by Amo Jones
Turning to face Dad, my eyes flat, I smirk. “As I said, I’m fucking ready.”
I step out of the cage, passing through the dark doors that take you out into the under cave, and stop when I notice Dad isn’t following.
“And your sister?” Dad asks, coming up beside me.
“Will need to stay out of my way. She tries to pull feelings out of me and I might kill her.”
Dad chuckles, patting me on the back. “You’re ready.”
The limo pulls up outside my house, and my dad stops me as I’m about to get out. “Release this album, Syn, but I need you on your game. Keep those little fuckers out of your bubble, you hear me? Remember you’re still a Vor and the Bratva will always come first. Have we any reason to see you not complying to this, it’s not just your life you have to worry about. It’s every person you even slightly give a shit about, including your sister. Do you understand, Syn?” He searches my eyes.
I chuckle, knocking his hand off my leg. “Yeah, Pops. I get it. Crystal fucking clear.” I climb out and slam the door closed behind me. I’ve been caged for a month. I still don’t know what’s happened since I’ve been gone, but I told Lenny that I’d be back when I’d be back and to not worry. He knew, if I didn’t show he knew—he knew. Lenny had been around since I was a kid, and this wasn’t the first time I’d been caged.
I unlock my front door and slam it closed when I’m inside.
I can still smell her scent. My eyes close as I inhale, and exhale. Slowly, I open them and feel the hatred burning through me.
Revenge
“You’re back?” Lenny says, watching me carefully while leaning on one of the pillars in the foyer.
“Yeah.” I toss my bag down onto the ground, taking out my smokes.
“You look like shit. Again.”
I light up my smoke, inhaling and blowing out the thick cloud of grey. I don’t say anything, because I can’t be fucked getting into it with Lenny right now. The man is relentless when he wants to be.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on when you go off for these long trips with your dad?”
I shake my head, blowing out another cloud of smoke. “Nup.” I run my hand over my thick beard, his eyes follow the motion and then he laughs. “Look cute with that beard, Ae, think the bitches will love it. Might need to keep it on for the tour.”
I flip him off and then make my way toward my bedroom. I need a fucking shower, and then a fucking plan. Just as I reach for the handle, Lenny’s words stop me.
“She’s gone. We can’t find her anywhere.”
It takes me a second to realize he’s talking about Beat and then takes me another second to remember that I didn’t actually update him on what happened with her.
I need to obviously decide whether I tell him or not. I go with or not, because Lenny, although he’s not a little bitch, I have come to realize, has a soft spot for little Beatrice Kennedy, or should I say, Amaya Corvo.
I remember that night so vividly that it conjures the most vivid pictures in my brain.
I shake my head. “She won’t be for long.”
“What does that mean?” he pushes, and I have two options here. Tell him half of the truth or all of it. By law, he already knows too much, but whether I like it or not, Lenny is my brother and I trust him more than I trust my own father.
“It means that there’s a whole chunk of information that you don’t know, and I’m not willing to tell you, so anything that happens from here on out, I need to be sure that you have my back, and not hers.”
“What?” His face scrunches up. I’ve offended him—good. That tells me all I need to know. “I’ve never not had your back, Ae, and yeah, I like Beat, but you’re my brother and it’ll always be you.”
“Awww,” I tease, smirking at him. “Do you suck dick on the first date? Because I gott—”
He flips me off. “Fuck you.” Then leaves, storming off up one of the twin stairwells.
The next day, I make my way up to the studio to meet Lenny and X. We need to go over the final small details of my world tour.
“What’s it going to be called? I mean, you could just name it after the album?”
I shake my head, leaning back on the sofa and flicking a pen through my fingers. “Nah. I’m not in the same place I was when I wrote this album, and besides, the name really means jack shit when we’ve sold out across all of the shows.”
