Seeing him in the flesh is surreal to say the least.
I perch myself up onto my knees and begin crawling through the tall grass as I attempt to get closer and try to get a better look at him. It’s one thing to hear stories and look at albums full of old photographs. It’s another to be able to see him in real life—standing right here before me.
Everything has happened so fast. I haven’t even had time to come up with a plan for what to do once I go to wherever my pendant was taking me…but now that I’m here and with family, I know I can go to my grandmother and seek her help. Maybe she can help me figure out why I’m here and keep me safe while I try to find out what it is I’m supposed to do here or find here.
Hope blossoms in my chest as I feel myself relax slightly at the thought of having an ally in the strange time. What a story it’ll be to tell once I do return home. Being able to tell my mother I met Amelia and Dayton McAllister—and if it happens to be 1935 or later I’ll get to meet my grandmother Hazel as an infant!
I watch as Dayton approaches the men, shakes hands with them before walking to the back of the truck and begins inspecting the crates. I watch as he pops one open with a tool of some sort and then pulls out a glass jar filled with a liquid. Twisting the top off, he smells it and then passes it to the man standing beside him. The man takes it from him, repeating the same gesture, smelling the contents, but then he brings the bottle up to his lips taking a long swig from it.
They are all standing around talking amongst themselves as they continue to watch the man who drank from the bottle. After a few moments, I notice my grandfather pulling something from his slacks and handing it over to a man wearing a hat that’s pulled low shielding his eyes. He stuffs whatever it is Dayton gave him into his pocket before shaking hands one more time and then turning and disappearing onto the boat. The other men who were unloading the crates, pull the ramp up onto the ship and within seconds the boat is sailing back out into the darkness disappearing.
Suddenly the smell of a pipe fills the air around me catching me off guard. The sweet smell tickles my nose, and immediately my eyes begin to water and my nose begins to sting.
Damn allergies!
“Aahh-chew!” I sneeze as quietly as I can and smother my face in the palms of my hands to try and muffle the sound and not draw attention to myself. This isn’t exactly how I want to introduce myself to my family by being caught lurking in the tall grass eavesdropping on what seems to be some shady fricking stuff going down out here at the personal dock of my great grandfather’s home instead of a legitimate shipment pickup at the port where normal cargo ships unload their goods.
Opening my eyes slowly, I peer through the grass nervously hoping that I haven’t drawn attention to myself. I let out a breath of relief when I see they’re still busy securing the crates in the back of the truck and tying down a tarp of some sort over the top of them.
“Well, what do we have here?” A voice booms from behind me causing my hair on the back of my neck to stand on end and a chill to blanket my body as my blood turns to ice in my veins.
Before I can get turned around to see who’s come upon me, I feel a dry, calloused hand come around my mouth and another around my left arm as my body is yanked up off the ground, pulling me up to my feet and then up against a plump, yet massive feeling body.
Panic consumes me, and fear pierces my heart as it leaps into my throat as I feel my body being dragged faster than my feet can keep up.
“Spying, are we? Whoever the fuck it is you’re workin’ for, they must be really fuckin’ desperate if they’re sending a doll like you into the dark of night with monsters like me.
I bite down onto his hand that’s covering my mouth and kick his shins in a weak attempt to break free. If I can get loose for even a moment, it’ll give me a chance to escape. I know this area like the back of my hand. I can navigate the entire island with my eyes closed, so doing it in the dark will be a breeze.
“Stop fucking biting me or else!” he growls into the darkness, his anger vibrating through his chest and into my back as I feel the muscles in his arms tighten and crush me harder into his body. My lungs burn as I fight to breathe through the massive hand clenched over my mouth and partly covering my nose.
Ignoring his threat and the pain in my ribs as he squeezes me tighter against him attempting to keep me from slipping out of his grasp, I continue to thrash my body from side to side refusing to give up.
“Stupid, bitch…” Is the last thing I hear him say before a sharp pain explodes against the side of my head. I feel blood running down my temple before everything around me is once again cloaked in complete darkness.
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ROUND ONE
The bat slices through the air, cutting it like a hot knife would through butter, and connects with the dirty, unsuspecting whore’s head. The sickening ping of the aluminum against her skull should turn my stomach. Like it would a normal person. Except, I’m far from normal, and the sound makes my heart flutter a little bit. Nothing makes me happier than a good game of whack-a-whore. I feel like it’s my civic duty to rid the world of all the disgusting sluts who use their bodies to get where they want in life. They do nothing but spread their legs and get paid.
Elle—yes, I know all of the whores I play the game with by name—drops to the ground when the bat cracks against her skull. Standing to my full height, I smile down at her crumpled form. I can barely make her out in the darkness of the alley, but I know she won’t be waking up any time soon.
Who the hell walks down a pitch-black alley with someone in the middle of the night anyway? A whore, that’s who. Just because you think you know someone—you think you can trust them with your life—doesn’t mean shit. I’m living, breathing proof of that. An innocent face most definitely does not mean an innocent mind. Those are usually the ones you should watch out for.
