“I faced the man head on without a trace of fear. I had nothing to live for. He asked me what I thought I was doing in his house and I told him to go fuck himself. That earned me a pistol across the face. He asked again and that time I answered. Still not scared, but thought I might as well tell him what his weakness was. Get one jab in no matter how minor before he pulled the trigger.
“I spent hours watching these men from my upstairs window. Wondering what it was they did. One man specifically had caught my eye. I watched him come and go as if he owned the place and until that night I thought he did. On my way to school one day, I saw this man under a bridge, talking to another man in an unmarked cop car. I assumed it was a dirty cop working for them, but when I was face to face with the actual homeowner and a gun pointed to my head, everything became clear. I told him I was in his house stealing his shit because he was a stupid motherfucker who didn’t even realize when he had an undercover cop working for him so he would probably be stupid enough to let us get away with stealing from him.
“After that he beat the ever-loving shit out of me. No joke this one man hitting me was worse than when ten guys jumped me in.” Braxton shivered a bit while remembering. “I woke up the next morning in a locked room, wondering why I was still alive. I banged on the door eager to get out, but when the man who smashed in my face walked through the door I found myself unconsciously backing away. He said if I told him the truth about what I knew, and my intel was correct, he would let me live. I had no choice. I told him everything I knew, everything I saw. He kept me locked in that room for days. Nothing to eat or drink. Nowhere to take a piss, or a shit for that matter. At my young age it was the worst thing I had experienced. On the third day he came back, carrying a plate of food, a jug of water and a change of clothes. ‘Get dressed. You work for me now,’ is all he said. Obviously what I told him was useful. I was informed later they murdered the detective. Burned him from the inside out for being a traitor and when I found out the first thought to cross my mind was better him than me.”
Bethany, still atop his lap, listened with interest as he told the story. Her hand squeezing his, not in fear, but out of concern. “What does it mean to burn someone from the inside out?”
She was still looking away from him, toward the glass wall, which was the only thing separating them from the loud music on the dance floor. If she were looking at him, he didn’t think he would have been able to answer the question. He didn’t want to have to look into her eyes and tell her what a truly horrible person he is. “It’s when you pour gasoline down a person’s throat, light a match, and throw it in.”
She froze at his explanation.
Finally, a normal reaction to something he told her. When she didn’t reply, he moved on with the story, trying to keep it light as not to scare her further. “When I never came home Ben told my foster parents the gangsters across the street killed me, only my foster parents didn’t believe him. They knew Cole, that’s his name, the man whose house we broke in to, and they thought he was a good guy. Instead of actually looking into it, they just assumed I ran away like so many other foster kids.
“It turns out the Brooklyn house was just a meeting point. Cole owned it, but it belonged to everyone so he moved me out to his private loft in Manhattan. He took care of me, gave me everything I ever needed and all I had to do was what he asked of me. I was living the fucking dream. I’d go to school, a private institution he enrolled me in under my new fake name.”
“Let me guess,” Bethany interrupted, “Braxton Cage?”
“You got it. One of our guys had a son who died a few years prior and it was never reported. I stepped into the role flawlessly. My ID says I’m thirty-five, but I’m actually only thirty-four. When I took on the identity, the age difference never bothered me. I could legally drive earlier, drink earlier, smoke earlier; it was fucking awesome. Or at least I thought so.”
“And now? Is that not how you still feel?”
“Now I don’t give two shits about my age.”
Braxton hugged Bethany closer to him and continued telling her about his fucked up childhood. “For two years I was Cole’s errand boy. When I wasn’t in school I would deliver packages for him, spy on neighboring gangs by befriending their kids and I was amazing at math; could balance their books without as much as a calculator. Cole always told me I was the greatest thing to ever happen to him. As a stupid, naïve kid, that was all the reverence I needed to keep me in line, and I wanted to keep making him proud, so I did everything he told me and didn’t complain once, or wonder about the lack of ethics.
“I was jumped in on May 20th my ‘sixteenth birthday’,” he air quoted. “Took two weeks to fully recover, but I was on summer vacation and the kids from school didn’t notice I was missing. Mostly because I didn’t have many friends in school, just kids I hung around with during the day. Everyone else I associated with was from the MO3.” Bethany looked confused and he clarified. “It’s what we call ourselves. Em-Oh-Three, or sometimes shortened to Emmo.” He took out his phone and typed in the acronym, MO3. “What’s that look like to you?”
Barely glancing down she could see the meaning. “MOB. You’re in the mob?”
“I’m in a mob. It’s really just a broad term to describe organized crime, but technically yes, I’m in the mob and this is our brand. We used to tag it in everything we did, but now it’s a name that doesn’t need tagging. Where we go, what we do, it’s all our MO, our mode of operation. People know it’s us by the scene we leave behind, or lack there of. They no longer need clarification.”
“If that’s what the M-O stands for then what’s the three for?”
