by Logan Fox
“I didn’t off anyone, baby girl,” he murmured. “You’re all much more valuable to me alive than dead.” Another soft, whisper of a kiss. His nails dug into her scalp.
“After all, how am I supposed to sell pretty little dead things?”
End of Part Two
III
Blood Money
“These violent delights have violent ends.”
William Shakespeare
Prologue
Lights, Camera, Action!
The girl’s body felt heavy and limp; even her eyelids were leaden. Consciousness greeted her with a flare of light and the murmur of low-pitched voices. She blinked, eyes watering at the insistent brightness. Refusing to focus. Refusing to open more than a slit.
Cool air swirled around her. Candle wax and an oily stink wafted into her nose. She twitched it, lifting a concrete hand to try and cover her nostrils. It moved reluctantly, clumsily, dragging over her mouth. Something slick coated her lips — there was more of it on her nose. Her fingers lifted, exploring the thick swathe of sticky-slick paint under her fingertips.
“—fucking up your face, mind,” a voice billowed from nowhere, loud and close.
The girl jumped at the sound of it, turning bleary eyes to the side. A shadow loomed beside her, wide and unstoppable.
A cloth — damp and stinking of something acrid — dragged over her face. That coarse fabric scoured her skin, guided by a rough, methodical hand.
“Now I gotta do it again,” the shadow-man said in a hoarse voice. “Know what that means, lover?”
She didn’t know what that meant. She didn’t know what any of this meant: the bright lights, the crude paint on her face.
They’d drugged her; she knew that much at least. That’s why she felt so heavy. That’s why her thoughts came and went like the froth of a wave crashing over her head.
Candles. Stale air. Echoes reverberating from bare walls.
She was still in the Earth. But was the wolf still here? And his brother?
The cloth went up her nose and wriggled in her nostril, stifling breath. She slapped at the hand trying to suffocate her and received a rough, guttural laugh for her efforts. She made a pitiful sound of protest.
“Hush now.” The cloth drew away. “And hold still. I ain’t gonna do this again.”
A metallic lid rasped as it was unscrewed. That oily stench rose into the girl’s nose, almost obliterating the faint scent of roses coming from her neck.
And her hair.
It shifted around her head, soft and silky.
Someone had washed her hair.
She whimpered, shoulders caving as she tried to pull her legs against her chest. They refused, weak and unresponsive. Something bulky covered her. A robe, thick… fluffy.
A fur robe. Like the ones they’d worn over their dresses during roll call. But as air swirled around her, against her, the girl could feel it was all she wore.
At least her leg didn’t hurt anymore. Her feet either. In fact, she could barely feel anything from her neck down. But her vision was growing clearer — she could see the man’s thumb near her face, a pile of thick, red paint heaped on the side of it.
A hand caught the back of her head, holding her still as he drew his thumb down her forehead, over her nose. It dragged through her lips, her teeth scraping paint into her mouth as her lips parted reluctantly for that determined finger. Down to her chin. There, it stopped.
“Close those peepers,” the man said. His face was slowly swimming into focus. “Wouldn’t wanna blind you, would we, lover?”
Memory crashed back like a waterfall over broken rocks. The girl reeled with the vivacity of them, clinging to the man’s wrist as the world wheeled around her.
“There ya go…”
She’d squeezed her eyes shut — to close off those memories, those black eyes, that cruelly curving mouth — and the man swiped more of that thick paint over her eyes and the bridge of her nose.
That was why her eyes had felt so heavy. The paint clung to her lids, sticking her lashes together. Some of it did get into her eyes — when she blinked, blood washed the world.
The man ducked closer, eyes darting over her face as he studied her face.
God, how many times had this black-eyed man done that? An artist, making sure his paintbrush had landed true. He blinked, eyebrows lifting, and for a moment, he was the man she remembered. The man she’d once thought she was falling for.
He stepped back, glancing over his shoulder, head turning as he scanned behind him. Her eyes followed, narrowing as that spotlight speared into her pupils. The man turned back to her, again studying her face from where he stood as if to make sure that crucifix he’d drawn on her face was straight.
