by Amy Rachiele
“What the hell?” I’m not sure why I care what he says. All I want is for those freaks to get the fuck away from the front door of the casino. I have plenty to do without their weird crap.
“I bet you any fuckin’ money the Campuonos are going to send Caesar,” Alex seethes, changing the subject. “I hate that fucker.”
I nod. “He will definitely be there, of that I have no doubt.”
We arrived at the designated location that the Campuonos had sent through covert channels. The Capo isn’t the one I was expecting; it is not Caesar. It’s another guy who I know has his own prostitution ring.
This guy is much less fucked up than Caesar. Caesar is a fiend that lays his hands on his girls. Tweedy is in it for the money. His philosophy is if the girls are fucked up then they can’t fuck. If they can’t fuck then no money is coming in. Deep down, I believe Tweedy cares in a twisted way. He does his best to keep the girls safe. Unlike his paesan, Caesar.
“I got a problem, Carlo. I got these nut jobs standing on my corners messing with my ‘business.’” He waggles one eyebrow for emphasis.
“Do they wear fucking blue robes and sing and shit?” I ask to confirm.
“Yeah, that’s them.”
“They’ve been doing the same shit to us. We’ve been moving them along. I don’t know what to tell you, but you’re gonna have to handle it on your own.”
“What happened to you help me, I help you? We got to stick together against these assholes.”
“Well, I can’t help you with your business ’cause you know my pop doesn’t like it. We stay away from your type of shit.” I fold my arms across my chest, annoyed that I had to come out here for this. “I can tell you I greased one cop. The next time I see him, I’ll give them the word you’re having some trouble. That’s the best I can do.”
“All right, I’ll tell the boss,” Tweedy puffs, frustrated. He thought he was going to get assistance from us, he wanted to generate an alliance against the Anointed Heavens. This type of situation is delicate; if it blows out of control it could turn the eye of the media directly on us. This cult isn’t drawing attention to our illegal rackets. Right now, I have the ability to keep this shit controlled and not let it leak.
The Campuonos, on the other hand, have deeper issues. The cult fuckers are drawing attention to their illegal shit.
“I’m glad Pop didn’t come. What a waste,” I murmur. “If they’re not strong enough to handle their own problems, I’m not getting involved.”
Alex nods, agreeing with me and getting back in the car just as dumbfounded.
“Like we don’t have better things to do than help them with their fucking prostitutes.
They’re weak and they know it. They need our help,” Alex adds, summoning it up.
“Let’s get back. I have some paperwork I have to do and it’s gonna take me all afternoon before tonight’s rush.”
“I wanna make some last-minute checks in the club,” Alex continues. “I think we should add another camera over the bar.”
“You suspect someone of tipping the glasses, over pouring, skimming…” I trail.
“I’m being cautious. It’s a blind spot. When the lights are off and the room is full, it is tough to see what is going on.”
Chapter 7
Anya
Priest slaps his hand on the new member’s shoulder. “This is Caesar.” A flutter of discontent and malevolence shudders down my back. “A powerful name to join our powerful group. Let us all welcome Caesar into the Anointed Heavens,” he finishes. “We have a new member.”
The group is clustered in the main room, surrounding me. They are excited. I can sense the vibrations in the air. When you spend so much time with the same people and live together in the same house you get to understand them on a deeper level. In many ways, that’s the point. To feel like you are part of a community, to belong, to make a difference. It also gives me the ability to read people and I know this man is no good.
They clap in sync and bellow out their joyous message that welcomes all the new members. I do it with them; it’s what I’m supposed to do.
The Anointed Heavens is here.
The Anointed Heavens blesses you.
The Anointed Heavens welcomes you to join us in creating a loving society.
The Anointed Heavens opens their arms and pulls you into a loving embrace in all of the facets of our community, friendship, and devotion. We will cherish you.
