The King and the Courtesan

by Angela Walker

  “Well, you always did have real hot legs.”

  “She’s of no use to you. Just let me deal with her.”

  “Hmm, give away a woman who makes me money to some bitch who’s done absolutely nothing for me in return. How about I make you a deal? I give you Cordelia. But then you come with me.”

  “You’re sick.”

  “That’s business. Replace something that’s broken with something of better value.” Suddenly, his hand fell on my arm. “Though I guess in the end, it doesn’t even matter. You’re coming with me either way.”

  Before he could move, my bodyguard pressed a gun against Blade’s temple. Jericho reached for his own weapon, but when he caught the look Ezekiel’s man threw him, he removed his hand from his belt.

  I slid behind my bodyguard, closer to Cordelia.

  “What the fuck is this?” Blade hissed. “You pull a fucking gun on me, man?”

  “Touch her again and I’ll fire,” my bodyguard snapped.

  “Your girlfriend ain’t the little angel you probably think she is. She’s a good-for-nothing whore who begged for it. She hasn’t ever been loyal to you, of that I’m sure. She’ll open her legs for—”

  Blade shut up when my bodyguard practically shoved the barrel of the gun between his lips.

  “Another word and I scatter your brains across the sidewalk,” he said.

  I leaned down beside Cordelia. Clearly, Jericho was not happy about it, but what could he do with a gun held to his friend’s head? I drew Cordelia back, wrapping an arm around her as she curled herself further into me.

  My bodyguard nodded at me. I reached into my bag, pulling out my phone and a piece of paper. I immediately began to copy down the address Yogi had given me. Yogi was living with Thomas outside of Metro. I couldn’t bring Cordelia back to Ralston with me—that would probably invoke Ezekiel’s rage. But I knew Yogi would take care of her, and if she was outside of Metro, she wouldn’t have to worry about Blade snooping around for her.

  My bodyguard disarmed Blade, then ordered Jericho to throw his weapon over. After pocketing both pistols, he ordered Cordelia and me both into the car. We went without needing told twice.

  The butt of his gun slammed into Blade’s face, and Blade stumbled back, holding his bloody nose and cursing. With Blade distracted, my bodyguard grabbed Jericho and handcuffed him to the parking meter. Then he slid into the car without a backward glance.

  We were a few blocks away when I called a cab.

  “Where am I going?” Cordelia asked.

  “Yogi’s.” I pressed the paper with the address into her hand. “This is where she lives.”

  “Can’t you just drive me there?” Cordelia asked. She was winding down from her high, judging by the slow shrinking of her pupils and increased comprehension.

  I shook my head. “Blade might send out a hit on this car. We’re getting you into a car he doesn’t recognize. You should be safe in a cab.”

  “But—Melissa! Please, I don’t want to—”

  “You aren’t safe in this car.” I folded her fingers over the paper. “You’ll be fine, all right? Just get to Yogi’s. I’ll call her and make sure she can pay the cab fee. She’ll be waiting for you.”

  “But Blade and Jericho—they’ll kill me, Melissa! If they find me—”

  “Stay the hell away from Metro then.” I squeezed her shoulder. “Cordelia, you can do better than this. Just believe in yourself, and trust Yogi. I’ll come and see you when I can.” I gave her a small smile. “We’ll get you through this.”

  She stared into my eyes for a few seconds, then nodded. I kissed her forehead and squeezed her hand before pulling back to call Yogi.

  Chapter 36

  I didn’t feel much better as I watched the lights of Cordelia’s cab fade into the distance. I knew that Yogi would take care of Cordelia whether she wanted to or not, because Yogi had both a maternal nature and the inability to refuse people kindness. Thomas might protest, but he was such a soft-spoken man that Yogi would probably win any argument against him. Blade and Jericho had no idea where she lived. Even if they did, it was a house in a nice neighborhood with security measures and cops around every corner.