Something passes between X and Lenny, but I ignore them, tossing words around in my head. I hate that Beatrice has a touch on this album. She was the fucking thing that inspired me to write one of these songs and basically overall get over my block. Even though each song is, in my honest opinion, some of my best. There is still a touch of her on each song, whether I’m rapping about her or not. And I’m not—except in one song she’s dropped on a verse. Not her exact name, but the indication that there is a woman in my life and her pet name. That has never happened before. I don’t rap about money and bitches, I rap about real shit. Depression, anxiety, that feeling of wanting to jump from a skyscraper just for your physical body to explode against the cement and show whoever it is that you fucking cared all along. I knew when I started in this that I didn’t want to be a gold plated rapper dancing around saying shit but not really saying shit. I knew that regardless of how raw my words were, my listeners would get it at one-hundred-percent. None of that watered-down bullshit. This album is that still, with only that one song that has a mention of a woman, and of course, the world lost their mind trying to figure out who she was. It didn’t take long when I started carrying Beatrice on my arm like a fucking prized possession.
Leaning my back against the head of the couch, I try to think of something. Anything.
I chuckle, bringing my eyes to Lenny and X who both stopped their talking when they heard me laugh. “I got it. We’ll call the tour Raven’s Revenge.”
They both look at me, puzzled. I roll my eyes. “What’s the Italian word for Raven, boys?”
They both blink.
X whispers to Lenny. “Is he aiight? Like is homeboy on somethin’ or what?”
Lenny watches me, but answers, “Still trying to figure that out, brother.”
“I’ll tell you what it is,” I smirk, biting down on the base of my smoke and flicking open my Zippo. I inhale and then exhale. “Corvo.”
“I don’t wanna know”—Mario, Diddy.
“Do you want to ask me anything?” Delila says, coming back to the small table in her trailer, carrying two hot mugs.
I take one from her, smiling and blowing on the warmth. I wrap my lips around the rim and take a sip. Oh God. I almost moan it feels that good. My tummy rumbles from having something inside of it after so long. “Um…” I shake my head. “No. I guess not.”
“Interesting,” she says, sitting opposite me. She tilts her head. “I must say, you’ve lost some weight since I last saw you in New Orleans.”
I pause, the mug halfway up to my face. “You saw me?”
She smiles, sipping on her own drink and then placing it back on the table. “Of course. Now, aside from the pretty face, you sure spiked our attention when Manik brought you with him. He usually comes to our shows alone, or with his big friend.”
Lenny, I wanted to say, but the mention of Aeron has my lips clamped shut. Will she still be kind to me when she finds out that he and I are no longer an item? May as well get it over with now.
“You know that we are not a thing anymore? And to be honest, I’m actually trying to avoid him.” Putting it lightly. I wonder if that was smart mentioning that. She might call him and tell him I’m here just to get in his good books. Damn my big stupid mouth.
She laughs lightly, a small smile touching her lips. “I figured as much.” Then she straightens her shoulders. “I have to be honest with you, once we saw you both together, it gained my attention, so we researched you. We found your videos on YouTube and that was that. We knew if we passed you again that we would like to, at the very least, of
fer you something. We’ve been looking for a dancer for some time. I mean, Micaela and Promise are great, excellent actually.” No idea who she is talking about but I nod my head for her to continue. “But we need someone with more flare, not with contemporary and gymnastics as their learning trunk.”
I blink. “Um, sorry it’s just that there are so many amazing dancers in the world—especially on YouTube, why me?”
“I agree.” She nods, leaning forward slightly. Her lip twitches. “But none of them have the darkness inside of them to perform with Midnight Mayhem.”
I suck in a breath. “You think I do? Because I don’t…”
“No.” She shakes her head, leaning back. “I don’t think you have, but I think when you perform, you create art. When you’re dancing, you’re performing for those cameras. With each song, you’re allowing the music and the lyrics to possess you, and Beatrice, you may not have darkness inside of you, but you don’t run from the darkness around you, and that makes all the difference.”
