by K. L. Savage
The guy’s shouts for mercy fall on deaf ears, and the skin is a bubble on his cheek. “Now that we have that out of the way…” Reaper blows smoke in the guy’s face. “What’s your name? Where you from? Mom? Dad? Brother? Sister? Wife? Kids? I’m intrigued by you. I want to know everything,” Reaper drops his voice to a menacing snarl. “Because you and you’re fucking guys almost killed my family. We have women here, pregnant, and young kids. I should kill you right here and now for threatening what’s mine but seeing as you’re the only one who told Tongue the truth, I’m going to give you a chance. So speak.”
“I—I—have brothers and sisters. My name is Daniel. My parents are married. I’m from Ohio. I’m going to school for business. No wife or kids. I have O-type blood … um … my favorite color is blue. I’ve always wanted to see the desert. Oh, God, please,” he sobs. “Please, don’t kill me.”
“I could use some O-type blood,” I say with realization. I’m running low.
“I’ll… I’ll donate. I’ll be you’re blood bank for all I care, please,” he begs, grasping onto a little shimmer of hope.
“Daniel. How did you get mixed up in this? Huh? A kid like you. Future all laid out for him.” Reaper arches his palm across the air while throwing his other arm around Daniel’s shoulder. “Can’t you see it? Pretty, busty blonde, maybe a brunette, few kids, a dog. You’re one of those guys who comes home every night for dinner and makes love to his wife on a schedule. Every Wednesday and Friday. Same position. It’s boring, but you love your life.”
Bullseye cackles, throwing a dart against the board at the other side of the room.
Daniel has snot running down his nose, wetting his lips like gloss. “I needed some extra cash. School is expensive, you know? This guy offered to hire a hundred of us to shoot your place up, and if we agreed, he gave us $2,000 each. That’s it. That’s all I know. I swear.”
“Why did you all go into the casino? Did you meet a man named Maximo? Dark features, suit, rich,” Reaper asks.
“No, no, no one like that. The guy said to meet us there to get our cash. That was it. He put up these flyers around the school. Call for extra cash. It was simple, a little sketchy, but desperate times. He said the only way he’d have the cash was at the casino. That was it. That’s all I know. I swear, I swear. I’m sorry. You can take the cash. It’s in my pocket. I don’t want it. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry,” he chants and tries to rock back and forth, but he can’t because he’s strapped to the chair.
Like so many before him and so many after him.
“You think I want your damn money? Your lousy two grand?” Reaper tsks, taking the knife to Daniel’s chest. “I make that in a few hours, kid. I don’t want your money.”
“You’re going to kill me.” Daniel’s voice shakes with realization, and then he bends his head to projectile vomit everywhere.
“Fucking sick,” Tongue gags and covers his nose with his hand.
“Out of all the shit that can’t make you gag, this does? Are you kidding?” I ask him, dumbfounded.
“Actually, I’m going to use you. Lead me to the guy who hired you, and if my men apprehend him, I’ll let you go. There are stipulations.”
“An-anything! I’ll do anything you want,” he says, spit dripping off his chin.
“You do this, you leave the city. You go to a different school. And I promise you, this isn’t a get out of jail free card. You’re always going to be on the run from us because the next time I see you, the next time a Ruthless King sees you, I’m going to give the order to kill you. Do you understand?”
“Wait, woah, are you fucking serious? You’re going to let him go?” Bullseye throws a dart through the air, and it punctures Daniel’s arm. “That is not the Ruthless way.”
I’ll have to agree with Bullseye. I expected more blood. I’m slightly disappointed. I didn’t even get to cut him with my scalpel like I’ve been wanting.
“He’s going to lead us to the guy. It can’t get easier than that. We need him.”
“So we ask him what the guy looks like? It’s that simple,” Bullseye argues with Reaper.
“Yeah, Bullseye? Is that easy?” They fuss back and forth, and it’s only going to be a matter of time before Bullseye pushes his luck too far. “Hey, Daniel, buddy,” Reaper calls to him as if they are best friends. “What does this guy look like? White, brown hair? Blue or brown eyes? He likes to wear a t-shirt and jeans?”