But the girl’s eyes were fixed on the pews a few feet away. They were difficult to see with the spotlight shining in her eyes, but their shape was unmistakable — those sharp, rectangular blocks, so evenly placed — as were the shapes positioned on them.
People.
Two rows of silent, watching people.
They all wore hoods — some fur-lined, some not — but they all sat identically still. Mirroring each other’s silence. Staring straight ahead.
No, not all of them were staring ahead. Some of the smaller figures had their heads dipped.
In prayer?
Perhaps they were having a quiet consultation with whatever bloodthirsty god they served before this ritual — because that’s what this was, right? — began.
The man stepped in front of her, blotting out the spotlight.
She stiffened, a few of those hooded figures now more distinct. Some of their features now recognizable.
All of them, recognizable.
The man stepped aside, washing the girl’s eyes with white. She blinked, eventually focusing on the man’s face again.
That look of pedantic concentration had vanished. A leer had replaced it. Those black eyes slid to her mouth. Then further down, to the gaping halves of her robe. He stepped up to her, grin widening as his hand slid under that fur, grasping roughly at her breast.
The man opened his mouth, but whatever he’d been going to say was cut off by another — just as familiar — voice. A voice that had once made her quiver with hedonistic anticipation.
A voice she’d once felt compelled to obey… and to serve.
“Get the camera rolling.” The wolf… or his brother? Her fogged mind was having difficulty telling them apart.
The black-eyed man smiled at her, giving her a slow wink as his eyes lingered on her red-painted mouth. He slid a salty thumb between her lips, rubbing paint from her teeth. Her mouth watered at that intrusion, at the thick blobs of paint she swallowed down.
A hand slid over the man’s shoulder. Another voice — quiet as it was deep — filtered through to her as that hand squeezed at the black-eyed man’s shoulder.
“Ready?”
“We are,” the man said. Then his gaze focused on the girl’s eyes again. For a moment, a different light flickered in them. Concern. Perhaps even regret.
“Are you?” the black-eyed man whispered to her, voice no longer hoarse.
The hand on his shoulder disappeared, replaced with an elaborate mask bearing twisting antlers and a calm, bovine-like face.
“Then so mote it be.” The horned man was smiling — she could hear it in his whispered voice.
1
The Mantle of Dread Weight
What a twisted, conniving bitch Fate was. Oh, she had to be a woman; no man was capable of such hateful spite. No man could fix his attention so accurately — and with such passion — on an individual for this long. No, Fate — the whore-ass bitch who Pearl had somehow managed to piss off — wasn’t doing Pearl any favors.
Not in this lifetime.
And, judging from the shit-storm the bitch was throwing Pearl’s way, not in any future lifetimes, either.
Instead, Pearl was left dodging bullet after bullet, heart pounding as they whispered past her ear.
Tanner, sandy hair dishevelled and grey eyes unreadable, had decided to sit in Seth’s empty chair — reasons unknown — watching the foxes as they cavorted around the patio table dishing up food and replenishing empty cocktails.
Pearl couldn’t have eaten if they’d told her it was her last meal.
Which it already felt like.
How am I supposed to sell pretty little dead things?
A mantle of dread weight had settled over her shoulders after Tanner had whispered those haunting words in her ear seconds — hours — ago.
It made sense, obviously. The foxes brought streams of money into the Fox Pit. They were integral. The ‘fox’ in the Fox Pit. The zeros on Tanner’s bank balance. Killing them off didn’t make fiscal sense, did it?
But… he hadn’t acted surprised. Hadn’t even seemed alarmed when Pearl had told him — point blank — that he’d been killing off the girls.
So he knew, or he thought she was smoking crack.
“You should’ve discussed it with me,” Caden said.
His voice cut through the foxes’s joviality like a hacksaw through a marshmallow. Silence sliced apart half-muttered praises for Scotty’s cooking, whispered debates about which cocktail was yummier, and muffled musings about how much abdominal space should be set aside for dessert.
