OWNED_Satan’s Kin MC

by April Lust

  “You’ll never be one of my conquests,” I say, trying to be as aggressive as possible. “Get out of here. Quit acting like you’re my wife.”

  It’s not what I wanted to say, not even close. But it’s enough to get her to leave. She’ll fume in her bedroom for however long she needs, but she’ll forgive me eventually. We can’t exist without speaking to each other, not under my roof.

  I hear her footsteps echoing down the hallway, louder than ever before. When she gets to her door, she slams it so hard the entire warehouse shakes. I hear Doc in the other room emitting a low whistle and I roll my eyes. Of course he’s going to give me grief about this later.

  I let the shower stay on for a while longer, dreaming of venomous snakes biting me with their fangs. The wound is healing, but the stain on my mind still remains.

  To apologize or not to apologize—does it even matter? I realize, suddenly, that I’ve lost sight of my goal. Killing Abram is the most important thing in my life. For a brief second, it was Natalia, the ballerina, who took up an immeasurable amount of space in the hole where my heart used to be. That’s all going to change now.

  Exiting the shower, I wrap a thick green towel around my waist. Steam fogs up the windows and mirrors, making it impossible for me to see my reflection. I’ve become a locked box. Natalia keeps trying to unlock me, and I can see her fingers fumbling with the keys but she’s just not succeeding. There’s a second knock at the door.

  “I thought I told you to leave me alone,” I shout. Goddamned women. Do they ever take no for an answer?

  “It’s me.”

  Fuck. I recognize the voice. It’s not Natalia, but one of the quieter men, a man named Edge. “We’ve gotten word that Abram is going to be downtown tonight at an elite poker palace called The Sting. If you’re looking to corner the guy, this is your time.”

  “That’s the best fucking thing I’ve heard all day.” With a growl, I open the door. Edge’s standing there, looking pleased as punch.

  “Of course,” Edge says with a low bow. I know it’s meant to be sarcastic, but I appreciate it nonetheless.

  “Round the others,” I say. “We’re going to war.”

  Edge smirks and disappears down the hall. He’s the resident slug of the group, a lock-picker just like me. But that’s not all he’s good at. He’s a research whiz, able to dig up dirt on anyone within with a flick of his wrist and a few clicks on the computer. He’s attached at the hip to a slim black iPad he carries around in his backpack. It’s his tool, his lifeline, the only thing that separates him from the rest of us. Even if we aren’t physically strong to kill him, we could be strong enough to build a case against Abram that’ll put him in jail for the rest of his life. Police be dammed. They won’t listen to us, we’re a bunch of notorious criminals, but Edge will make them listen. He has to. And in the meantime, we’re going to war.

  Chapter 9

  Beast

  We leave the warehouse in a group, our combat boots crunching under the fresh snow. Though the storm’s been raging on all night, it seems to have stopped suddenly. Our bikes are lined up in the garage, their sleek chrome and black bodies waiting for us to mount them.

  I feel as though I should have told Natalia where we were going. Hell, maybe even apologize for snarling at her like I had. But I have no reason to; she’s not my girlfriend and it was insane for me to think we had a chance. Things are different right now. I’ve got a mission to complete, and a man to kill. I’m sure he’ll be surprised when we ambush him, but I’m prepared this time.

  We’re not going to kill him tonight, but I’ve made sure my men are properly armed. Just in case. Abram’s men have proved to be unpredictable. Just about anything is possible tonight, but I’m going to make sure we come out on top. I’m going to get revenge.

  As we drive, I shift around in my seat. My wound is healing, but it’s still tender. The pain radiates outwards like a poisonous dart in my side. I dabbed ointment on it earlier and instantly thought of Natalia. My words have damaged her on more than one occasion, and its time I put a stop to that. It’s time I get some distance from her. I fear if we get any closer, I’ll lose my mind.

  I wear the red helmet tonight, and it’s the color of fresh blood. I hope people see it and realize I’m on a mission to save someone’s life. Natalia’s life, our lives—I’m back, the black and red rider is back.

  There are handfuls of people watching us from the sidewalk. Some are heading to their family’s houses, others to seek shelter, a few to the liquor store. Scores of human beings with places to be and things to do, things that are a mixture of mundane and important. They watch us cruise by, and I hear a few of them call out to me.

  The Sting is a dirty old building covered in garbage and slime. The inside, however, is sleek and clean. There are dim lights, a casino floor, and marble countertops. Everything is washed in blue and black, the casino’s theme colors. Other rooms are flooded with purple and red light, giving off the appearance of a club. I can smell smoke, sweet liquor, and flowers. Gorgeous women in black satin leotards and cat ears carry around trays of complimentary drinks. I’m tempted – both by the girls and the scent of the booze, but I know I have to stay sharp.

  Stark white roses are situated on the outside of every doorway. For reasons I can’t explain, they remind me of death. I’m imagining the roses springing to life, wrapping their sharp thorns around my thighs, my wrists, crowning me like Christ. The petals smother me and bury in their stark whiteness, and I can’t breathe.