“It was started by three guys. Cole, a man named Paul and another named Michael. I never met Paul, he died by the time I came along. Michael is still around though, but he prefers not to get mixed up with the politics of it all. He’s the only one of us who seems to have a normal life. He has a wife, two kids, a fucking dog and lives in a nice, modest house in Jersey. We contract him for specialty hits. It’s the only thing he’s ever excelled in. He tells his wife and kids he’s going away on business and then he comes back fifty grand richer, sometimes more depending on the job. He’s our secret weapon.”
“I don’t get it,” Bethany voiced, “How do you get away with it all? How does his wife not know? How are you not getting arrested right this second? All the people in here know you. Everywhere you go people know you.”
“It’s a lot to explain. You’re just going to have to learn over time how it all works. But to touch on your questions, how do I get away with it? Very fucking carefully. Unless you’re in the Emmo or high enough in an affiliated gang or mafia, you will not know who I am. It is all very secretive. I mostly give a lot of orders, which are couriered down the chain of command to the men who carry them out. We call them soldiers. By the time the order hits the ground, it is unclear who actually commanded it. Or that’s the theory behind it at least. And how does Michael’s wife not know? I don’t know. Maybe she does. Maybe he told her just like I’m telling you, and she cares enough to continue to stand by him. Although, I assume if he told her, she wouldn’t have any other choice but to stay. I don’t think he’d let her leave.” He paused to think, but couldn’t remember what else she asked. “Was there another question?”
Annie easily remembered her last question. It had been plaguing her since the first night she saw him. “If who you are is so secretive, why do people know you everywhere you go? Even when we walked in here, you were let in no questions asked.”
“They know me because I’m Braxton Cage. I own Cage Industries.”
Bethany looked at him with little reaction on her face.
“It’s a multi-billion dollar company. I probably own a quarter of this city. Jesus woman, you didn’t even think to fucking Google me? Do you normally go out with people without checking up on them?”
Google was usually her go to source for stalking people. It was a running joke between her and her friend
s she could find someone simply by knowing their first name. Not necessarily true, but pretty damn close. For some reason she hadn’t thought to Google Brax. Maybe it’s because she was on vacation and out of her element.
Crawling off his lap she reached for her purse laying a couple feet away to pull out her phone and then curled back up next to him. Opening up the internet she typed in “Braxton Cage” and pages and pages of search results displayed. The first was his company’s website, CageIndustries.com, and just below was a Wikipedia listing. She opened the page and browsed through the detailed information. “Holy shit! Net worth three billion. Really?” Even though the information was right in front of her, it was still hard to believe.
“Give or take,” he shrugged. “If you’re only counting my clean money.”
Skimming through more of the page she read on aloud. “Early Life. Born in Brooklyn, New York on May 20, 1980 to Henry and Marie Cage. Graduated from Columbia in 2002 with a degree in Business and Microeconomics. Career. Founded Cage Industries in 2003 with a buyout of New York nightclub, House Party. Went on to purchase businesses ranging from restaurants and hotels to large manufacturing and distribution companies. Personal life. Never married and without children. Voted one of New York’s top bachelors by Gotham Magazine.” She stopped reading and let it all sink in. “Wow. That’s a lot for a girl to compete with.”
“There’s nothing to compete with B.” He grazed a hand up and down her leg. “There’s nothing you could tell me about yourself that would make me not want to be sitting right here with you.” Somehow she doubted that.
“Why do you call me B?” The question one she had thought to ask on multiple occasions. “Are nicknames just something you give to all your girlfriends?”
“Is that what you are, my girlfriend?”
Shit. She hadn’t meant to say that. “Just wondering why you call me B and not Bethany.” She avoided the girlfriend topic all together. Even in a normal relationship three days seemed a little fast to be talking about titles, but this wasn’t a normal relationship. With the shit they talked about, approaching the topic of exclusivity should have been a walk in the park. Maybe it could have been if she were being honest like he was.
“Because that’s who you are. I won’t share any piece of you, even if it’s just your name. I’m not going to call you what some random acquaintance would.”
This would have been a perfect time to let him know her real name, that he never called her what a random acquaintance would, but she chickened out. He just spilled his whole life story, she couldn’t exactly come clean now.
“Then what do I get to call you?” she asked instead, crossing her arms over her chest. “If you get a nickname, I want one too.”
Her playful whiney voice made him smile in adoration. He was such a chump. “You have one. Nobody calls me Brax, but you.”
Annie hadn’t considered that. Brax was how he first introduced himself, she just assumed that’s what everyone called him. “Not even Cole? He’s known you since you were a kid and still calls you Braxton?”
“No. He calls me something else.” Brax looked unsure if he wanted to tell her, an expression she came to know well after the past couple days. “He calls me Ax. Everyone in the Emmo does.”
“Why? Is that supposed to make you sound scary or something?”
“Not necessarily. It’s just the truth. Before Cole went to prison, that’s who I was, an executioner. I did all their dirty work.”
“So you killed people?”
He nodded.
“For what? What kind of people? How many?”
Brax rubbed his hands up and down the sides of his face. “I hate telling you this shit.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re going to hate me. We’re just on the surface right now. The more I say, the more you’ll push away. I took psychology too. You’re just infatuated with me right now. You see me as deviant and different from what you’re used to, but once you know, once you find out who I really am, you’ll run as fast as you can in the opposite direction. You’d be stupid not to.”