When the chant finishes, the crowd disperses, offering personal welcomes. I lock eyes with Kylie. I know what she’s thinking, I know what she’s feeling, because I feel it too. Neither one of us knows what kind of mood Priest will be in. His behavior when the group is assembled is never an indicator. It’s all a lie.
I observed the face of the new member, Caesar. He doesn’t appear to want to be here or even care. His countenance is void of any emotion or elation that usually accompanies a new member. This man doesn’t appear to have “seen the light” or “found his purpose.” This is completely wrong. I have been here my entire life and this is not typical. There is a darkness to him, like a wolf in sheep’s clothing. I can’t imagine Priest believes that this man has come here to follow our mission. All I see when I look at this man, Caesar, is deception.
I let the members greet him while I slip out through the doorway. I go to the kitchen, one of the only places at the house where I find comfort. I have been waiting for three days for blowback from leading the group off the street corner, but all I received was an exile from the bedroom. The next day after I slept on the couch in the meeting room all of my things were piled outside Priest’s bedroom door, stacked neatly, the very few things that I own—missing, the fluffy rug from the bathroom.
I set myself up with Missy. There is an empty twin bed in her room, and I was happy, no, elated to move in with her. My only hope is that Priest is done with me and the exile is permanent.
A special meal is to be prepared to celebrate the initiation of the new member. I decide to get a head start before the others come to do their jobs. For days like these, we prepare Priest’s favorite—chicken piccata. I grab the cutting board and take the chicken breasts out of the refrigerator, chopping and butterflying them. I let the chicken rest in a dish and ready the coating of flour, salt, and pepper.
“You didn’t give a personal welcome to our new member.”
Priest is behind me. I didn’t even notice he was there, which is odd for me because I’m always hyperaware of his presence. Once I get into cooking and preparing meals, I get lost in the distraction.
“I wanted to get a head start to make everything perfect.” I toss out what I think is a believable reason, but Priest knows me too well. He leans into my back, very close, and puts his hand on my behind, squeezing my butt cheek. I secretly pray that he is not thinking of letting me back in the bedroom.
“You don’t like him.” His breath tickles my ear lobe, unwanted.
“I don’t know him to even be able to make that sort of judgment.” I shift away, leaning down into the cupboard for a pan. “That would be against what we stand for, wouldn’t it?” I punctuate.
“Yes, it would.” And his voice carries its typical authority around here.
Priest leaves but not before giving me a hard look. The vibes of tension physically release from my body by the loss of his presence. I continue with the evening meal and slowly others appear to help. Kylie pulls out a selection of vegetables and begins chopping them on a separate board.
None of us talk during the preparation. It is out of respect for the blessing of the food that is bestowed upon us. The only conversation would be related to composing whatever is needed for the meal.
Priest says that this is a time for self-reflection while preparing sustenance for the body. Limited conversation is fine by me because I really don’t have anything to say. My life is regimented and decided by the Anointed Heavens, in essence, Priest. A jail without walls, a man who rules me and my days. He’s leading us
all to glorify his missions and beliefs. The older I get the more I understand and find all that I have accepted and had faith in becomes more transparent.
Being in the kitchen is a release from him and a time to clear my mind and make my thoughts my own.
A hand brushes my back. I look behind me and it is Simon. His face is lined with distress.
“Anya, I have to talk to you.”
I glance around, making sure no one is paying attention, and the two of us sneak away to the end of the hall near the members’ bedrooms, attempting to escape detection.
“Priest is going to be mad at me,” he tells me, his eyes darting around, nervous. “I did something stupid. Someone came to the door claiming to be someone from another mission. And asking questions about us. I thought they might be a new recruit.” He looks past me, checking for the others, and he lowers his voice even more. “But I think they were just fishing for information. The more I thought about it after…” Simon’s expression is terrified. “There was a fancy car in the street with other people, watching us. I didn’t think much of it. Recruiting a new member was on my mind. I gave him a pamphlet and suggested he make an appointment to meet with Priest.” He lowers his whole body, closing himself up, and finishes with, “Today, Priest just anointed one of the people I saw in the car as a new member. I don’t think he is who he says he is.”
