by Marni Mann
“Who’s the new one?” I asked Shank, pointing to the far left screen, which showed a guy, stripped naked, curled up in the corner by the toilet.
He must have been dipped in one of the chemical baths and dragged through the glass and dirt pile because he was covered in dark brown filth.
“He’s someone Dad hired us to kill.”
“What did this one do?” I asked.
“He wanted a higher cut of the south shop,” Shank said, scratching his arm, leaving long red marks on his skin.
I knew he didn’t feel the scratches or the droplets of blood that pooled under his nails. Shank hardly felt anything.
“I’m guessing that means he threatened to rat out Bond if he didn’t get an extra point on the sales?”
Shank nodded.
“Fucking idiot.” I zoomed in to check out everything Shank and Diego had done to him.
He had slashes across his back. Deep ones. They were on his shoulders and arms and went all the way down his legs. His feet had been mauled to hell, too.
“How long has he been in?” I asked.
“Two days.”
“What’d you use on him?”
“The blades and the babies.”
The babies were the rest of Shank’s rat collection, the ones he didn’t treat as pets and take everywhere. He’d use those fuckers on the inmates, letting them feed on their skin and muscle, whatever they were able to reach and gnaw.
“The dude hasn’t said a word,” Shank continued. “Dad thought he might be working with someone else, but if he were, he would have caved and told me by now.”
I increased the size of the screen to see if I had missed anything. Shit, it turned out I had. “You hacked off only two of his toes?”
“Check this out.” He pointed at his monitor, so I wheeled my chair closer to his side of the desk and looked at the live feed of The Pit. “There they are.”
The Pit was where we kept the body parts before they went into the incinerator. His toes were sitting in the middle.
“Is that his hand?” I asked.
A nipple was also in there, but it was too large for it to be his.
“Yep.”
“Diego sawed it off with the ax?”
“That was all me. I’ve been trying to improve my aim when I swing that fucking thing. I usually land it in the forearm, right by the elbow, but I’m getting better. I only caught a little bit of the wrist this time.”
“And his toes?”
“The babies. Those motherfuckers were huuungry.”
I laughed so hard, I almost fell out of the chair.
Those goddamn babies. I didn’t know how many there were. Shank had started with one a few years ago, and there were at least a hundred now. They had their own room, and their long nails were always scratching on the door.
“For real, did you have a good time on your break?” He pushed his chair away from the desk and turned toward me.
“It felt weird to be back stateside ’cause it’s been so long, but, yeah, it was all right.”
“When Diego returns from hunting or beaching or whatever the fuck he’s doing, I want you to go back to Miami.”
“Nah—”
“Don’t fight me on this, Beard. I cut your week short because we’re at capacity here. That’s not fair to you.”
“You’re not my boss.”
Shank and I had opened the prison together and taken Diego on after we were already up and running. Shank and I were equal partners; we made every decision together. He had no right to tell me to go back to Miami, and I didn’t have to listen to him.
“No, but I’m your best friend. I’m telling you to take the few days. You need it.” He pounded his fist on my shoulder and left the office.
I knew his order was coming from a good place, but he knew how I felt about going back there and why I liked it here more.
Maybe that just meant I needed to find some screaming in Miami.
I tapped a few buttons on the keyboard, and the screen split, showing all twelve cells. The inmates were quiet—some because the drugs we’d used to transport them were still in their systems, some because the torturing had caused them to pass out, and some because they’d screamed so much, they lost their voices and couldn’t yell anymore.
With nothing to listen to, I took one of the tablets out of the drawer, making sure the volume was on and that the screen showed each cell, and I went into the kitchen. Diego fucked a townie who owned a restaurant, and she would give him bags of food every day. It was only for us, not the inmates. No one in this town knew about the operation we were running here.
I grabbed two of the meat empanadas she had made and headed for our apartment.
The three of us lived on the main two floors of the house, the prison beneath us in the basement. When Shank and I had renovated the place, we’d flown in all the furniture and electronics. This wasn’t just a crashing pad. We spent almost all our time here, so we wanted it to feel like home.
It did.
I was more comfortable here than anywhere else.
Our bedrooms weren’t large, but each of us had our own bathroom, and we shared a kitchen and living room. We’d never even talked about getting our own places. There was no reason to since there wasn’t anything I couldn’t do in front of these guys. With the kind of lives we lived, we didn’t let that petty roommate bullshit affect us.
We just lived, we had fun, and we killed.
Once I got inside my room, I kicked off my boots and crashed on my bed. My phone was in my back pocket, pushing against my ass. I took it out and held it in my hand.
Layla had said she would need a few days to get some things together. If I gave her even more time, I wondered if her list would be better. I opened the text screen and started typing.
Me: I’ll be back in two weeks. Get it set up.
Just as I was about to drop my phone onto the bed, it dinged.
Layla: I’ll be ready for you. Looking forward to seeing you again, Beard.
It’d only taken her seconds to reply.
I liked her already.