  “Keep it together, Beast.” Glancing up, I realize Doc’s staring at me. I set my lips in a firm line. Who the fuck does he think he is, talking to me like that?

  Edge walks up to the receptionist, a gorgeous blonde in black satin, and slips her a hefty amount of money. She giggles, leans in close, and whispers something in his ear. He returns to us with information about Abram and his men. They’re situated on the last floor in one of the more expensive poker rooms. The buy in is steep, but we’ve got the cash.

  “Let’s take the stairs,” Edge says, nodding to a door in the back of the hallway. “It’ll be safer this way. We don’t want to be like sitting ducks in the elevator. What happens if the golden doors open only to reveal a thousand lead bullets?”

  “Ain’t nobody arguing with you,” says Clipper, the quietest man in the gang. He almost never speaks unless spoken to.

  The group groans, exchanging looks at one another. They’re all tired from working out, biking, and drinking too late.

  “What?” Clipper says, frowning. “So lazy.”

  I laugh for what feels like the first time in months. We head towards the staircase, twelve of us in total, turning heads from all directions. A woman appears at the end of the hall, dressed all in black satin and opens the door for us.

  “Thank you,” I say, smirking at her. She winks at me and hands me a manila card with her information on it. “Thanks, doll,” I call over my shoulder.

  We open the door on the sixth floor. It’s like a maze with the walls done up with lurid paintings and the carpet on the floor is busy enough to cleverly disguise years of vomit stains. I have a hunch Abram is playing in one of the most luxe rooms down the hall – ironically numbered 666. He’s a real devil. But he’s not going to reign in darkness for much longer. Me and my men are gonna see to that.

  “Step aside,” I tell my men before walking towards the door and knocking three times.

  “Enter,” bellows a voice from within.

  I open the door to find a mammoth of a man sitting on a red leather couch. Abram looks up from his game and smirks. His salt and pepper hair is slicked back like a bad impersonation of Al Capone, and he has tattoos snaking up the side of his neck. He’s got his ears pierced and in the center of each lobe is an enormous, sparkling diamond. I don’t want to know whose wife he needed to kill to retrieve those. I don’t want to ask.

  “So nice of you to show your face on my turf.” Abram doesn’t bother getting to his feet, but his pra
cticed glance flicks over me. I notice the men at his table are covered in bruises and scrapes. One of them has bandages over his own mouth.

  Doc raises his eyebrows at me, and I shrug. Abram probably tortured him for some sort of crime against humanity.

  The poker table is covered in thick red cards. I see from over my shoulder a man who has a hand of worthless cards. He’s bluffing, his poker face serene, placid. Abram seems serene, as well, though I’m sure it’s only a front. He must have noticed by now that I’ve brought my whole crew.

  The sound of the doors banging open makes me whirl around in place. I feel like groaning as I watch more men spill into the room. I hadn’t counted on being outnumbered. This isn’t going to make things easy.

  Swallowing the fear in my throat, I confront Abram. “We need to have a conversation,” I tell him. “It’s long overdue.”

  “Boys,” Abram says, nodding at the enormous armored men around his table. I can tell from the bulges in their pockets and jeans that they have guns and knives. “We’ll reconvene after Mr. Samuels has gone.” He turns, “If you’ll give us some privacy,” Abram says to everyone.

  I nod to Doc who pats me on the shoulder and whispers, “He’s not going to get away this time.”

  I nod and punch him on the shoulder. It’s always been an affectionate gesture between us, something to represent our relationship. We’re brothers, not friends. And brothers back each other in war, no matter what.

  “Beast,” Abram greets me as I take my seat at the poker table. “A bit premature, don’t you think? To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “Premature?” I ask. I keep my face impassive, though I realize he’s talking about our final showdown. We’ve been dancing around each other for years now. He’s right—it’s not time to fight. I reach into the pocket of my jacket and retrieve a slim photograph. It’s of Natalia, a headshot of her behind the Nine Muses dance company sign.

  “Where did you get this?” Abram asks.

  I know one of his photographers took it, a man he employs to track Natalia’s every move. He monitors her from afar, unable to get close like a real parent. I wonder how long this has been going on for. Surely not since her birth or her emigration to America. It’s impossible for me to wrap my mind around Abram as a father. He may have been involved in creating Natalia, but he’s no father to her.

  “You’re angry,” Abram says, turning the photo around his hands. “About her?”

  “This is about you and me,” I say as calmly as I can. I’m not about to tell Abram he’s seen right through me.

  Abram leans back in his seat and chuckles, reaching into his breast pocket for a slim silver flask. He unscrews the top, takes a sip, and stares at me. There’s something sinister in his eyes, but I can’t quite put my finger on what that means.

  “You have a chance,” I tell him. “If you leave now I’ll release Natalia, and you can return to Russia.”

  “And if I don’t comply?” he asks, his accent thicker than honey.

  “I won’t stop until you’re gone.” I’m not giving him any more of an explanation – he doesn’t deserve one.