  However, I still felt disappointed in myself. It seemed everyone I knew was falling into disrepair, and despite all my resources, I couldn’t help anyone. It was so horribly frustrating. Also, Cordelia’s confession of love wasn’t making it any easier. I wasn’t sure how I’d never known. Shouldn’t that sort of thing be obvious? It was surreal, knowing that someone actually loved me. No one had ever felt that way about me. It was hard not to feel at least a bit touched by her affection.

  I looked at my bodyguard, who had remained silent since getting into the car. I felt obligated to say something.

  “Thank you. For helping me out there.”

  “It’s my job,” he said.

  “Yeah, but helping Cordelia isn’t.”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t help Cordelia. You did.”

  “Still.” I bit my lip, staring out the windshield for a moment. “Thank you.”

  He nodded.

  “What’s your name?” I asked suddenly, surprising myself.

  He seemed to think about the question, probably wondering if he should even tell me. I assumed Ezekiel told him to remain as distant from me as possible, considering how Roger became so attached.

  “Noah,” he finally said.

  “Oh. Well, uh, nice to meet you, Noah.”

  He gave me a small smile, the only one I’d ever seen out of him. Not interested in pushing my luck, I simply returned the smile and fell silent.

  We drove along the Wendel Tributary, a small trickle of water that wove its way through Metro until it reached the Mohakka River east of Zinya City. Most of the time, the concrete ravine it flowed through was nearly empty, and children would often go down in the summer and cool off in the water, despite how dirty and full of litter it always was. Sometimes, reckless young men would race their cars down there; others rode their bikes and skateboards up and down the cement slopes. Years of such use and no maintenance had caused the concrete to buckle and crumble, allowing a foul-smelling mud to protrude from underneath.

  Apparently, it rained while I was off in Jahral, because not only had the water level risen, but chunks of mud squeezed out of the cracks, rolling down into the stream below.

  Something exploded through the windshield, striking Noah and spraying blood over the windows and upholstery. I barely had time to register the bullet in Noah’s head before the car careened sideways, leaping off the road and through the rusty chain-link fence separating the road from the tributary. Striking the concrete slope at such an angle caused the car to tip sideways and then roll all the way down. It came to a halt on its back at the very bottom of the ravine. I screamed the whole way and was shocked to find myself alive once the car went still, even as I hung upside down from my seat belt.

  I groaned and tried to move, but pain rocketed through my body. Blearily, I found that I could move only one of my arms and part of my right leg. My left leg was numb, smashed between crumpled sheets of metal. My right arm seemed broken—just moving a finger set my hand on fire. I felt blood run up my neck, through my dangling hair.

  Noah was dead next to me, but he’d had the luck of dying before the car even crashed. He would never know that he was encased in metal from the waist up, his arm mangled into nothing more than shredded meat. I let out another moan and tried to chase away the fog in my brain.

  Someone shot Noah. Maybe an accomplice of Blade’s. Whoever did probably had a grudge, and if so, I needed to get my ass moving. They were probably going to come down here and make sure there weren’t any survivors before the police arrived. If the police came at all.

  I decided that extricating my leg was more important than unbuckling myself—if I unbuckled first and fell, I could break my other leg. My mind remained fuzzy, my coordination still off. I looked around for my purse, but I could only see the strap, which was da
ngling between what used to be the seat and the gearshift. There would be no getting that out, and I highly doubted my phone made it through the ride.

  Reaching down, I gripped my knee and attempted to pull my leg out slowly. I refused to think about the bloody body beside me. Desperation gave me tunnel vision. I could spend my time crying hysterically over Noah, or use my sudden burst of adrenaline and get out of here alive. It was an easy choice to make. Even if the assailants weren’t going to come down and make sure I was dead, the last thing I needed was the police. What was I going to tell them? That I was a drug lord’s mistress? They had my name on file since I’d been picked up for prostitution before. I didn’t want to go to jail again.

  With a scream, I managed to rip my leg from its confines. The pull left deep red gashes down my calf—gushing freely—but at least I was free. I finally unbuckled my seat belt and fell the very short distance to the roof with a cry of pain. I noticed the ceiling beneath me was wet. We’d stopped rolling halfway through the stream.

