Caged

by Shanna Ehrlich

  The warehouse where they held Vinnie was lit bright with overhead lights and displayed gray linoleum floors; two assets that would help to clean up the mess. There was a ten-foot wooden cross hanging on the north wall. Braxton wasn’t necessarily a religious type of guy. He grew up in a religious household, but didn’t know what he believed when it came to God. However, he often referenced Him to instill a deeper form of fear amongst his enemies. There was something terrifying about an all-powerful deity having the power to cast you to hell for eternity. Or at least there was for guys like him.

  Braxton and a few of his men pulled the heavy cross off the wall and laid it on the floor. The other two men guarding a tied up Vinnie, dragged him over to the cross, untied his hands and held him down.

  While gripping his arms and stretching them out the horizontal length of the cross, a one-inch wide, lengthy nail was hammered into the palm of each hand. At the start, Vinnie barely put up a fight, but once the first nail entered his hand, he screamed louder than Braxton had heard come out of a person before. It was an ear-piercing scream that made him nauseous about what they were doing, but it needed to be done. A brutal force of retaliation was a necessity in order to keep their strong standing. Braxton needed to remind people they were not to be messed with.

  His guys moved forward with nailing both ankles down and the horrific screaming continued. They picked up the cross and hung it back on the wall were it was when they arrived, and all the while Vinnie cried, pleading for them to stop. “I’m sorry, I’ll never tell, just let me go. Please.”

  Well it was too late for that, but Braxton noticed he no longer felt any sort of rush at hearing the pleas. He didn’t want to be doing this.

  Vinnie’s body stayed hanging on the cross until just before sunrise at which time they wheeled out five axes and lowered the cross to the ground. He was still alive, though just barely, and they used the axes to cut off his hands at the wrist, his feet at the ankles and at exactly sunrise they brought the last ax down on his neck. It was Braxton’s idea of symbolism, indicating Vinnie would never see the light of day again, and they could all start this day fresh, without the threat of the Baller Grims, or any others looming above them.

  Each cut off body part was boxed up and delivered with nail and ax to the biggest gang and mob leaders in the area, with the head being sent back to the Grims, and the message was clear. Do not mess with us or you will get the Ax. Literally.

  Four

  Annie never told her friends about her run in with Brax. They wouldn’t have approved or understood, even she didn’t fully understand, and she was a trained professional, analyzing people for a living, but never seemed to be able to take a step back far enough to analyze herself. Scared of making a bad choice, she pushed him as far away from her as possible, but in the end, it seemed to be what he deserved. Who the fuck did he think he was? After his last comment she stormed back to the hotel with her purse full of pound cakes and didn’t realize she left the coffees behind until she reached the room; going back for them never even a consideration. She wouldn’t ever show her face in that Starbucks again.

  Trevor, Sara and Mandy gave her shit for going to get coffee and only thinking about herself, assuming she drank hers already, but the food appeased them well enough. They spent the rest of the day site-seeing the city, including a walk through Central Park, a ferry boat ride to the Statue of Liberty, and dinner in Little Italy where she tasted some of the best Fettuccini Alfredo she ever had. The night turned out to be rather low key, where the four of them cuddled together on the two beds in her room and rented an ungodly expensive pay-per-view movie.

  They continued their tourism the following day visiting the Empire State Building and the 9/11 Memorial. Annie even had her first brush with underground trafficking when she bought a Louis Vuitton purse for fifty dollars from a homeless-looking kid selling them out of a black trash bag under a bridge pass-through.

  After dinner they hit up a bar in Harlem recommended to them by their waiter. The line to get in only eight people deep, they pulled out their IDs and waited. The bouncer checked them each over and the cashier up front required a ten-dollar cover charge for access.