  He chuckles. “Are those your only terms and conditions?”

  “I have one more.”

  Abram leans forward on his fists, and I see his knuckles are covered in Russian words and thick golden rings.

  “You stop recruiting men into your gang. You’re terrorizing these streets and killing innocent people. I’m going to put a stop to that.”

  “Oh, are you now? And how are you going to put a stop to it when you’re so clearly in love with my daughter?”

  The second he mentions Natalia, I stand and flip the poker table over. It soars over Abram’s head, red and white cards flapping across the air like tiny bird wings. I hear poker chips crashing to the floor like so many nickels and dimes. Glasses of whiskey crash into the wall, their thick-material bodies exploding and refracting light in every direction.

  I’m tempted to kill him right here, right now. True, I would be killed right after. But I’ve got a knife. If I could somehow give the signal to my guys, they would be able to escape without any backlash. And Natalia…well damn that girl for everything she’s done to me thus far.

  “That was unnecessary,” Abram says calmly. “Both the meeting and the flipping of that fine table. I’m not going anywhere. And you can give Natalia my greetings, as I’m planning on seeing her very, very soon.”

  “I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  “You have no control over me, my gang, or whether or not I’ll see my own daughter. The mere fact that you think you can stop me is laughable. I wish you the best of luck with her. I’m told she’s a handful.”

  I’m about to lunge for him, wrap my hands around his neck and strangle him, when the door opens to reveal both Abram’s men and mine. They waited a few minutes after hearing the crash.

  “I’ll be seeing you soon,” Abram says, pushing his blazer aside to reveal a sleek black revolver. I’m guessing he’s put a silencer on it. If I’m shot now, I’ll never be found.

  He left bodies around for me as a warning. But once I’m dead, the battle will be over. Is that what I want?

  “Let’s go,” I hear Edge saying over my shoulder. “We’re done here.”

  “A wise decision,” Abram says, smirking. “You’re outnumbered, as always. But where’s the fun in having a fair match? Thanks for stopping by, boys.”

  We walk single file out of the room towards the staircase, careful to keep our hands on our weapons just in case. It’s good to be close to a weapon at all times. And just like my gun and knife, I have a weapon waiting for me at home. This weapon isn’t chrome, but she’s pretty shiny all the same. Who knew a ballet dancer would become my kiss of death?

  Outside, the snow crunches again beneath our boots, reminding us we’re human and we have weight. We may have lost this battle but it’s not going to be the last time we encounter Abram.

  Chapter 10 Natalia

  Again, I’m left alone in this warehouse, and again, it saddens and angers me. I’ve started to use the time to explore, taking it one floor at a time. The second floor is filled with dozens of rooms, each empty and haunted.

  It’s quiet, which is quite a such a sudden change from the loud chatter of the previous evening, Beast and his drunken men pouring glass after glass of whiskey. His massive warehouse is littered with the evidence such frivolities tend to leave behind: shards of glass smeared with the residue of fine lipsticks from women, white powder, forgotten leather gloves, and a bit of mold. I retire to the third floor balcony, a rickety piece of metal spine looking out over the snowy night. It’s freezing cold out there, but somehow that’s almost a comfort. I can’t remember the last time I was warm. Maybe back when I was dancing, maybe afterwards at Mystic with Patty and the other dancers. Or maybe I’ve never really been warm – maybe I’ve been slowly freezing to death ever since I left Russia.

  The grey sky begins to brighten the streets. Lamps dim, and the gloomy morning air makes me exhale deeply. I see my breath forming small white clouds, crystalline from the air. I try to remember what life was like before Beast kidnapped me. I had friends, sure, though they would constantly lash out at each other over dance moves, roles, and who was eating more. Other than that, my mind is completely blank. I would feel lonely if I weren’t so freakishly familiar with the sensation of separation.

  My parents and I have been separated emotionally from one another since my youth. They could be anywhere right now, printing my face on milk cartons or rolling their eyes at a blank answering machine. Raising my dark eyes to the sky, I decide that if I ever get a hold of a phone I’m going to have to call my parents to let them know I’m alive.

  Other than the weekly phone calls we have, I hardly speak to them. I know they tried to get me to the point where I’m at now, and they pushed me out of love. I know all this but I can’t help but think they’re selfish. I’m their wind-up toy, a woman used for her body, her power
, the fact that she glows.

  They put batteries in my body and smile as I twirl across the stage. If I’d ever stopped dancing in my youth, I bet they would have returned me right back to the orphanage or dumped me into American foster care. I bet there are dozens of Russian dolls in the orphanage just waiting for loving parents to come and find them.

  I head back inside and continue exploring with my flashlight. Every window is open and I proceed to close them, though I’m not strong enough for some of the older ones covered in rust. No wonder the whole warehouse is so drafty.

  I’m smirking because my parents definitely don’t love me, and it’s foolish to think they do. Or did. I could drown in the Hudson, and they’d never noticed. But I know one person who would notice. Beast. Deny it all he wants; I can tell he’s developing feelings for me.