I chuckle to myself as my head bobs along to the song in my mind. The words to “Kill Everyone” by Hollywood Undead seem like they’re on repeat right now. By focusing on the words, it pushes away the need to finish her off right now. That isn’t how this game is played One hit isn’t enough to make up for the all things she has done. I’m far from being finished with this.
When I turn around, my eyes adjust to the light filtering in around the edges of the building and I make out the shape of a girl about three feet from me. Her body trembles, frozen to where she is. I can’t help the twisted, sadistic smile that forms on my lips. I know it’s dark enough that she probably can’t see it, but that doesn’t matter to me.
“I—I—I…,” she fumbles over her words.
“Never. Saw. A. Thing,” I finish for her. The bat hangs casually by my side, a silent threat even if it isn’t in an aggressive position.
She finally regains her ability to move, jerks her head up and down, and turns around to run. A laugh bubbles up from my chest. It’s cute how she actually thought she was going to get away unscathed. Before she has the chance to take half a step, I pull back, bringing the bat swiftly down against the back of her head.
Ping!
I snicker again as the girl crumples into a heap on the ground. I leave her where she falls; she isn’t part of tonight’s festivities. I doubt she got a good enough look at my face to give a detailed description to the police anyway. That is if she wakes up at all. Shrugging it off, I pull the black, leather gloves back up my hands, and get back to work with Elle. After all, I can’t take forever with this.
I whistle under my breath, getting back into the song I was thinking about before I was so rudely interrupted. Grabbing a fist full of hair, I pull her along behind me. Elle’s body drags along the ground as I make my way to the other end of the alley where I left the car running. W
hen I finally reach the trunk, I pop it, pulling her up and over the lip of it. I get her onto the tarp in the trunk, making sure that every inch of her is on that damn thing, too. No need for my car to be covered in whore.
Once I finally make it to the warehouse and Elle is tied securely to the chair, I begin to relax a bit. Not that I was worried about being caught in the alley, but it’s always more relaxing to be on your own turf, somewhere you feel comfortable enough to work at your own pace.
ROUND TWO
Cranking the faucet on the wall, I let it run until it’s as cold as it will get and fill the bucket, letting it overflow into the plugged sink so that fills as well. While I wait, I pull the rubber boots waiting beside the door onto my feet.
“Wakey, wakey, whore.” The words fall on deaf ears since she’s still out cold. Lifting the bucket over Elle’s head, I tip it, letting the ice-cold water flow over her. She lets out a guttural groan, her body contracting into itself, but she doesn’t open her eyes. The game isn’t fun if they aren’t awake. So, I wait.
I always wait.
The sound my chair makes when the metal legs drag against the floor is earsplittingly loud. I love it. Situating it about three feet away from Elle’s chair, I sit down, draping the bat over my legs. My toes tap against the floor, splashing in the water that has puddled beneath us as I wait.
After a while of me just starting at her, she groans, finally starting to come around and I use the end of the bat under her chin to nudge her face up. She looks like a drowned rat already, but by the time I’m done it’ll be even worse. Her eyes flutter a few times before she manages to keep them open. The lights aren’t bright enough to be useful, but I’m used to working in them. It takes a minute for her eyes to adjust enough to make out my face. Once she sees me, she begins to panic.
I love the way the whore’s breathing changes, becoming shallow and erratic. They all do the same things and I love every single one of them. I love the way their hands squeeze into fists by their sides and the way they struggle against the rough rope holding them to the chair. I love it all, but most of all, I love the helpless cries. The little whimpers, the way their lips quiver, and the tears spilling out of their eyes, do nothing to discourage me.
If anything, they spur me on, because this is where things start to get fun.
CHAPTER ONE
Harper
I draw my legs up into my chest so I can wrap my arms around them. This bench—the one the officer told me to stay on—isn’t the most comfortable thing in the world. It’s better than the cold ground I was on this morning, though, even if it is inside a holding cell. To be honest, I’m not even sure what I did to end up here. The arresting officer said I was under arrest for assaulting another officer, slapped the cuffs on me, and tossed me in here a few hours ago.
The only way to pass the time until they tell me why I’m here is to either talk to the guy in the corner, or mess with my hair. Since the guy looks pretty sketchy, like maybe he would murder me in my sleep and wear my skin as a suit kind of sketchy, I settle for re-braiding my hair.
I pull the dried-out rubber band and my hot pink and brown lengths fall in front of my face. I like it; I don’t remember doing it, but I still like the way it looks. Its feminine compared to the dirty combat boots and ratty clothes I’m in.
I finish up the braid, working around the massively sore spot on the back of my head, and twist the elastic around the end. The rubber band snaps when I try to twist it one last time to keep it snug, and for some reason, it breaking makes me want to cry. I don’t understand why something so insignificant would make me want to cry, but it does. It’s like life is looking at me, taunting me. I have no idea who I was before last week, no clue why I’m in jail, and now one of the only possessions I have is falling apart.
I don’t cry, though. I stifle it back because I feel someone looking at me. Snapping my head up, I search for whoever it is. My eyes fall on a gorgeous brunette in a skin-tight dress and sky-high heels. She’s staring at me like she can see straight to my soul. Her gaze holds me captive and I can’t look at anything except her until she turns away and disappears from my sight.