  The club consisted of a laid back atmosphere with wooden floors and Christmas lights decorating the walls, though it was nowhere near the Christmas season. As the line trickled inward they were each handed a glass tube filled with liquor: Annie’s clear, Trevor’s red, Sara’s orange and Mandy’s blue. Shrugging they tipped back the tubes and drank the mystery contents. Sara coughed loud, not expecting the shot she was given. Straight up Jim Beam.

  The bar employee who handed them the drinks laughed out loud. “Just be thankful you didn’t get the charcoal vodka. That’s in the batch somewhere.”

  “Ugh, that was disgusting.” Sara was still trying to hold back a gag. “Why even give people bad shots at all. Are you just trying to turn away your customers?”

  “Hardly. It’s all part of the fun. Don’t be such a tight ass.” Sara threw him a dirty look for his offensive comment, but the rest of them knew it only made her want him. That was exactly her type; good-looking men who treat her like shit. She’d probably end up going home with him later.

  They moved forward through the bar, past a giant Jenga set, two beer pong tables, dart boards and a life size checkers set that would later double as a dance floor. Seating themselves at a high top, picnic style bench, a waitress immediately came over for their drink order and asked if they wanted to trade in an ID for a deck of cards. They each looked around the table and shrugged. Could be fun.

  The cards turned out to be more entertaining than anticipated and after an hour of playing Bullshit their pitcher of beer ran out. Not having seen the waitress since they initially ordered, Annie volunteered to go up to the bar and get a new one. Taking a seat on one of the empty bar stools, she waited for the young bartender to make his way over.

  “Watcha drinkin?” he asked.

  “Can I get a pitcher of Landshark please?”

  Pulling out four plastic cups, he stacked them on the counter in front of her, then walked over to the rows of beer handles and filled up a pitcher. While she waited, their waitress, dressed in a sexy sports getup, ironically walked up beside her.

  “There you are!” she exclaimed while setting down a napkin and placing a shot glass on top filled with some sort of light brown mixture. “A guy ordered this for you earlier.”

  “Really? What guy?” She looked over her shoulder to see if she could spot the mystery man, but it didn’t matter, she’d take a free shot from almost anyone.

  The waitress couldn’t seem to find him either. “Huh, not sure where he went, but he was hot. Seems like he could be a lot of fun with that shot if you know what I mean.”

  Annie didn’t know what she meant and didn’t really care. The waitress walked off right as the bartender came back with her pitcher. She handed him her card and threw back the shot. Placing the glass back down, she noticed small black writing on the napkin. Wish I could have given this to you in person.

  Turning around in her stool she searched the bar for Brax, wondering if he was still there or if he left after ordering like she had. Turning back, the bartender returned her card and she indicated toward her now empty shot glass. “Do you know what this was?”

  He picked it up and looked at the drops left behind. “Not sure. Looks like a Screaming Orgasm.”

  That’s exactly what it was. She had no doubt. Pocketing the napkin while getting up from the bar, she brought the pitcher back to the table. Half-heartedly she continued to play cards, but the entire time secretly looked around for Brax, not knowing why she wanted to find him. She still hadn’t forgiven him for his rude behavior, but then again, her behavior was rude too, and for some reason she wanted to apologize. It was the right thing to do. At least that’s why she told herself she wanted to see him. Just to make things right. Deep down she knew that was a big fat lie.

  Another hour passed and when the dance fl
oor finally opened and the DJ kicked on she gave up on spotting him, assuming he left already. All four of them, well on their way to being drunk, staggered out to the large open area, needing to move around and work some of the alcohol out of their system. Ginuwine’s Pony blasted through the speakers and they gyrated to the beat, the alcohol giving them a false sense of self-confidence. Song after song blared through the bar and the four of them worked up a healthy sweat. The DJ was great! Playing just enough of a song before transitioning into a new one.

