by J, Bella
“Stop,” I whispered, my body shuddering, the voices getting louder. Too loud. It was too loud. It wouldn’t stop. It would never stop. “Please, stop.”
I will never stop.
“Please…”
A light knock on the door pulled me back, my mind reeling, the voices slowly quieting down, once again a mere echo of the past.
I wiped at my forehead, sweat trickling down the side of my face. Swinging my legs off the bed, I brushed my hand through my hair. “It’s open.”
Alyx came in and gave one look my way. “Neon, you okay?”
I inhaled deeply. “I’m fine.”
“You didn’t sleep, did you?”
“Is it that obvious?”
She closed the door behind her. “Did you take the sleeping pill?”
I nodded. “We should check the expiration date on those. Maybe it’s old. Fuck knows where Doc gets his meds, since we all know it ain’t legal.”
“Neon, the tablets are fine.”
I fiddled with the edge of my sheet. “Yeah, I know. It’s just weird since I’ve been sleeping so well for weeks, and then all of a sudden, I’m not. It’s not like anything changed.”
Alyx strolled over to my closet, pulling out a pair of black skinny jeans and purple tank top.
I frowned. “Is there a reason I’m getting dressed at,” I glanced at my bedside clock, “nine a.m. on a Sunday?”
“The guys are planning a barbeque. Manic’s already marinating the meat.”
“Again, it’s nine a.m. on a fucking Sunday.”
She shrugged. “I know. But there’s something we need to do before the festivities start.”
I scowled. “A barbeque with a bunch of bikers is hardly classified as a festivity, but I’ll bite. What is it that we have to do?”
She opened the bottom drawer of my cabinet, pulling out a small box, her smile the size of fucking Japan. “We’re coloring your hair.”
“We’re what?”
“It’s time, Neon. I can no longer deal with you being some kind of dark, ash blonde…ish.”
I got up from the bed. “First of all, it’s dark blonde…not ash blonde-ish. Secondly, how long have you had that box stashed away in one of my drawers?”
She lifted a brow. “That’s not important. Now,” she shook the box, “you’re going to sit your ass down, and we are coloring your hair. Today.”
I narrowed my eyes and swallowed hard. “What color?”
“Well, at first, I thought blue.” My blue-haired Pixie. “But then I thought, new life, new beginnings. New color.” She smiled one of her warm smiles that always seemed to chisel away at a layer of ice around my heart. “So, I thought violet.”
“Violet?” I frowned. “That’s just a pretty word for purple.”
She chuckled. “Well, it’s either violet or pink.”
“Jesus, not pink.”
“Violet it is, then.”
A few seconds passed as I just stared at her, a part of me unsure if I wanted to go down this road—a road that led to the old me. The old Neon with colored hair and too much eyeliner. The Neon whose only wound consisted of drug addiction and daddy issues. God, all the things I allowed to darken my soul seemed so trivial compared to the real demons I was forced to face now.
“Come on, Neon,” Alyx urged, her expression soft and eyes kind. “It’s time.”
I sighed. “Fine. But on one condition.”
“Name it.”
“I never have to eat one of your goddamn pancakes again.”
Alyx tossed the shirt at my face. “Shut up. You love my pancakes.”
“No. I don’t. The only reason I tolerate your pancakes is that it seems to put some meat on your bony ass.”
“Well, the guys love my pancakes.”
“The guys can’t taste the difference between steak and ass.”
“Shut up. Now sit your ass down before I change my mind about the purple and pull out the pink dye.”
I balked. “You bought pink too?”
She lifted a brow and pursed her lips like a bitch. “Try me and find out.”
I frowned, narrowing my eyes. “I think I prefer the underweight Alyx with no backbone.”
She laughed, and I couldn’t help smiling myself. I’d be a fool not to admit that without Alyx, I’d be a sulking mess. She refused to let me give up, and with Ink constantly hovering around me like a virus, there was no chance of me ever giving in to the darkness that threatened to swallow me whole.