Daniel nods, slack jawed. “How did you know?”
“Because that’s nearly what every fucking frat boy, college fuck looks like!” He smacks Bullseye on the back of the head and then backs him against the wall, arm across his throat. “Keep questioning me, Bullseye. See what happens.”
“Yes, Prez,” Bullseye submits right away, even if he isn’t happy about it, and Reaper takes a step back.
“I… I know where to look. He was in the fighting ring at the casino, but he isn’t a fighter. He’s a manager,” Daniel inserts with excitement when he gives us more news. “He will be there on Friday and Saturday nights.”
“Maximo might know him.”
“We can ask. He’s coming here today.” Reaper starts to walk away, and then another smile takes over his face before turning around and squatting to be more on Daniel’s level, bypassing the puke. “You know, Daniel. Next time you want to get into some shady business, you need to look in a different place. The casino you went to? That’s owned by Maximo Moretti. How do you think he’s going to like transactions going down in his place of business that he doesn’t know about? Hmm?” Reaper chuckles and drags the knife to the middle of his chest again. “I think he’ll want payment, just like we do.”
“I’m going to die,” Daniel repeats and pisses himself again.
“You might, but I’ll do my best to keep him at bay,” Reaper says, swinging his knife back and forth. “But you see, I want my revenge too, Daniel.”
Tongue claps his hands when Reaper waves me over to come closer. I take a step into the light, and Daniel jerks his head up. “Please…” His lips widen but stay tight as he sobs. A spit bubble bursts, and snot runs down his chin. He sucks his top lip into his mouth to try to clean himself off, and I curl my lip with disgust. Snot is mucus that collects dust, pollen, and bacteria.
Fucking nasty.
“You got your scalpel, Doc?”
“Always, Prez,” I say, reaching into my back pocket and pulling out the scalpel my dad used on me. I’ve carried it with me everywhere as a reminder. I use it every surgery, every moment I need to cut flesh; I do it with the weapon my dad used against me. For the longest time it was because I wanted to prove that what I do matters, that being a doctor is a good thing, that I can cut without the intentions of hurting someone.
I’ve realized now that everyone has bad intentions, and it’s time to let mine out to play.
Reaper uncurls Daniel’s index fingers to make them point straight. “I want your trigger fingers, Daniel.”
“Wha—No, please. No. No. I said I was going to take you to him. I’m going to. I swear. I’m going to. You can trust me.” The restraints creak as tries to tug himself free, but it’s no use. The restraints are metal. They wrap around his wrist, ankles, and torso. He can only wiggle. Getting free? Impossible.
“Oh, be glad the only thing I’m taking are you trigger fingers, Daniel. If I didn’t need you, you’d be leaving out of here in pieces.” Reaper uncurls Daniel’s fingers from the chair and forces his index finger to straighten. “Doc? Want to do the honors?”
“No, no!” Daniel begs, shouting at the top of his lungs when I press the scalpel against his finger and force the sharp object through the skin and bone. The finger falls and rolls to the center of the floor where the drain is. “Oh, God! Oh my God, it’s gone.” Daniel sobs, staring at the blood dripping on the floor where his finger used to be.
Reaper holds out the other finger, and Daniel gives up on fighting and accepts his fate. He hangs his head, and I press my fist against his ar
m to keep him still. My vision blurs but not from regret or remorse, but adrenaline.
To take a body apart instead of putting it together has me on cloud nine. It’s therapeutic. I lay the scalpel below the knuckle and cut in one long stroke.
The finger rolls to join the other, and Daniel passes out from the pain. Blood drips from the end of my scalpel, and Reaper bends over to grab the fingers from the drain. “Bang, bang, motherfucker. That’s what you get. You shoot at us, I’ll take the finger that pulled the trigger.” He throws the digits to Tongue, and Tongue jumps back from the flying fingers. They smack him in the chest and then land on the floor.
Tongue shivers, repulsed.
“You cut out tongues but you can’t touch fingers? Are you kidding me?”