Her words hit me all at once, and that’s when I know she’s right. Despite the fact that she doesn’t know me for nothing, she’s right. “Okay, but I don’t feel up to too much right now.”
Delila smiles, sagging back in her seat. “I don’t suppose you would. I’ll show you to my shower and then have you meet a couple of the girls. I think Promise has some room in her trailer for you until you figure out what it is you want. Tomorrow, we can see what you’ve got. That sound okay?”
“Yes.” I drink the rest of my drink that has cooled to lukewarm. “Sounds perfect.”
After my shower, I feel like a new woman. It’s like I can smell the things I couldn’t smell before, and when I lift my bag up, it reeks. Yelp, how awful did I smell if my bag alone is this gross. I leave my hair to dry on its own, flowing down my back, and leave the bathroom stall in Angela’s trailer. They’re much bigger than what they look like from the outside. She has a large king bed at one end that has a curtain that can pull over for privacy, a lounge area, the bathroom, the kitchen, and then another small room—I think. The trailer is hooked up to a large SUV.
“You ready?” she asks, walking toward me with a pack of smokes in her hand.
I nod, looking down at her hands. “You smoke? Aren’t you like, a circus and you guys are all fit?” I feel like a hypocrite because I used to like to enjoy a cig every now and then.
She laughs, gesturing for me to follow her. “We’re not a circus, Beatrice, I thought that much was obvious?”
I lick my lips, squeezing the handle of my bag. “I guess so.”
She blows out her smoke and the smell reminds me of Manik. I gulp down the memories that threaten to surface. “We’re just Midnight Mayhem.”
Promise is cute, and a little quiet. She welcomes me into her trailer without blinking at Delila.
“Thanks for letting her just dump me in here,” I say, looking around the room. It’s all white and fur. Interesting décor, but when you see Promise, you probably wouldn’t be surprised.
She waves me off. “It’s okay. I knew you were coming, we all sort of did, and since I’m the only one who will share her space, I offered to have you here.” She pulls open a mesh curtain at the end of the trailer, opening it onto a large bed. “There’s nothing to it, just a bed, as you can see.” She gestures to the small room that’s occupied by the bed. “So just keep all your loose belongings in the cupboard down the hall. The bathroom is to the left, there’s limited hot water so try to keep it short, I have…” She looks down at my clothes. “A lot of clothes. Please borrow them. We’re probably close to the same size.”
I drop my bag on the floor that seems like it’s intruding in this perfect space, then take a seat on the bed, gripping the dress Delila gave me to put on after my shower. “Thanks,” I murmur, chewing on my lip. “This is weird, right?”
Promise gives me a look. Her pasty white skin is a complete contrast to my golden tan. Her white blonde curly hair, again, completely opposite of my jet black straight hair. “Yes, but weird is what we do.” She saunters down the hallway and pulls open a door. “Voila!” She points inside. “Come take a look.”
I stand and follow, then freeze when I see what’s behind the door. “All of those clothes are yours?”
She nods, her face lighting up like a fierce flash of lightning. “Yup! And help yourself.”
“Oh, thanks,” I say, a little taken back by her generosity. When she starts going to her side of the trailer, I call out, “Promise?”
“Hmm?” she asks, tilting her head to look over her shoulder as she crawls onto her bed.
“Why are you being so nice to me?”
She exhales. “Because no one else here is going to be.”
Oh, well that’s very comforting to hear.
Someone is shaking my ankle. Or something. I launch off the bed, screaming.
“Woah!” Promise says, her hands up in the air. “Sorry, didn’t know you were a shit sleeper. Noted! Hey, you might want to go warm up for the day. Delila is going to have you on a crazy routine no doubt.”
I jump off the bed, swiping my hair out of my face. “You think?” I ask, watching as she goes straight for the coffee. She pours a cup and then asks me if I want one.
I shake my head. “No. I’ll go for a run first.”
She nods and then continues. “Yup. She will push you today to your breaking point, so be ready.” Then she points to the closet. “Narnia is open and there are tons of training clothes.”
