real choice in the matter. Maybe once this was done, I could disappear into the basement and work there for the rest of my days. I didn’t need anything else. Other than Peter, the rest of the world could melt away and I’d give all of zero fucks. Except for Angel. That whisper came out of nowhere. I shook it off. Angel was as good as dead to me.

  “So?” Serge rose and held his hand out across the desk. “Are you ready to get to work?”

  I stood, well aware that I looked like a bull in a dollhouse. Serge didn’t shrink back, just held his ground.

  Reaching over, I shook. “I’m in.”

  11

  Angel

  The white dress puffed around my thighs thanks to the petticoat beneath the skirt. Even so, it was more demure than the rainbow-colored outfits Hector usually made me wear. I sat in front of my makeup mirror and peered at the faded bruise along my left cheek. It had been almost three weeks since Jorge attacked me, and the mark from his hand was nearly gone. The scars his violence had left inside me would always be there, though.

  I grabbed a white elastic and my brush to start on the pigtails. Hector had been very clear about how he wanted me to appear at my engagement party. The thought would be laughable if I weren’t already dead inside. Nothing struck me as funny, not even gallows humor warming me for my impending nuptials with Lorenzo. I tied up one side of my hair, then the other, my dark locks falling lifeless to my shoulders. After plugging in my curling iron, I sat back and stared at the babydoll dress with the white ribbon tied between my breasts. Ridiculous. And I’d look even more ridiculous by the time I was done at the makeup mirror.

  My door opened, and Jorge walked in. I fought the shiver that raced through me and refused to cringe as he approached. He’d become bolder ever since that day. I closed my eyes for a moment to breathe through the wave of nausea that hit me anytime my thoughts veered too close to what happened in Hector’s office. But the feeling of Jorge on top of me, his hand at my throat—all of it was too much for me to simply erase.

  “Looking good, baby girl.” He stopped behind me and leered at my reflection.

  I grabbed my eye shadow, but that was all I could do. My hands were shaking too badly for me to apply it with Jorge over my shoulder.

  “I have to get ready.” I did my best to glare at him without actually seeing him. A little trick of fuzzing my vision, of looking through him instead of at him.

  “Get ready.” He gripped the back of my chair.

  I leaned forward to avoid even the slightest touch.

  “Don’t do that, baby girl.” His hands crept to my shoulders and squeezed.

  “Stop.” I tried to keep my voice cold, hard. But it shook.

  He noticed, a wolf-like smile lighting his cruel face. “Next time I won’t stop. Next time, I’m going to destroy that tight little cherry between your legs.”

  “Get away from me or I’ll scream.” I glared at him.

  He eased off and backed away. “You’re going to scream for me, baby girl. I promise you that.” Turning on his heel, he walked away and left.

  The moment the door closed, I collapsed forward onto the vanity, my entire body shuddering. My brush fell to the floor as I put my head down and tried to breathe through the terror. I have to get out of here. It was a thought I’d had more times than I could count, but it was useless. I’d tried so many times and suffered the punishment when I’d failed. Hector would never let me go. Not even if I married that piece of shit Lorenzo. Hector would always be there, pulling my strings and making me dance like a pathetic marionette. I couldn’t save myself. I never could.

  “Just get through it,” I whispered. Maybe Lorenzo wouldn’t watch me as closely. Leaving this prison was my only chance at escaping the life Hector had chosen for me.

  Sitting up, I wiped the few tears I’d let fall, then stared at my reflection once more. Harden up, buttercup. I reached for my eye shadow. My hands still trembled, but I flexed them and shook them out. It helped.

  Once I was done up like a cracked-out twelve-year-old at her birthday party, I stood and grabbed a pair of white high-heeled Mary Janes from my closet. My dress’s low-cut neckline and indecently short, puffy skirt would please Hector, as would the girly style of my hair and makeup. I was a sicko’s sex doll, and I hated myself for it, but I couldn’t risk riling him again. Not after what happened with Jorge.

  People were already arriving, and voices wafted up the stairs to the second floor. I had no doubt Hector had invited all the top mafia brass so he could show off his business acumen as well as the spectacle of his “baby girl.”

  Everyone loves a party, especially one with high stakes.

  What’s higher stakes than giving an unwilling prisoner over to yet another mafia miscreant? I laughed low in my throat, even though nothing was funny, and headed downstairs to join my groom.

  12

  David

  I followed
Serge into the house. The two heavily armed men standing at the front door matched the same pair that stood guard at the entrance to the drive. Sprawling over several acres, the Blanco estate was a stronghold that even I could appreciate. But its primary downfall was how overdone it was, as if Blanco had no problem telegraphing his inferiority complex to the world. Everything was gold and crystal, but any idiot could tell there was rot underneath.

  Serge strode in easily, but I had to stop and spread my arms for a frisk.

  “Cup my balls gently, just how I like.” I smirked down at the douche who was feeling me up.

  He didn’t even give me a comeback, just finished a half-ass pat-down and backed away, fear clouding his judgment. Good.

  I adjusted my suit coat and took note of all the entrances and exits. Serge had Vince and Peter with him as well as some additional muscle scattered throughout the room. He could take care of himself. I had to focus on the job at hand, the bride-to-be. I scanned the crowd—easy when I had several inches on everyone—but didn’t see anyone who fit the princess bill.

  “Hector!” Serge opened his arms wide for an embrace with the master of the house.

  Hector Blanco was a large man, almost as old as Serge, and with a too-easy smile. Slimy. Then again, Serge was planning on burying the man in a matter of months, so I supposed what counted for slimy was pretty relative.

  “So good to have you here on this joyous occasion.” Hector grinned and motioned to another man, this one younger. “And here is the lucky groom, Lorenzo. Have you two met?”

  “Not officially.” Lorenzo tipped his chin down with the appropriate respect and shook Serge’s hand.

  “Well, I’m glad we’re meeting now. Congratulations, young man. You’ve certainly outkicked your coverage on this one. Hector’s daughter is a true gem.”

  “Yes, sir.” Lorenzo beamed a shit-eating grin that matched the too-lax cut of his suit. He was trying to play with the big boys but didn’t quite fit. Serge would have him under his thumb in no time.