Three
Tyler
Six Years Ago
I sat in my bed, tucked underneath my scratchy wool blanket that had been my older brother’s before I went to college. My sheets had been on my younger brother’s bed. They had dinosaurs on them.
Fucking dinosaurs.
When I’d told my mom that a freshman in college, who was going to be living in a dorm, couldn’t have dinosaurs on her sheets, she’d told me I was lucky she had a spare set to give me.
Growing up in our house, we never had a spare of anything. Not when Dad had been on disability, and Mom had worked two jobs that only covered some of their bills. Back then, not having the extras hadn’t bothered me so much. My town wasn’t exactly fancy.
But, as I looked over at my roommate, Wynter—who had a closetful of designer clothes, three makeup bags’ worth of pricey tubes and palettes, and a comforter fluffier than the end of a Q-tip—I couldn’t help but be jealous.
Within the first few hours of moving into our dorm, after seeing what little I had, Wynter had told me I could borrow anything of hers that I wanted.
I never did.
I just didn’t feel right about it. Why tease myself with something nice when I’d eventually have to get a shitty version of my own?
Wynter had quite a social life and always invited me to go out with her. She’d ask every night, and every night, I’d turn her down. I was on a full academic scholarship. A high GPA was the only thing that would keep me in college. I couldn’t blow that. If my grades dropped even a tenth of a point, I’d be back home, sleeping on my parents’ couch, slicing deli meat at the grocery store.
I wasn’t going to go back there.
I was never cutting meat ever again.
But it was tempting to say yes just one time.
And it was Saturday night. My textbook was sitting on my lap, showing multiple graphs on cognitive
psychology and the difference between sleep, consciousness, and hypnosis. Boring stuff. I had an exam on Monday morning, and I still had three more chapters to memorize.
Wynter stood in front of her full-length mirror, twisting to the right to view the side angle of her dress and then turning to the left.
“It looks great on you,” I said. “That color is perfect with your tan.”
She didn’t spend money on just clothes and makeup. Wynter was high-maintenance, a level I never saw in my small town in Kansas. After class and before her evenings out, she was always going to some appointment to get sprayed or picked or plucked or tightened.
“You really think it looks okay?” she asked.
“Definitely.” I lifted the book and rested it over my chest, laying my arms across it. “Don’t even question it.”
She took another spin and walked over to her closet to find a pair of shoes. “You should really come with me tonight. It’s going to be so busy and so much fun.”
“Can’t.” I squeezed the book, wishing the text would soak into my brain. “I really need to study.”
“On a Saturday night?” She waited for me to respond, but I didn’t. “You never say yes to me. Say yes this one time. You can’t spend the next four years stuck in this room, only leaving to go to class. You need to live a little, too, Tyler.”
She had a point. I hadn’t gone out since I arrived at college. Not even once.
“But my exam is on Monday.”
“That gives you all day tomorrow and Monday morning to study.”
She pulled out a dress from her closet. It was red, the fabric bound in layers so that it almost looked striped. I knew from the material that it would fit super snug.
“Try it on. I have shoes to match. Then, I’ll do your hair and makeup.”
“I can’t.”
She came over to my bed. Taking the textbook out of my arms, she peeled back the blanket to reveal my holey T-shirt and paint-stained cotton shorts. “You’re coming even if that means I have to dress you myself.”
I wasn’t sure how Wynter had persuaded me to go to the club with her, but I was here, wearing her dress and her shoes with my skin smelling like her perfume. This was the first time I had ever been to a place like this. From what I’d seen in movies, I figured we would have to wait in a long line by the front, and then I’d have to hand the bouncer my ID and get some type of marking that showed I was underage.
That didn’t happen.
Wynter and I were escorted through a back entrance and brought into an elevator that took us to the second floor. On this level, we were able to oversee everything downstairs—the dance floor, the three bars, and all the people. As I held on to the banister, checking out the moves of the go-go dancers, a waitress handed me a glass of champagne.
“Am I allowed to drink this?” I asked Wynter after the waitress left.
“Of course, silly.”
When I was sure no one was close enough to hear me, I said, “But I’m only eighteen. Couldn’t I get in trouble if I got caught?”
She touched the bottom of my glass and lifted it to my lips. “No one cares. Trust me. You’re not going to get in trouble.” She used her other hand to point to the closest table. “See that liquor there? Help yourself to any of it. There’s a bunch more tables just like that one up here. They’re full of liquor and mixers and fruit. Drink up, girl. That’s why we’re here.”
“And how much is this going to cost me?”
I had twenty-two dollars in my wallet. If I wanted shampoo and tampons next month, I’d need to make every dollar last.
“Nothing,” she said. “It’s all free.”
I did a quick scan of the room. She was right; there were lots of other tables just like that one. And it didn’t look like anyone was paying for what they drank.
“Why is it all free?”
Wynter was holding on to the same railing as me, dancing like she had an audience. Her hair flowed and bounced over her shoulders. Her body moved in perfect sync with the music. “Just enjoy the ride. Don’t question it.”