I get busy, taking out a bright green Nike sports bra and loose grey sweatpants. I take the Calvins too because I’ll need them. I slip them all on quickly. Cursing that I don’t have an iPod, I hate running with no music. Being off the grid sucks.
Thirty minutes later, I’m back, sweat pouring from my skin. I didn’t want to do an hour because I wanted to actually have energy to survive the day, but I’m warm enough.
“Beat!” Delila calls out from outside her trailer. “Perfect. Come on. You can start now.”
I point to Promise’s trailer. “Should I have a shower?”
She laughs. “No. Save it for later, you’re just going to get sweaty again anyway.”
I jog, catching up to her, and she stops just as she’s about to open the back entry of the tent. Turning, her eyes scan my face. “I don’t know what’s going on with you and Manik, or why you’re on the run. I know you have money, and I know you don’t have to be homeless, you choose to be, so I figure whatever it is that’s going on between the two of you is dangerous. But, I can’t let it touch this family. I know who Manik’s dad is, everyone does, so don’t get comfortable here, okay? You may be in, but to become family takes a lot longer than one night.”
I gulp, nerves wracking my body, but I nod because I totally understand why she’s saying this. “I understand.”
“Good,” she chirps, sipping her coffee. “Now come and show these twats that you’re more than a hobo in hiding with a pretty face.”
The tent set up inside is nothing like it was or felt that night, and my eyes go straight to where Manik and I would have been sitting, instantly, ignoring all of the people who are in there, hopefully not waiting on me. Why do I feel sick to my stomach when I think of him? Because I let the same hands that killed my parents touch me in places I never let anyone touch me. And I’m not talking about my body.
“Everyone, this is Beatrice, as I’m sure you already know.” Delila gestures to me. “She’s going to play around for a bit, go ahead and do what you need to do.” Then she looks back to me. “I’m going to play a song in each genre and I want you to be able to freestyle for a minute from that song.”
Nerves hit me, but I know I’ve got this. “Sounds good,” I agree.
She looks up to a booth that sits over the main entrance, completely camouflaged in black. From the corner of my eye, I see people shuffling away to the edges of the stretched ring, but there are also a few people who stay seated. Nice for my nerves, too.
The f
irst song that starts playing is something easy. “Filthy” by Justin Timberlake. I let each beat hit my movements with tranquility. Dancing is like breathing for me.
I roll my body into the song, letting my hair out of the high ponytail, walking up to the front of the ring, shaking my hips. I lift my leg to standing splits, sliding it through the air then dropping down onto my back, my legs tucked under my butt but with my arms stretched wide. When the chorus kicks back in, I roll onto my stomach and then to all fours. The next song mixes into a rap song. “Thugs Get Lonely Too” by Tupac. I slide into the song, letting my hips hit the pulse and flow with the lyrics. The next song that slips in is “Bad at Love” by Halsey. I drop to the ground, letting the strum take over my soul, crawling up and stretching my leg above my head to the music. When the chorus comes in, I twist around and use my hands to move over my body, dropping back to the ground again. I hate how much this song speaks to me. Finally, it moves to “Left Outside Alone” by Anastasia. What the hell genre is this? I go with it anyway. When the song kicks up a little, I twist on my feet with one foot pressed against my inner thigh, using basic ballet movements. Then when the chorus drops, I slide against the floor on my knees, grabbing my head and circling it around, lost in the song. It’s a good old school song. The music cuts—
Trying to catch my breath, the music stops, and my shoulders heave.
“Nice.” Delila claps, looking out to everyone who had stopped to watch me. “Right?” There were a few mumbles, and then my eyes drop to a group who were sitting near the front. Five guys. All with interesting looks, watching me carefully. None of them welcoming at all—by any means. Delila follows my line of sight and giggles, patting my shoulder. “I believe you may remember that group?”
I nod, gulping down my breath. I remember all right. I’ll remember for the rest of my life. “I thought there were six?”