I soak it up, every word Simon is telling me, and I’m not surprised. This situation seems very off but I smile anyway.
“Don’t worry, there’s nothing wrong with what you did. Priest isn’t stupid and if he believes this gentleman is a legitimate member then we have to respect that. Let it go.” I reassure him the best I can even though I don’t believe what I am saying for a minute.
Finally, the charade with Caesar and dinner is finally over and all of the dishes have been put away.
Priest approaches me, backing me into a corner with his nostrils flaring. My back meets the wall as he corrals me. We are alone in the meditation room.
“Did Simon tell you something today?” He narrows his eyes, waiting for an answer. I bite my lip, thinking. Simon should have gone directly to Priest with any information or visitors to the compound. Fear kept him from telling. Simon has every right to be afraid. I slip my hands out and place my palms against the wall.
“No,” I respond, crossing two fingers behind my back like I saw my mother do many times when speaking to Priest’s father. I learned later it is a superstitious act of defiance against the leader. A way of lying with abandonment. I still do it, attempting to get away with something with a clear conscience. It seems juvenile to me now but a way of coping.
Priest cocks a disapproving eyebrow at me and his hand lands on the wall right next to mine, pinning me.
“Simon didn’t say anything to me,” I reiterate with all the sincerity I can muster. Priest pushes off the wall, and I pick up a muttered snarl. He saunters down the hallway to his chamber. I let out a breath and head for the kitchen, swallowing my fright.
Joseph and I lock up, switching all of the lights off. I wave a good-night to him and head for my new bedroom with Missy. The new member, Caesar, rests against the casing of the door to his room. I rub my hands down my arms from the shiver I get passing by him. He smirks at me and my eyes, filled with contempt, hold his gaze before I look away.
I enter the room two doors down from his and close it. Missy is already in bed half asleep. I go to the closet and get a white cotton nightgown. Two more great things about living with Missy and not Priest is that I can wear clothes to bed and the room temperature is much more comfortable than the harsh coldness I’ve had to live with for so many years.
I slip under the covers and pull them up tight to my neck. It doesn’t take long before I slip off into sleep.
A light streams down hitting me in the face. A woman’s shape appears. “Mom?” I question, reaching my hand out.
“Hello, sweet girl,” she says. “It’s better this way.”
A hand clamps down over my lips and the sheet is ripped off me. It takes me a few seconds to realize I’m not in my dream anymore. Strong hands grab my left arm then another one grabs my right. I twist and flail, trying to free myself. Behind the salty hand, I try to scream but it’s muffled and I strain my throat ripping at my vocal cords. Desperately, I yank and pull at my limbs, but from what I can make out in the darkness four people have me and a fifth is tying my mouth with a cloth. I try to turn my head to see if I can find Missy in the darkness. Her bed is empty. Tears gather in the corners of my eyes, ramping up my fear.
Foreign shadows are gripping and pulling. My eyes water and my heart thumps wildly. I don’t know who has me but I am suspended above the floor. The tugging on my limbs makes my joints ache as I’m carried through the house in the blackness. With a gag over my mouth and flailing around futilely, I wait, crumbling inside as I’m carried away.
In Priest’s private meditation room, candles are lit in all four corners. I am set down on wobbly feet, my hands bound by assailants released. Standing in the dead center of the room, the only one I know around me—Priest. Tension vibrates on the air, sending the flicker of candles flames dancing. Is this a cleansing? A new kind of terror creeps up my back. My ten-year-old self running for the dreaded basement to escape watching one trails across the back of my mind. I glance around again. It can’t be. The members are not here. People I don’t know are beside me.