  The windshield was shattered, which granted me an exit if I didn’t mind crawling through broken glass in the dark. All I could see were the dim lights of closed shops up on the cement bank. Putting weight on my leg was nearly impossible, but I was still running high on adrenaline, so I managed to hobble away from the wreck just as I heard sirens in the distance. Whoever shot at us was gone now, or at least hiding well.

  I looked over my shoulder at the car, which was barely visible in the growing distance.

  “I’m sorry, Noah,” I whispered, crying more out of pain than out of loss. Just when I learned his name, he died. A name made his death harder to handle.

  Limping and cradling my broken arm to my chest, I headed for the opposite bank. The only option was to climb it. Only one shoe was attached to my foot, so I ripped it off and carried it. If someone wanted to fight me, at least the stiletto heel could provide some protection.

  Climbing with only one good leg was not easily done. Especially with muddy and crumbling concrete breaking off in my hand as I grabbed it. Several times, I skidded down the bank before I was able to find a tuft of grass to hang onto. I’m sure I was a real beauty at this moment, my skin and dress covered in blood and mud, one stiletto hooked inside my bra so I had a free hand to climb with, my hair smelling like car oil and sewage. But at this point, all I wanted was to make it to the street where I could…where I might be able to…

  Who knew? I had no way of calling Ezekiel. I didn’t know his number. I always just used the speed dial on the phone he gave me. I had no money. The credit card was still in the wrecked car. All I had was the dress and the shoe. I wasn’t even wearing any jewelry I could pawn. I didn’t think I needed it when Ezekiel wasn’t around.

  The sirens grew closer, and I forced myself up the incline faster. When I reached the top, I faced a six-foot wire fence blocking the street. For a moment, I despaired—I couldn’t climb it with only one good hand. However, just a few strides away a hole was cut away in the fence. It was probably the handiwork of a few punk kids. I headed for it.

  A police car peeled down the street just as I slipped through the hole and into a dark alley. I didn’t bother lingering to catch my breath. The police would be looking for me, especially once they found my purse. I had to get somewhere where they wouldn’t find me. If that meant sleeping in the street, so be it. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  Chapter 37

  I pressed my back against a brick wall, catching my breath and giving my trembling legs a rest. A cold breeze slipped up my spine, forcing my arms across my chest and bringing goose bumps to the surface of my skin. Beyond all my other problems, I also had no jacket.

  Once my adrenaline faded, I felt my body start to crash. My head pounded like a war drum, and my broken arm nearly vibrated with pain. I also felt woozy, though I wasn’t sure if it was from blood loss or another hit to my head. I had other scrapes and gashes, but none of them compared to the injury that still dripped blood along my calf.

  If I slept right here on the street, who knew if I’d wake up alive. But what else was there to do? I had no money and no phone. There was no hospital in the near vicinity, and even if there was, they’d ask questions. I was reminded of what Roger said about hospitals and bullet wounds. It seemed like I was in the same predicament, but unlike Roger, I didn’t have the knowledge or the supplies to dress my own wounds.

  Taking a shaky breath, I made my way to the road. The street was empty and lit only by a few flickering streetlamps, each surrounded by a cloud of gnats. I shivered again, but my eyes stopped at the three-way intersection a block away. Facing me was a large, aging sign that read JURI’S GARAGE

  Juri.

  I knew Juri by reputation, of course, but I’d never met the man. I certainly never knew he had his own garage. Seemed too obvious, too easy. But what other guy was named Juri in this town? It wasn’t exactly a common name.

  Hope clogged my throat as I limped down the sidewalk, still keeping a wary eye to make sure muggers or rapists weren’t hanging around. Of all the times Metro chose to be safe, now seemed to be the night.

  I craned my head back a bit to take in the rest of the building, which rose several floors above the garage. There was no guarantee, of course, that Juri even lived above his garage, but I had to take the chance. Even if he didn’t live here, the people who did would certainly know him. I couldn’t see anything through the curtains, but the fact that the lights were on gave me hope.