The way she looked at me sparks something inside of me. Maybe it was a glimmer of hope—or whatever they tell you happens when you have an epiphany. I may not know who I am, but I do know that from now on, I’ll figure out a way to be better than whoever I am right now. Better than this.
DANI
The heels of my Manolos click quietly on the tile floor of the police station hallway. I take a small step back as an officer pushes his way through the door, holding it open for me. I whisper a quiet, “Thank you”, and let my fingers drift over his forearm as I pass by. The feeling of his gaze on my hips makes me sway them a little more as I walk away from him. I purposely made sure there was enough leg showing under my long-sleeved, black pencil dress to catch attention when I slipped it on, but not enough for people to think I’m a whore.
I giggle to myself and feel the corners of my mouth perk up. My own personal joke runs through my head as I pass officer after officer, knowing that none of them know, as I come to a stop at the door to the Captain’s office. I reach up and knock softly on the heavy, wood and glass door.
“Come in!”
I push the door open, step through and run face first into a solid wall of muscle covered in a crisp gray suit. My feet wobble underneath me but strong arms reach out to steady me. I let my hands settle on his biceps and get a bit irritated. Not because I have a strong man’s arms around me, but because of the fact that I needed to be steadied in the first place. I am never, ever off-balance. In fact, I’m probably steadier in six-inch stilettos than most people are barefoot.
I pull myself together, positive that I’m about ten shades redder than a tomato, and remove my grip from the extremely toned muscles that my hands seem to want to stay attached to. I sweep my eyes up to his face, getting lost for a second in his square jaw, lopsided smirk, and the perfect amount of stubble. The blue eyes staring down at me, laughing, are ones that I could probably get lost for days in. My breath hitches, something that never happens. I’m not the girl that gets flustered and worked up over a man. It’s always the other way around.
“Sorry, sweetheart.” Shit, I think I just came in my La Perla panties. His Southern drawl hits me like a Mack truck as I attempt to sidestep him and regain my senses.
“Do not sweetheart my daughter, Detective,” my father growls from behind him.
I smile and finally manage to pull myself away from the guy so I can round the large, cluttered desk. Bending at the waist so the hot detective has a nice view of my ass, I kiss my father on the cheek and slide myself into the chair next to him.
“Detective Cooper Hayes. He was just transferred here today.” My father points at the man I’ve been fucking in my head since I collided with him and introduces us. “Cooper, this is my daughter, Danielle Beckett. Please keep your eyes, and most definitely your hands, to yourself.”
I reach out to shake his extended hand, letting my fingers graze over his palm as I let go.
“Nice to meet you, ma’am.”
I smirk. “Hon, I don’t know where you’re from, but around here, ma’am is reserved for people you respect and elderly ladies you’re helping across the street. You don’t know me enough to respect me and I’m not old enough to be considered elderly quite yet.”
If I’m being truthful with myself, Cooper calling me ma’am makes me hotter than I already was but it is probably just the accent. I slip my left leg over my right, letting my shoe dangle from my toes and hitch my dress up a few inches when my father turns to look at some papers.
Cooper beams down at me. “I may not know you well enough for you to think I should respect you, but you haven’t given me a reason not to yet. Where I come from, that would be Texas, by the way, and how I was raised, respect is given until you give me a reason to take it away.” He looks to my father, making sure he still isn’t paying us any attention
and looks back at me, winking. “We don’t just use it for elderly ladies. I’m not quite convinced after your misstep a minute ago you won’t need help crossing the street, even though you are definitely not elderly.”
“Danielle,” my father mumbles absentmindedly, cutting us off, “what are you doing here?”
My body racks with silent laughter. I turn my head to look at my father with a smile. “Can’t a girl just visit her father without ulterior motives?”
He turns to face me, peering at me over the top of his square rimmed glasses and chuckles. “Most, yes. You? As much as I love you, not so much.”
“No, really, I’m just here to visit. I had a few minutes to myself and I hadn’t seen you in a few days so I figured I would stop by.” Lie, lie, lie. Just as the words slip out of my mouth, my phone rings. “But, since you’re busy and my duty calls, I guess I will see you Sunday at church?”
I stand, grab my phone out of my purse and check the caller ID. Not recognizing the number, I click ignore, sending it straight to voicemail and take a few steps toward the door. Cooper is still standing in my way so I can’t just slip right out like I had wanted to.
“Danielle,” my father calls out. I turn around and meet his worried gaze head-on. “That Ella Smyth girl they found last night, was she one of yours, too?”
I close my eyes, batting away the tears that started forming the second he mentioned her name and nod. “Yeah, she was.”
“One of yours?” Cooper questions, confused. Before I have a chance to answer him, my father does, saving me from a bold-faced lie that even he doesn’t know about.
“Danielle owns Sinners and Saints Modeling Agency and needs some obvious security upgrades since this is the second girl this month that has been killed.”
“Jesus,” Cooper mumbles, shaking his head. I’m not sure if he’s talking about the fact that two of my girls have been killed, or the fact that I own Sinners and Saints.
Love, Lies, & Crime: Anthology Page 10