This was my first time out—away from my textbooks and the terms I constantly needed to memorize, away from the stress of keeping up my grades and how I would afford toiletries.
Stop questioning all of it, I thought to myself, and just have some fun.
So, when Wynter took me over to one of the tables and poured something much stronger than champagne, I took the glass she handed to me. And, when she asked me to dance on top of a small ottoman in the center of the room where everyone was able to see us, I did.
It didn’t take long for the drinks to hit me. On an empty stomach, there wasn’t anything to absorb the liquor. I knew I had to take it slow. I’d learned that the hard way when I got so sick from funneling four beers in a row at our senior year pig roast. Still, whatever was in this glass had loosened me right up, and it made me want to dance.
I tingled. Everywhere. And I couldn’t stop smiling.
This liquor was magic.
“I have to go talk to someone really quick,” Wynter said. “Will you be okay here by yourself?”
I didn’t know how long we’d been dancing, but it had to have been a while. I was out of breath and a little sweaty. “I’ll wait for you on the couch. I need a sec to catch my breath.”
She jumped off the ottoman and helped me down. “Be right back.”
I took a seat in the corner and chewed on the ice cubes from my glass, watching every person who walked by. The room was getting busier. Waitresses were replacing empty bottles and helping people refill their glasses. Everyone seemed to know someone, including Wynter. I saw her move from guy to guy. She’d speak just a few words and then step on to someone else. Always smiling. Gliding across the floor like she was in skates and we were in the middle of a rink.
I didn’t have her charisma.
But I wanted it.
“Having a good time?” a woman asked me.
I felt the cushion next to me indent, skin briefly brushing against my arm. I knew it wasn’t Wynter. She was still on the other side of the room. When I finally turned my head, the face I met was striking. Exotic even. She had long black hair that fell way past her chest, dark eyes, and olive skin that was perfectly flawless.
“Yes,” I answered. “This place is nice.”
“I hope Wynter has been showing you a good time.”
She glanced at Wynter, who was talking to a different man than the last one I’d seen her with. The two women nodded at each other. Then, Wynter’s eyes moved to mine, and she smiled.
“How did you know I came here with Wynter?”
She pushed back a chunk of her hair, showing a diamond earring that was larger than my fingernail. “I know everything about you, Tyler.”
“Everything?” My brows rose.
There were things I didn’t want her to know. Things I’d never told anyone before. Like the way I resented my parents for only caring about my brothers, not giving a damn about me. For naming me after a boy because the last thing they’d wanted was a girl. That Tommy Markus had taken my virginity when I was fourteen, not seventeen like everyone thought. Especially that I had chosen to go to college in San Diego instead of Kansas because it was the farthest school from home that I had gotten accepted to.
“Everything I need to know,” she said.
I looked down at her hands. Her nails were long and pointy, painted black with rhinestones across the tips.
I wondered if I would ever be able to afford a manicure where someone glued rhinestones to my tips.
I doubted it.
“What I’ve learned, Tyler, is that you need my help.” She leaned in a little closer, and I got a whiff of her breath. It was like a tropical smoothie. I wanted mine to smell that delicious. “Let me help you.”
“I didn’t catch your name. I’m sorry if you said it already.” I was too busy being envious of your gorgeous long hair and your smooth skin and your gleaming white teeth.
“I
never gave it to you.” Her hand lifted to my chin, and she cupped it like my grandfather used to do whenever he said good-bye to my brothers and me. “Would you like to know my name?”
I blinked several times. “Yes.”
“Let’s talk about what I can do for you first. If you’re interested in the ways I can help you, then I’ll give you my name. If you’re not”—her hand dropped from my face, and I immediately missed it—not in a sexual way, but in a motherly way—“then you’ll never see me again.”
Four
Beard
Layla had offered to pick me up from my place and drive us to the appointment. Because I didn’t want her to know where I lived, I’d told her I’d come to her. Plus, I wanted to see her office.
I’d done my research, so I knew she operated under a company called Layla Enterprises, LLC. Her business license was registered with the state of Florida, and her commercial space was leased under her company’s name. Her business filed tax returns, received utility bills, and even had a car lease—a Mercedes S-Class, which must have been hers. She didn’t have a website, there weren’t any online articles that mentioned her company’s name, and none of the commercial sales or investments in Miami had mentioned her as the broker. I hadn’t expected them to. Not when her transactions were off the books, like mine.
Everything I’d found looked legit. So, I’d asked Layla for her address even though I already knew it and told her I’d be there at eleven.
I arrived an hour early to see if anyone came in or out of her office. If they did, I’d run their license plate and get some information on them, checking on whether they were a vendor or a client. But, unfortunately, it was real quiet at her place.
As I walked toward the front of the building, I saw the receptionist sitting at her desk. The door was locked, so I pressed the intercom button right next to it.
The receptionist looked up and said through the speaker, “Mr. Beard?”