  The crowded dance floor offered numerous male specimens eager and excited to join their dance party. Some of them were attractive, some of them not. Annie would usually look to Trevor or the girls for confirmation before allowing them to continue dancing with her. She didn’t want to be mean and flat out say no to a guy, so the four of them had worked out a saving plan. If one of them were dancing with someone atrocious, it was their friendly duty to figure out a way to cut in, get the guy to go away without making them seem like bitches. Let’s go to the bathroom, we’ll be right back, was usually their standard go to line. Then they’d just move to a new location on the dance floor. It’s what they had just done when Mandy was caught in the arms of a man old enough to be her father, and not in a sexy sir sort of way, but an ew please find someone your own age sort of way.

  Laughing it off they went to the bathroom for real and then returned to a place on the dance floor far, far away from the creepy old man. The DJ slowed the beat from hip hop to another tune just as good, Closer by Nine Inch Nails. It was the ultimate song to dance to. It reminded Annie of their high school days when they felt cool just listening to it, simply because it talks about fucking. Back then they didn’t even know what it truly meant, how hot the words really were.

  She began swaying on the dance floor, moving sensually to the beat, the alcohol possibly encouraging her sexuality. Moments later she felt hands grip her hips, it was her turn to be molested from behind, but before she could look toward her friends for confirmation of attractiveness, she instinctually knew who the hands belonged to.

  Annie’s body froze with nerves and her heart began to pound, the same reactions she always had when he was near. She didn’t know what to do. She was okay with meeting him face on, apologizing and walking away, but not like this, not with him behind her, his body plastered close, his arms encircling her waist to keep her in movement. He felt too good, comfortable. She didn’t want to leave him, didn’t want to have to tell him no again. He didn’t buy it then and he wouldn’t now. Closing her eyes, she succumbed and let herself enjoy his embrace, the touch she had been aching to get back for the past thirty-six hours.

  “Am I being pathetic again?” His five o’clock shadow grazed against her cheek.

  She smiled, but didn’t answer. She was the one being pathetic now; needing him to hold her after she threw him away, insulted him in front of a store-full of people and refused to tell him the truth. She was so fucking pathetic, but she didn’t care. In her alcohol infused mind, she was doing what felt right, what she wanted to do without her inhibitions getting in the way.

  Moving her hands over his, resting low on her belly, she began to move with him, letting him lead. He was a good dancer, not just rubbing up on her, but actually going with the beat.

  Spinning her around he continued to hold her close, their bodies almost fused together. It felt like they were in their own little world; the rest of the dance floor gone, the sex filled song playing for them alone. It was their theme song after all, every word depicting exactly what she imagined he would do to her. While she’d never admit it sober, she liked his hard attitude during their coffee encounter. She liked when he refused to let her leave, when he threatened her with who he really was. She enjoyed the dominance. He was a man; a built, tall, dangerous-looking, warm blooded man, who wanted to fuck her so bad he nearly lost it. Now she was losing it. She wanted him to violate her, desecrate her, penetrate her.

  Sensing her new found feelings he slowed their movements to almost nothing. She looked up at him to find his eyes dark and piercing, and she couldn’t look away. She was trapped, caged by their intensity. Reaching a hand up, he ran his thumb down her bottom lip, let it flop back in place as his thumb moved lower; over her chin, down her jaw and stopped at her throat. His large hand enclosed her neck completely, gentle at first, and then he squeezed. Any normal person would have been afraid, she should have been, but she was far from normal. He was nonverbally requesting control and she was giving it to him. It was the single most erotic moment of her life, and not because some guy had his hand on her neck. It was the way he did it, the way she wanted him to, the way her body reacted to his force. If she left with him right then, she knew she would end up having the most mind-blowing sex of her life. There was no doubt. He knew what she wanted even when she didn’t.

  Then, moving his hand from her neck, he settled his palm between her breasts and trailed his fingertips down to her stomach, effectively pushing everything she was feeling in the exact direction of his hand. Fuck. She was so screwed.

  Brax waited for the haze to fade, knew he took her to a place she’d never been and watched as she came back to reality. His lips quirked in a lop sided grin as if to say, I told you so. There was no denying their attraction now, her body spoke for itself, but she was still processing what she wanted to do about it.