The smack against my face stings like a swarm of a thousand bees. I had been hit before, I’ve been hit all over. But this slap is a game changer. And Priest knows it. My face hardens and if my insides had a color it wouldn’t be red but black. Rage burns through me and with a slow turn, my back is before him in utter defiance. I sense the fury boiling under the crust of the man he has become but the slap was a chain reaction—something else happened. Complete vehemence boils under my skin. His thumb had been pressed on my free will for so long that at some point the pressure made it pop.
I have no idea who the people are around me, thugs, police, I had no clue, but it doesn’t matter. For all I cared it is just me and Priest in that room.
“Who do you think you are?” he spits, coming so close to my face that his angry breath fans across my mouth. “You’re nothing but a whore that’s been in my bed for years bending and moaning for me! You have nothing without me! You are nothing without me! I made you, Anya.” He nods to the men beside me that up until now had no faces. With a snatch of the hem of my nightgown, they flip it over my head, ripping it off my body. I flinch for only a second, used to being naked and humiliated in front of others. The only thing still on, my panties.
“Mmmmm….” one of them mumbles, and Priest’s nostrils flare. His twisted methods backfire on him as these intruders gawk in intimidation.
Moving closer, the man on my right takes two steps and flips something by my ear—it clicks. In the candlelight is a flash of metal. He waves a blade, showing it to me before taking hold of the elastic of my underwear, dipping his index finger in then slashing through. The delicate fabric falls to the floor. In my peripheral, I know they are ogling me; two may even be salivating to have a taste of me.
I move slowly, calculating, returning to face Priest. I don’t have to use my words because my expression says it all; I loathe him and everything he stands for and I despise myself for putting up with it for so long. Our eyes meet, boring into each other, facing off inches apart. He has to prove himself through this sadistic display in front of unnamed others.
My eyes never lower or leave his face, so I don’t see it coming. He punches me square in the jaw with his left hand. My head rocks with the blow, sending me off balance, but I don’t cry or plead; instead, I slowly twist my head back to him, unwavering. My defiance shimmers in the air and the disregard sends him into a rage. He cracks me in the ribs with his right fist, flesh on tender flesh, knocking the wind out of me. My arms fly to my midsection for protection and I stumble back. He wallops my jaw again and my ears ring, high-pit
ched and disorienting.
“I’m in charge here! I’m in control!” I stagger to get my footing. “You don’t defy me!”
The beatings I received in the past were just childlike slaps. Priest didn’t stop using his fists. He slugs me on the other side until I fall. He comes with me, straddling me, smashing my head from side to side with his knuckles until I feel the blood fly and drip, marring the floor that the others and I have kept so clean day after day, year after year. My head swims, swelling with each blow.
No one comes.
Not one of the twenty-three other people in the house.
The last thing I remember is the heaving chest of Priest above me pummeling my naked body until I am gone.
Chapter 8
Carlo
The club is more crowded than usual tonight. The pulsing lights, music, and yelling voices crush into my own personal space. I sift through throngs of people watching for signs of trouble—drugs, fights, any unsavory behavior that might not be able to be detected on the surveillance cameras. Bobby is behind the bar working his ass off with some part-timers to keep up with the drink orders. I push aside a few people to reach him.
“How is it going?” I holler over the music. Bobby leans his ear toward me to hear. “Do you need more help?” He waves me away, telling me that he is good. I keep moving. Alex is in the corner keeping a sharp eye. I press the microphone on my earpiece as I maneuver my body through the mass of dancers spilling over the lip of the dance floor.
“Anything?” I ask.
“Nothing,” I watch him mouth into his speaker.
I let my shoulders relax.
“Hi!” A perky blonde with a tight black dress pops into my view. She curves in, touching my arm. “I’m Sandy.”
“Carlo,” I return.
“Do you want to dance?”
“Sorry, I’m working.”
“Oh,” she responds with a tiny pout. “What time do you get off?” I know what she is getting at. I have been approached many times. She wants to hook up. I look her up and down. She is pretty with a kick-ass body. Her long lashes blink as she waits for an answer. I am ready to nicely let her know that I’m not interested because a pair of unforgettable green doe-eyes flashes before me.