Tanner — his plate surprisingly empty — touched a finger to the top of his beer can. He traced the rim, giving Caden a lopsided smile.
“What, bringing back Ethan? Really?” His eyes touched on Pearl before flying back to Caden. “Strange that…” His lips twitched as he lifted his beer. “Last time I checked, I was the majority shareholder.”
Pearl glanced over at Caden. The man’s lips had thinned to an almost invisible line. Tiny spots of red speckled each cheekbone. Caden set down his fork, touching the edge of a napkin to his mouth before laying the square of fabric over the remainder of his food as if he was covering the face of a beloved — if dead — friend.
“Hiring decisions cannot solely be authorized by—”
“Honey...” Tanner’s voice oozed patience. “Not in front of the kids.”
The foxes were all silent now. Most of the girls stared down at their food. A few of the braver women were glancing between Tanner and Caden as if they would see static discharge sparking between the two men if they focused hard enough.
“Well, done is done.” Caden unfolded from his seat, his lithe, six-foot-two figure looking brittle in its stiffness. He glanced along the side of the table toward Opal.
The girl was staring at him, brown eyes wide and hand paused with a fork of potato salad halfway to her mouth. Caden cocked his head, and Opal hurriedly dropped her fork, shoving back her chair and standing.
Pearl couldn’t keep her own eyes off the trio, despite the urge she had to stare down and wish herself away. Instead, she watched the two men as avidly as the braver foxes, her chest growing tighter as the tension between them mounted.
“Leaving? So soon?” Tanner asked, eyes on Opal but directing the question at Caden.
“Yeah,” Opal said with a shrug. “I can, can’t I?”
Tanner sat back in his chair, hooking his elbow around the left corner of its backing and lacing his fingers together in front of his breast.
“No.” His quirky smile had frozen in place, as if in warning.
Pearl’s heart fluttered at that single word, the leaden weight of it.
Opal blinked, frowned, and glanced at Caden. His steely blue eyes were on Tanner; a lesser man might have wilted under that incandescent flame.
Tanner just shrugged. “I was enjoying the scenery.”
“There’s plenty, even for your wanderlust.” Caden walked up to Opal and grasped her wrist, giving her a firm tug as he went around the table. She followed, throwing Tanner a worried glance over her shoulder as they headed for the patio doors.
“Don’t do it,” Tanner called out in a low voice.
When Pearl looked back at him, his smile had disappeared and he had a white-knuckled grip on his fingers.
Caden didn’t answer, tugging open the patio doors and leading Opal inside by her wrist. She didn’t look back, perhaps not wanting to see Tanner’s sullen eyes or the furious set of his mouth.
A new silence descended on the patio. It became thick and cloying, tasting of agitation and nervous energy.
“B`lyad!” Scotty’s voice made every fox — including Pearl — jump.
The red-headed chef got to her feet, tossing her lamb chop down with a disgusted sneer.
“You make my food taste bad.” The chef turned on her heel, muttering something in Russian under her breath. She tore off her apron, tossed it in the general direction of the vast outdoor grille decorating the west patio wall, and spun to face Tanner.
“Mu’dak.” This with an irritated gesture in his direction.
The patio doors slammed behind her as Scotty stormed into the Fox Pit.
Tanner tapped his fork against the side of his plate a few times. The discordant sound made a few of the edgier foxes flinch. Pearl was one of them.
“Well,” Tanner said, a smile springing back onto his lips as if it had never left. “That was fun while it lasted. Time to get back to your whoring, girls.”
A stunned silence followed this, a few of the girls exchanging glances with each other.
Tanner’s fist slammed down on the wooden table, rattling his plate. He held the fork tight between his fingers, its tines stabbing into the wood.
“Now.” This was a low, dangerous murmur.
The girls scrambled up, a few knocking over drinks in their haste to get inside. Pearl — despite being the closest to the patio doors — had to stand aside so the mob could herd themselves inside. It was that or be trampled.