Sitting down, I could feel the anxiety filling my lungs, the air I breathed getting caught in my throat. It was unbelievable how something as simple as getting my hair colored could open the door for a threatening panic attack.
Alyx pulled on the pair plastic gloves, placed a towel over my shoulders, and started combing my hair. “How long have we known each other?”
I shrugged. “A year? Fuck, I dunno. Why?”
“It just feels like I know you, but I don’t know you…you know?”
“Um…no,” I scrunched my nose, “I don’t think I know.”
“I mean, about your past. Your life before the Kings.”
I shifted a little. “There’s really not much to know.”
“Stop.” She slapped the comb on my shoulder. “Everyone had a life before the Kings, right? Tell me about yours. I wanna know.”
“You’re nosy.”
“No, I’m inquisitive.”
I glanced sideways at her. “And nosy.”
“Fine,” she huffed. “I’m nosy. Now, tell me. We got like forty minutes to burn, here, so start talking.”
“Here’s an idea. Let’s talk about your past.”
“You already know all about my sorry-ass life.”
“Oh, that’s right. The ballerina who starved herself, all because she tried to impress mommy-dear, who also happened to be a demonic bitch.” I held up a finger. “And then she managed to catch the attention of the meanest motherfucker in all of New York City, got her ass kidnapped, and then fell in love with the monster, who turned out to be her prince.”
“King,” Alyx chimed in. “He turned out to be my King.”
“Oh, gag.”
She chuckled. “Okay, your turn.”
I nervously pressed at my cuticles, biting the inside of my cheek. Living with men for so long was comfortable in the sense that they didn’t give a shit about your past or the kind of baggage you were saddled with. Men were all build a bridge and get over it, where women liked to chat about it, share their feelings, and get all mushy about shit.
I let out a breath. “I was a drug addict before Granite’s father found me.”
Alyx remained silent as she continued to layer the color into my hair.
“Snorting snow was my favorite pastime, and getting high was part of my daily routine.” I relaxed my shoulders a little. “For years, I was sure ‘drug overdose’ would be listed as my cause of death one day.”
More silence.
I glanced at her over my shoulder. “You know, Swan Lake, if you want to me talk, you can at least go all Dr. Phil on my ass and ask, ‘how did that make you feel?'”
She snickered. “Oh, my God. Okay, how did that make you feel?”
“Like shit. Thanks for asking.”
Alyx laughed some more as she pushed my head down, starting to work on the hair at the back of my neck. “Okay, so I guess the next question I should ask is why you were using.”
“No. The next question you should ask is, ‘how was your life leading up to your drug addiction?’”
“Dear God, I’m starting to regret asking anything.”
“Good. You should.” I tugged the towel tighter around my shoulders. “Despite what you might think—”
“I’m not thinking anything.”
“—I did not have a shitty upbringing, and my drug addiction was not tied to any traumatic event from my childhood. In fact, my childhood was the perfect cliché. I had a mom who baked at four in the morning so I could wake up to that
homey smell of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. My dad was the perfect gentleman who wore pressed suits to work every day yet wasn’t afraid to dance in the rain and play in the mud with his five-year-old daughter.”
Alyx started working at the side of my head, the dye cold against my scalp. I wanted to try to crack another joke as the heaviness of the topic started to press down on my chest. But I couldn’t, not while I remembered some of the good times.
“My parents never fought, or at least, if they did, I didn’t know about it. Every Sunday, we would go for a road trip to the beach for ice cream. Rain, storm, wind, no matter the weather, we always went. And every night before bed, my mom would tuck me in while my dad would sit on the floor next to my bed, holding my hand until I fell asleep.” Tears prickled the back of my eyes. “I adored my dad. He was my king, my hero.”
Alyx stilled, her fingers weaved through my hair. “He sounds amazing.”
“Yeah, well,” I wiped at the tear to stop it from falling, “he wasn’t.”
I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t talk about it now. It was too heavy, and I was already drowning without the demons from my past weighing me down. “Are you done yet? My ass is starting to get numb.”