  “Let’s go talk,” he told her, not waiting for her to agree before taking her hand and leading her off the dance floor.

  As they walked away she managed a glance toward her friends. Each one of them were gawking at her in complete bewilderment. Their expressions almost funny. Without stopping to explain, she simply walked past them, following Brax out onto a back patio that didn’t suffer from the harsh loud beat of the music.

  A young couple sat on a bench at the outer edge of the patio, both finishing a cigarette. Braxton handed the guy a twenty-dollar bill and asked to bum two smokes and a light. The guy immediately agreed, excited to be getting so much money in return. He lit one and then handed the lighter back to the guy.

  Guiding Bethany by the small of her back over to a bench on the opposite side of the patio, they both sat down.

  “I didn’t realize you smoked.”

  “I don’t. At least not recently,” he replied. “You want some?”

  Handing the Camel Light toward her, she took a long drag. Breathing out like it was the most enjoyable thing she ever had.

  “Are you stalking me or something?” she asked along with a shoulder bump and Braxton smiled at her brazen question. If she only knew.

  “Am I stalking you?” his tone disbelieving. “No, I’m not.” That was true, he wasn’t stalking her, at least not personally. After the coffee incident he couldn’t get her off his mind. He found himself longing to know how she was and what she was doing and it was affecting his work, which he just didn’t have time for, at least not that day. So before he left for the drop, he asked his PI to have Stetson, his new apprentice, look into her for him. It was a menial task, but perfect for an up and coming looking to learn the way of the job. The investigator was given Bethany’s description and waited for her to leave the hotel before trailing her every place she went. He reported back to Braxton via text each hour on her whereabouts, and once he found out she was at the bar, which was oddly just a coincidence, he knew he could take it from there. “I could ask you the same question,” he told her and watched as her brows furrowed in confusion. “This is my bar. I own it.”

  “Oh really?” she patronized. “The waitress that gave me your shot didn’t seem to know who you were. What’s that about Mr. bar owner?”

  “She’s new.” Braxton reached out for the cigarette, not paying any mind to her skeptical attitude and took another drag before explaining further. “I don’t run the bar. I just own it. I pop in once in a while to see how it’s doing and that’s it. In fact, I’m actually considering selling. It’s one of the reasons I’m here tonight. I need my accounting team to look over
the books and figure out what the profit margin would be if we sold and compare it to the income the bar currently brings in,” he explained and took another drag.

  His explanation seemed to appease her and she began coming around to the idea he might be telling the truth. “Why? It’s awesome.” She crossed her legs and turned more to face him. “I wish we had a bar like this where I live.”

  “And where’s that?” He handed the smoke back to her, giving her the last drag.

  “Michigan.” She hesitated before answering, making him wonder if she was telling the truth.

  “Well maybe you’ll get your wish.”

  Bethany finished off the cigarette, stubbing it out in the tall, metal, ashtray beside her before Braxton finally said what was on his mind since the moment he started dancing with her. “I know what you were doing yesterday and I want to know why.”

  “What was I doing?”

  “You were purposely pushing me away. Why? Do you have a boyfriend or something?”

  “No. I don’t have a boyfriend.”

  “Then why?”

  “Maybe I was just pushing you away because I really wasn’t interested.”

  “Don’t fucking lie to me. Just now on the dance floor, you wanted it. I could have taken you right then and there and you wouldn’t have done anything to stop me, but I didn’t, I brought you out here so you could tell me the truth instead. So tell me.”

  Leaning her head in her hands she groaned. “Because I don’t trust myself with you.”

  “Why not? What’s the big deal? Unless you’re a virgin or something? Why do you have to trust yourself with me?”

  “I’m thirty years old. Definitely not a virgin.”

  “Then why? Do you know how good we would be together? I felt it the first time I saw you, before you even bought me the shot. You can deny it all you want, but you know what I’m talking about.”