Unfortunately, it left her as singled out as a baby buffalo during the Maasai Mara migration. And Tanner sidelined her like a crocodile whose last meal was a long time forgotten and digested.
His hand closed over her shoulder. “Going somewhere?”
“Back to whoring, apparently.”
Yes, she wished she could claw back the words as soon as they’d left her mouth. But they hung in the air, sharp and unnecessary, with nothing to be done about them except feelings of deep regret.
“Must be my lucky day,” Tanner said. “I was about to write you off as a dud.”
His hand glided over her breast. Pearl stiffened. Well, that’s what happened, wasn’t it? You were bad; the wolf punished you. But she knew that this punishment wasn’t one she’d secretly enjoy — a punishment merely in name.
He moved up against her. Pearl closed her eyes, swallowing. It had been unavoidable, of course. Astounding that, up until now, he hadn’t made a move on her. Which wasn’t entirely true — he’d made several moves, but had never forced his hand. Except, now, she’d probably pissed him off to the point of no return.
“I’ve cleared my schedule for you, baby girl,” the man whispered into her ear. “It’s just going to be us, today. Tonight. Hell, maybe I’ll keep you to myself all weekend long. Whaddya say, huh? Wanna make a weekend of it?”
A flicker of anger arrived from nowhere, wrenching motor function from her brain.
“Sure,” Pearl said. “Doubt you’ll last that long, of course. But we could tell everyone you did. You know, like you always—”
The patio door flew open. Tanner’s hand — in the process of sliding down Pearl’s stomach — stopped. He grabbed her belly, fingers sinking deep into her flesh.
Her eyes opened. Fixed on Tina.
“Sorry to bug you, Sir.” The girl glanced behind her and then slipped out of the Fox Pit, pushing the door closed and leaning against it with her back. “I know you said we should all get back to whoring and whatnot,” the girl said, biting at the edge of her bottom lip, “but it turns out I’m fresh out of slutty duties at the moment.”
Tanner’s grip on Pearl relaxed. He started laughing, the sound reaching Pearl first as a shake in his abdomen. Those hard
, corrugated muscles vibrated against her back as the man slowly let out a low chuckle.
“You’re like a little Energizer bunny, aren’t you?” Tanner said.
Tina gave him a mock curtsey. “I aim to please, Sir.”
“Well, three’s company,” Tanner said, beckoning the brown-eyed girl with a flick of his fingers. He pushed against Pearl, herding her toward the doors. “Pearl and I were just discussing whether we should turn our first virgin voyage into a three-day cruise of the major coastlines.”
“I like the sound of that,” Tina piped up, falling into stride beside Pearl.
She reached out, gripping Pearl’s wrist and giving her a hard squeeze. Pearl looked down at the girl’s fingers — glittering black polish on those acrylic claws today — in fascination. How had she known? Did she have the fucking gift or something? Maybe amateur-porn star Tina was a superhero in disguise. The Green Whore. Or Superslut.
“Only problem is, I have to go back to whoring tomorrow again — no rest for the wickedly good, right? — and I’m going to sulk if I know you two are having all that fun without me.”
Tanner laughed again, giving Tina an insistent shake of his head. “No sulking, baby girl. I insist.”
“I’ll try.” Tina winked at Pearl, slipping her arm over Pearl’s shoulders. “Then again, maybe we’ll wear you out so much you wouldn’t be able to look at another gash for at least a week.”
Tanner’s arm slid around Pearl’s waist. To the casual observer, she must look like a drunk — supported on both sides as she stumbled between the laughing pair, eyes glazed and mouth working like a gaping fish.
She came to her senses when they began ascending the west wing’s staircase. When she threw a panicked look up to Tina, the girl gave her another suggestive wink, with a hip-bump included free of charge. They arrived at Tanner’s apartment door a few minutes later. Suzie answered — thankfully wearing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt today — and gave the three of them a wary look before stepping aside to let them in.