Alyx smoothed the dye through my hair some more, pulling her fingers from root to tip. “I’m done. Now we just need to wait about half an hour, so we still have plenty of time to chat.”
I blinked at her as she moved to stand in front of me. “How about you whip me up some pancakes instead?”
“You’re funny.” She crossed her arms, and I knew she was about to press for another history lesson when there was a knock at the door.
“Alyx, you in there?”
“Oh, it’s Wraith. Now it’s a party.” I smirked.
Alyx opened the door, and there stood Wraith with an unfamiliar redhead at her side. “I found this one wandering around downstairs.”
“Oh, my God, Red!” Alyx flung her arms around the unfamiliar woman standing in my doorway wearing a pair of torn jeans, black shirt, and fuck-load of tattoos. She was like the female version of Ink…only with red, curly hair, and green eyes that made you think of a black cat strolling down a dark alley at midnight.
I pushed myself up from the chair, grabbed the crutch, and steadied myself.
Alyx hugged the girl. “I’m so glad you could make it.”
“Hey, when a girl gets an invite to join the Kings at a barbecue, she accepts.”
Wraith leaned against the doorframe, her C-cup breasts snug in the skintight blue shirt she was wearing. “You shouldn’t let this one roam the halls with Manic out there.”
The redhead turned. “Would Manic be the guy who just molested me with his eyes on our way up here?”
I rolled my eyes. “That would be him, yes.”
Red looked my way. “You must be Neon?”
Confused, I glanced at Alyx then back at Red. “You know who I am.” It wasn’t a question.
Red opened her mouth when Alyx stepped up. “Red is a very good friend of mine…from my life pre-American Street Kings, that is.”
“Okay.” I cocked a brow, picking up on a vibe that Red being here had little to do with Alyx, and more to do with me.
“Red is a tattoo artist.”
I smiled. “I can see that.” Judging by the amount of ink on her skin.
Alyx’s gaze swept up and down Red’s body. “Your tattoo collection seems like it has grown…a lot.”
“Well, that’s what a girl does when her best friend jumps ship with a motorcycle crew.”
I snickered. “Jump ship with a motorcycle crew…funny.” Apparently, I was the only one picking up on the joke. “Anyhow, I’ll just leave you two kids to catch-up.”
I skipped with the crutch across the room on my way out when Alyx called, “Um…Neon.”
“Yeah?”
“Your hair.”
“Oh, shit. Fuck. Um, yeah…we should probably…”
Alyx smiled. “Yeah, probably.”
Something told me this was going to be a long-ass day.
6
Ink
Fucker was sleeping when I got here, his head hanging down, chin against his chest. It seemed way too fucking comfortable—something I’d made sure would not happen again. Seemed like he had been busy while I was gone too, his wrists cut and skin broken from trying to get free.
I dropped the bag I brought with me on the table and started to circle him. I’d wake him in a little bit. For now, I just wanted to look at him hanging from the ceiling like a fucking dead animal. There was piss on the floor beneath his feet, and the stench was horrid. Yet it didn’t stop me from relishing the sight of him so helpless and completely at my mercy. I wondered what it would feel like, the moment when I finally decided it was time for him to breathe his last breath—when the tick of the clock would echo his last second on earth. As much as I looked forward to that moment, I wasn’t ready to let go of the rage, of the fury that demanded I inflict pain. A lot of fucking pain.
I pulled the Zippo lighter from my jeans pocket and flipped the lid before lighting it. With a smile, I held the flame against his ear, letting the flicker of fire touch his flesh. At first, he pulled away, eyes still closed, half asleep. I brought the lighter closer and pressed it against his earlobe, the flare of flames wrapping around the flap of skin. This time, his eyes snapped open, and he jerked violently, trying to get away from the searing pain. He didn’t scream. Only muffled grunts and disorientated groans.
“There she is,” I taunted, closing the lighter. “Sleep well?”
“I did…until you burned my fucking ear!”