“Reaper, fingers are gross. I don’t know where those fingers have been.”
“But you know where someone’s tongue has been?” Reaper picks up the fingers from the corner and stuffs them in his pocket.
“Um, a tongue hasn’t been near as many places as fingers.”
“You make zero sense, Tongue. Zero.”
“I make plenty of sense. It’s not my fault that your sense is different than mine,” Tongue huffs, crossing his arms in defense.
Reaper rolls his eyes, and Bullseye pulls his darts out of Daniel’s leg and arm, taking a chunk of flesh with them. Tool rubs his mouth with his hand. “What do we do with him?” he asks.
“Leave him until he wakes up.” Reaper turns his wrist over to check the time. “Maximo and Natalia will be here soon, and we will break the news to him.”
I wipe the scalpel on my jeans and tuck it in my pocket. If my mom ever found out I truly became like the men she called to clean up Dad’s body, I think she might be disappointed with me, but she doesn’t understand the need I have to cut.
And not cut to save.
Cut for pain.
Like father like son, and I’m afraid he’s been living inside me for years, clawing at my soul. I never wanted to be like him, I wanted to be better.
And I am in certain ways, but in others I’m just like him.
It should terrify me, but it doesn’t.
I’m not going to inflict pain unless it is truly deserved. I’m not ever going to cut an innocent child. I guess that’s the difference. He seeped his evil with every cut, and now with every good act I do, the evil prevails, burning the scars and wanting me to do more than the good that raised me.
Speaking of the good that raised me, I need to call my mom and see how she’s doing and move her here so I can take care of her. Reaper won’t mind.
“Cauterize the wounds. Check him over for any other cuts that might need stitches. Church. Two hours. We come up with a plan. I want fucking revenge. I want to fucking taste it.”
“What if Maximo is behind it?” I ask him as we walk out of the playroom and into the treatment room where everyone is resting.
Almost everyone. Little baby Joey is crying at the top of her lungs, and Skirt is doing his best to rock her to sleep.
Reaper doesn’t stop to speak to me. He wraps an arm around Sarah’s waist as she posts up against the wall with her hand against her chest. “If Maximo is behind it, I’ll fucking rip his spine out and watch him collapse to the floor.” Reaper’s boots pound against the stairs and as the basement door groans open, he stops climbing. “And after that, I’ll reach between his shoulder blades and smash his heart with my bare hands. No one fucks with me or my club!” Reaper slams door to end the threat and conversation.
Let’s hope war doesn’t come down between us and the mafia.
A battle between allies is the last thing we need.
I really don’t want to go out tonight, but Brody, a guy in my Trig class, begged me to come to his party. He’s my best friend in the entire world, but school kicked my ass, and I just want to go home and sleep. I stayed up all night studying and still failed the test. If I don’t pass the final, I won’t be graduating, and I’ll have to take the class again no matter the tutors, no matter the studying.
It’s frustrating.
All I want to do is go to my apartment, get my ice cream out, and put on a Netflix show.
Maybe curse.
Scream.
And punch.
Then sleep for days. Then I’ll go home to Ruthless and see where I can find myself. Maybe Tool can get me a job at Kings’ Club, and I can take a break from school and focus on me. Everyone thinks I’m okay. Everyone thinks I’ve gotten over what’s happened, but really, I know how to put a smile on my face and call it a day. But every time I close my eyes, I see them.
The Ruthless Kings of Atlantic City, New Jersey.
I imagine them throwing me in the basement, without food, without water, chained like a dog, threatening to fuck me, use me. It was dark down there, so cold and wet. It smelled like piss and shit, rain and mud.
Then, when I saw sunlight for the first time in weeks, maybe it was months? I can’t remember, I thought I was going to go blind it was so bright. If I think hard enough, I can feel the heat penetrating my cornea.
Ruthless Kings Jersey damned me, but the Ruthless Kings Vegas saved me.
And all I want to do is go home to them. I’m out of my element in college. I’m not ready. After tonight, after this party, I’m going to pack my things, take a leave of absence from school, and give myself time to heal.
If I ever do.