“Hey,” she reached for his face, forcing him to look at her and repeated exactly what he told her earlier. “There’s nothing you could tell me about yourself that would make me not want to be sitting right here with you. I’m not going to run away from you. I don’t care if that makes me stupid. Now tell me. I want to know everything. How many people have you killed?”
“Too many. I never really kept track.” The way she glared at his non-committing answer, he knew she wouldn’t let him off that easy. “Hundreds. Probably around three hundred, maybe more. And those were just kills I’ve done myself. I’ve ordered at least a hundred more.”
“When’s the last time you killed someone?”
“If you asked me this question last week I would have been able to answer honestly and say it had been a while, but it’s been a busy last couple days. Sunday ended that dry spell and then again,” he paused, “…tonight. That’s why I couldn’t make it to dinner.”
For being king of a mob, his answers didn’t surprise her. She expected nothing less. Though she did wonder why he killed, especially the recent ones. Did he arbitrarily get frustrated and take his anger out on people? If it was a while since he last killed, why now? When she asked him as much he held nothing back and described every detail about Vinnie and why he needed to be killed and then about the man in his apartment. He also told her how his murderous rampages came in time spurts. When he was eighteen until twenty-two, when he felt he had something to prove, and then again when he was twenty-four and took over the Emmo, also because he had something to prove.
“Do you think Vinnie making a trade for you and the man in your apartment had anything to do with each other?” It was too coincidental. They happened so close together. Unless Brax made multiple enemies over the years that both decided to rear themselves at the same time. Which she guessed could also be possible.
“I honestly don’t know. My best guess is yes, but I’d never seen that man before. The only distinguishing mark on him was this.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone and showed her the image of a star wrapped in two circles. “It could be nothing, maybe just a tattoo he got once, but it looks an awful lot like a gang tat.”
“Maybe he’s from a gang outside of New York and was hired in to do the job so he wouldn’t be recognized. You should go talk to that detective. Make sure he’s not taking your money and screwing you over at the same time.”
“Look at you. A nice innocent girl trying to do my dirty work.”
“Hey!” she protested. “I’m not as innocent as you think.”
“Oh I know. You’re a badass. Guys shake in their boots when they see you, but you can’t always take men down by yelling rape, not in the real world honey.” It was a sore subject for him and he was being an asshole taking it out on her, but what did she know really? Yes of course he thought of paying the detective a visit, but he couldn’t just flat out walk into his home and ask him what the fuck was going on. He had ordered a detail to follow him and they would report back if there was anything suspicious, but other than that he had nothing. No leads what so ever, and it was driving him crazy.
“Fuck you. I was just trying to help.”
“I know, but this isn’t something you can help with. You’re smart. Incredibly smart, and I love that I can talk to you about these things, and you listen and seem to care, but you’re not street smart. You don’t know what it’s like out on the streets, how it works. You would be eaten alive if I let you try and get in the middle of this.”
That’s not what she was doing, she didn’t want to be in the middle of it, was just giving advice, but she sure as shit wanted to be in the middle of it now, just so she could prove him wrong. She might come across as some innocent girl, but that wasn’t who she was, not for a long time. It’s who she wanted to be, who she tried to be, but it wasn’t working. Hadn’t been for a while. That’s why she came to New Yo
rk in the first place. To get away, clear her mind in the hopes she could get back on track, but it was all too clear to her now. That was never going to happen if she didn’t let loose and live a little. Proving Brax wrong would be her first act. “You don’t want my help, that’s fine. I don’t actually care that much. I’m going to go find my friends. I’ll see you later.” She stood from the couch, but he pulled back on her wrist.
“Don’t be like this B. Sit your ass back down.”
“No.”
Her defiance aggravated him more than the immature fit she was throwing. He stood from the couch as well, tightening his grip. “I’m going to beat the fuck out of you if you don’t sit back down. Don’t fucking test me. You wanted to see what it’s like in my world. This is it. You don’t say no to me.”
“What are you going to do Brax? In front of all these people. I’d love to see you try.”
What she didn’t realize was all these people were just as fucked up as him. They wouldn’t look twice if they saw him putting a female in her place. Lucky for her he never planned to follow through on his threat, was just trying to scare her into submission. Loosening his grip, he let go, and watched her walk away.
Annie strode down the long corridor toward the main hall, staring out through the glass wall in search of someone to help with her plan. She was a woman on a mission, but the dimly lit club hid people well, their faces all in shadows.
The bass of the music shook the red-carpeted floor beneath her as she continued forward, passing the VIP security guard. Upon entering the main hall, she immediately took sight of her friends, huddled in a loose circle near the bar. They were having fun, laughing and dancing, carefree as ever.
A man, flanking them a few feet down from the bar looked over in their direction; not once, but three times. The bartender placed two drinks in front of him, a bottle of beer and a blue cocktail in a clear, plastic cup, similar looking to the foo-foo drinks Sara usually liked to order.
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