  I wondered how much Ace had exaggerated when he said “good friends” with Juri. If I showed up and Juri answered the door, would he even recognize Ace’s name? Even if he didn’t, would he turn me away? He was the “good guy” in Metro. Anyone who hated the drug trade stood by Juri and his cause. If he was trying to eradicate drugs and crime, how could he turn away a woman in distress?

  The walk seemed much longer than a block—I couldn’t even put weight on my ruined leg. I hopped across the crosswalk and used the bench there to rest. Breathing hard and shivering, I stumbled to the entrance beside the garage door, where there were several buttons with apartment numbers located beside them. Most of the numbers also had names, but the apartment on the second floor, the one with its windows lit, had no name. The rest of the names were not Juri.

  Taking a deep breath, I pressed the nameless button. I waited.

  There was a hiss of static, and a rough female voice asked, “What you want so late, eh?”

  I slumped, defeated. “I’m sorry. I-I thought this was Juri’s place…”

  There was a pause. “Who are ya?”

  For some reason, I suddenly wanted to cry. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I couldn’t keep my voice from wavering. “I just—I know someone who said—there’s this guy I met—Ace—he said he knew Juri, and I-I’m just in a really bad situation, and I need help, so I thought…”

  She didn’t answer for a long time. Finally the static returned, followed by, “Ya know Ace, eh?”

  I perked up. “You know Ace?”

  “He was here a minute ago, the ugly bastard—”

  “Oh my God. Oh my God, yes, yes, he knows me. Um, I think. If you would please—”

  “Girl, you jus’ wait there. I’ll send Juri down to get ya now, eh?”

  “Juri?” I asked, but the intercom had already gone silent. I thought she’d said Ace was there, not Juri. But did it really matter? Someone was coming down to get me. In my overwhelming relief, I slumped against the lamppost, tears sliding down my cheeks. I was ashamed of crying, but at the same time, I didn’t care. I wanted help.

  The door slammed open. I let out an involuntary gasp.

  A huge man stood in the doorway, surveying me with narrowed eyes. He was older, probably a few years older than my mother would be if she were still alive. His hair was shaved close to his bumpy scalp, and several earrings dangled from each ear. A pale white scar cut right through his eyebrow and down his cheek, healed long ago. His nose must have been broken once or twice in his life, beca
use it sat crookedly on his craggy face. His complexion was lost beneath layers of tattoos, but they didn’t quite disguise the breadth and structure of his muscles.

  He looked more capable of punching me out than he did of offering me any kindness.

  “J-Juri?” I stuttered, my voice smaller than it should have been.

  “Hey.” He gave me a once over. “What happened to ya?” He motioned to my bloody and battered body.

  “Long story,” I sobbed, and Juri’s eyes narrowed, as if angry. “Please. I don’t mean to intrude b-but I don’t have any money or a phone a-and—”

  He stepped over to me, and I flinched. He looked amused. “Girl, I wouldn’t be worryin’. I’ll take ya up to my apartment and get ya fixed up.”

  “O-okay.” I reached out to him. He slipped one bulging arm around my waist and the other under my knees. For someone so huge, he was shockingly gentle and very careful of the broken arm I kept locked close to my abdomen.

  He picked me up with shocking ease, as if I weren’t any heavier than a leaf. Then he strode into the building and up a flight of metal stairs. The walls were coated in graffiti and flaking paint, and Juri’s footsteps made an awful racket on the flimsy metal beneath. However, Juri was fast despite his age, and soon we stood in an open doorway leading into a rather small and messy apartment. Clothes were slung over furniture and across the floor, and whatever could not be immediately placed was rested on every flat surface. The television was small, the walls were bare, and the light fixtures hung lopsided. Yet it was warm, which was all I cared about at the moment.

  There were three people seated in the small living room, two on a couch and the other in a chair. One was a woman just as grizzled as Juri, her jeans and muscle shirt nearly matching his. Her white hair was cut short, baring the tattoos on her neck and shoulders. I’d never seen a fifty-year-old woman rock a nose piercing so well. She must have been the woman who answered the intercom.