I might have been saved, but it might be too late for me; my soul might be stuck behind Hell’s gates.
I give myself one last look-over in the full-length mirror I have propped against the floor. I’m unimpressed. Black skinny jeans, red tank top, white cardigan.
Yeah, I’m ready to really throw down. Jeez, I’m a sad excuse for a college girl. “Whatever,” I say to my reflection and throw my hair in a messy bun, and then I drop my hands to my thighs and blow out a breath. “This is as good as it’s going to get. I’m going to the party, having one drink, and leaving.” My voice is stern while I discipline the haunted girl in the mirror.
“Better be glad I love you, Brody,” I say under my breath as I grab my black cross-body purse, sling it over my shoulder, and walk out of the door. Another reason I can’t say no to Brody is because he only lives in the building up on the hill which is a short walk for me. Saying no is just crappy on my end.
I lock my door and inhale the night, lingering cigarette smoke and the laughter of people from downstairs having their own party along with the beat of music vibrating the walls. I stuff my keys in my purse and make my way down the stairs. My hand grabs the rail as I prance down the steps in my new red flats, not heels because I can’t walk in heels, and yet I still feel pretty.
I wince when I pass the scuff mark on the wall where Badge and Bullseye carried my couch up the steps and slammed it against the cheap siding.
Yep, that’s my fault. I said right, but they went their right which was my left and everything turned into a shit show. Badge pulled a muscle in his back, and Bullseye got hit in the head with the back of the couch.
To say I felt horrible was an understatement.
I get to the bottom of the steps, and a cloud of weed hits me in the face. In between the bushes in front of me is a group of men and women passing a joint, laughing. I cough, waving the smoke from my face. How can people smoke that stuff? Reeks of skunk, yuck.
Passing the cacti lining the sidewalk, I follow the path up the hill. My thighs burn already. I make a mental note to work out more. I’m ready to take a break. “Damn,” I hiss when a cramp in my side starts to ache.
I knew I should’ve stayed on the couch. I fucking knew it.
I glance up to the sky and think about the beer waiting for me and then, for some damn reason, I think of Doc.
The first man to ever offer me a drink at Ruthless. Our fingers brushed and something told me to stay away, but only because I wanted to get closer. I felt something with him I wasn’t ready for. Now when we see each other, we give each other a wide berth,
yet circle each other like sharks that are ready to attack.
A relationship that will never bloom, never happen, never do anything other than go in circles. Literally.
I get to the top of the hill and wipe the sweat off my forehead. I climb up the first set of steps to Brody’s. I bet all the other girls there are in mini-skirts with their boobs hanging out of their tops.
The low bass of the music shakes the steps as I climb them. The green painted door is open, and a few girls come out, laughing and tripping over their own feet from how drunk they are.
Yeah, one drink. This is not my scene.
I stop at the doorway and look inside with nervous eyes. My stomach flips and not in a good way. My instincts are telling me to run, but I hate to be the kind of person to go back on their word, especially for my best friend.
The lights are off except for a few Christmas lights strung around the rooms. Beer pong tables are set up, people are playing strip poker in one corner, and there’s a couple making out on the kitchen table.
It smells like beer and cheap perfume.
And I don’t feel like having a headache tomorrow.
I turn around on my new flats, but I hear my name being called from behind me. “Joanna! Joanna, you came,” Brody says with happiness and relief. I spin to tell him I’m leaving, but the pure joy etched in his rosy cheeks takes the ‘no’ right from my vocabulary.
“I came,” I say with a curtsy.
“Come on, let’s get you a drink. You look beautiful,” he whispers in my ear, and his lips brush against my cheek, a little too close for my liking, but I’m going to blame it on the alcohol. He’s probably tipsy.
“Thanks,” I reply, knowing it’s a lie.
We walk over to the keg, and I cross my arms over my chest as cold air from the vent above cloaks me like winter. While Brody is filling my cup, I smile at a girl in my English class, but she ignores me with a sneer of her fake lips. The song changes, and couples make their way to the open space of the living room to dance.
“Here you go,” Brody yells over the loud music.