“There’s something about watching your skin melt that gives me a fucking hard-on. It’s like getting a glimpse of what it would be like in hell for you once I drive my knife through your heart.”
He snorted, his eyes giving away his level of exhaustion. “Well, if you want to kill me, you better do it quick, since I’m bound to die of thirst first.”
“Yeah, see,” I rubbed my beard, walking back and grabbing the bag, “I thought about that, and I have a solution.”
“What? Are you going to feed me?” His chortle sounded way too fucking entertained by that thought.
“Not exactly.” I pulled out the IV bag, “I won’t be feeding you, but I won’t have you starving to death either. The only way you’re checking out from this world is with my hands around your throat.”
The way he stared at the IV bag, I could tell he was surprised, and while he tried to put on a brave face, his eyes deceived him with traces of fear. It was like the penny dropped, as if he only now realized this was his hell, and I was the devil about to force atonement in his motherfucking veins.
“What’s the matter, snake? Did you think I’d make it easy for you?”
His throat bobbed as he swallowed, but he refused to show me his fear—other than the shadows of uncertainty in his irises.
I reached into the bag and placed the recorder on the table before pulling out the needle and tube needed to set up the IV.
“I hope you have experience in that.”
I glared his way. “Experience in what?”
“Needles.”
I scoffed. “Trust me, I do.”
“Ah. Old junkie, are we?”
His voice grated at my spine. “Shut up.”
“And a touchy subject, I see.”
Closing my eyes, I let out a breath, my fists already clenched. “You know, if I was the one hanging from a ceiling with my balls pretty much in a vise, I’d shut the fuck up right about now.”
“What was your poison? Heroin?”
I did my best to ignore him, knowing he was only baiting me into losing my shit. Being the fucker he was, he’d do anything to get under my skin, use every stone he could pick up and throw my way just to fuck with my head. But he was underestimating my hate for him being stronger than his mindfuck tactics.
“Heroin, it is,” he continued with his motherfucking condescending tone. “Funny
, I always pictured you as a snow junkie, like that blue-haired pixie of yours. She was a cokehead, right?”
I lost it, even though I tried so hard to brush his bullshit off. But whenever he talked about her, something inside me snapped, like a rubber band stretched too thin. With hell burning in my veins, I grabbed the chains tied around his feet, the skin still raw and oozing from the burns. All he did was laugh, cackling like a demon who got off from pain. The sound fueled me. It made my heart beat with adrenaline, pouring gasoline on my blazing rage. The hardest part was not killing him. Not driving my knife through his motherfucking skull right at that moment. It was too soon, something I was forced to remind myself of whenever I was here in this room with him.
Pulling the chains, I lifted his feet up behind him, bending his body backward. The stench of his piss grew more potent, his jeans soaked all along his legs. Once I was done with what I was about to do, he’d probably shit himself too.
The pitch in his laugh grew higher. “You can’t break me, pretty.”
“I’m sure as fuck gonna have fun trying.”
“Did you know I timed your blue-haired pixie’s first scream? It was when I broke her leg. Her screams hit this same roof for just over nine seconds before she swallowed her cries.”
“On second thought…” I dropped the chains, the weight forcing Slither’s body to slip back down and sway. I grabbed his right leg, bending it at the knee, and lifted the chain before wrapping it around him, tying his leg in place, making it impossible for him to straighten it. I rushed to the corner of the room, picking up the ten-pound hammer which had already been there. With every sliver of rage that pulsed in my blood, with every flash of her beaten up body, her pain, her screams, her fucking wrecked soul, I swung with all my strength, aiming at his bent knee. The crack of bone breaking, the snap of his kneecap, and the sound of his screams roared through the room. But it wasn’t enough. I wanted him to scream louder. I wanted his cries to break through the roof. I wanted it to fucking sing to my blood, to bathe in his pain. So, I reared back and wrecked his motherfucking knee with another hard as fuck blow. His screams raised a pitch, and I loved it, smiling and laughing like a goddamn kid at a playground. I knew torturing him would be satisfying, but I did not expect it to feel this fucking good.