by A. E. D
I remember the first time my father ever hurt me. I was six years old, a day after my birthday when he walked up to me, grabbing me by the throat and held me in the air with one hand like I weighed nothing. My mother had just walked into the room when she saw us. Racing over, she pulled at his arms and back. Screaming through tears for him to let me go. But he didn’t. Instead he turned his head as his right fist flew past my face aiming straight for her. She hit the ground hard and didn't move. I’d seen them fight before so I knew that she was unconscious. She was a small woman like me, but she wasn’t as strong, mentally or physically. At six, I use to think she was just sleeping when my father did that. But after my sixth birthday I learned what that really meant to be asleep.
The first six years of my life, from what I remember were relatively normal. My father never physically abused me until the day he strangled me for the first time. It was like a switch went off in his head. Before that day he would treat me like his most prized possession in the world. He would sit and watch me as I played with my blocks or dolls. He would watch me when I read and watch me as I slept. He wasn’t the most affectionate father. He would barely talk to me and if he did, he always called me little one. But on my sixth birthday was when everything changed. I often thought back to this day and wondered what would happen if I never done what I did.
“Little one.” His stern voice broke my concentration on my blocks. I had been trying to build a castle with my blocks when his feet appeared in the corner of my vision.
“Yes, daddy?” I ask with such innocence in my voice that I come to hate it.
“How old are you.” He stated more than question.
“I’m six today, daddy!” I said so happily but he was anything but. He was still looking at me like he always did. Like a hunter watching its prey, learning its movements. He replied with one simple word.
“Come.” And obediently, I followed him.
Trudging through the waist length snow, I watched as he easily walked through it. The snow had only come up to his knees but since I was much smaller than him, it came up higher on me. When I made a turn to follow in his footsteps so the snow was easier for me to walk through, he abruptly stopped. Turning around I could see the fury in his eyes as he stood there and stared at me. It didn’t take me long to realize he wanted me to walk through the snow without help.
“Daddy, it’s too hard.” I saw the tick in his jaw before his hand came out, stinging my cheek from his strong backhand. My jaw trembled as I tried to hold in the tears as my head dropped, something I saw my mother do with him every time he hit her.
Tears silently trailed down my small cold cheeks as we walked for what felt like hours. He stopped, halting me as he crouched down scanning the area. Rustling could be heard a short distance from us as my father crouched down beside me. Quietly pulling out the big knife that he had strapped to his thigh, he pulled it up and aimed it straight towards the direction of the noise. Stilling his movements, he waits for a window of opportunity before he throws the knife. I still couldn’t see what he was looking at but the moment the knife flew through the air, I heard it. A loud animal cry pierced through the air so loudly that sleeping birds in the trees above us flew away in fright. My father stood up and walked towards the loud crying noise. Tentatively following him, he stopped in front of a Eurasian Lynx. I often saw them run past our house through the snow, so I knew what it was the moment I saw it. My father's knife was still embedded in the cat's back leg near the hip. Its cry was louder and I could feel tears streaming down my face. Whatever my father did, the knife made the cat unable to move its back legs. It laid there crying as my father turned to look at me. I knew he went hunting a lot because he would bring back fur for my mother to make blankets out of since we had arctic temperatures here.
“Kill it.” Was all he said. He stepped back and watched me under his steely crystal blue gaze as I stared back. My face still stung from the hit I received before and I knew there would be a handprint. My mother always had hand prints and finger marks all over her body, so I knew I would have one too.
“Daddy…” I wanted to protest but that tick in jaw was back. My eyes quickly shot down to his hands but they stayed by his side. Quickly moving my eyes back up to his, I knew he wasn’t far away from hitting me again.
When I turned around, the cat's wide fearful eyes, eyed me as I stepped closer. But I was more afraid of what my father would do to me if I disobeyed him. I’d watched my mother disobey him plenty of times and when that happened, she wouldn’t wake up for days.
Wrapping my tiny hand around the knife I pulled it, but it was too far in for me to pull with just one hand. Grabbing the end of the knife with both hands I pulled until the knife finally gave way, sending me flying backwards into the snow. I expected the cat to get up and run but it stayed still, fearfully watching both of us. I felt something wet on my hands and looked down to see the cats blood trail down my hands, staining my fluffy white jacket.
I remember watching the crimson blood coat my pale white hands. I was so fascinated with the colour and feel against my fingers that by the time I looked up at my father, he had watched me become transfixed with the blood and for the first time in my life, he smiled.
Chapter Nine
Pulling up outside of an abandoned looking warehouse, which of course is just a cover. I park my bike around the side of the building, hiding away under the cover of the midnight sky. Taking my helmet off, I secure my sunglasses on before resting my helmet on my bike. Finding the secret entrance, it takes me where I need to be. A quick walk down a long dark hallway leads me to a reinforced steel door. Entering in the code that was sent to my phone, I push through the door seeing Joe stand in the center of the dark room. In front of him is a two-way glass screen that looks into the interrogation room. There sat a man tied to a metal chair in the center of the room facing the glass. The man was bound with his hands tied behind his back and a blindfold on, which no doubt is hiding a furious glare that would be directed at the glass.
I sense him before I see him. I turn to see a tall, very built man hidden in the shadows in the far corner of the room. Darkness covered his face but the slight shine from the next rooms light reflect off his eyes. Dark eyes follow my every move. My body starts an unfamiliar hum as I become excited. My body becomes extremely turned on and I haven’t even seen the mystery man's face yet. I can feel his dominance hit me like waves from across the room. Hiding my shock turned on state, I turn my attention to Joe.
“I hope you don’t mind I brought a friend along to watch. He’s having some trouble as well and I thought he’d like to give you a go.” His eyes widen as he hears his mistake.
“I..I mean your skills! Y..your expertise could help him out of his sticky situation.” I can’t hide the smirk that makes its way across my face from his panic. The erratic breathing and forehead sweat is enough to let his mistakes slide. With a simple nod, he carries on after clearing his throat.
“Right, well I need a number one. He’s had weeks to tell me what he knows but he won’t fold.” Another nod and I make my way into the room, but not before shooting a secret glance at the man in the corner. Thankful that my shades hide my train of sight, I still can’t see him, rising my irritation.
The small room is empty of everything except the man in the chair and a small table in front of the two-way glass. Pulling my duffle bag around in front of me, I unzip the bag and start lining up thirty small vials of clear blue liquid. Five rows of six vials make a square formation showing off an unknown liquid to the men in each room. My heels click against the concrete floor as I make my way to the man in the chair and behind him, briskly pulling the blindfold off.
I wait for his eyes adjust to the dim but still bright light above his head. Like in those action movies where in the interrogation scene there’s only one light in the room that slowly swings from side to side above the prisoner. Everything’s pretty much the same except the light’s not moving.
“I sugges
t you talk before you make me do what I’ve been hired to do.” I say calmly behind him, watching as his shoulders slightly shake from the voice of a woman. Betting that he would have been expecting a man to come in and beat the shit out of him. Bad luck for him since he got me.
“I’d rather die.” The burly man replies. My demons rub their hands together in anticipation, just the reply they were looking for. I walk around him to stand in front, staring at the man who will soon wish he never said that. Raising my forearm up in front of me to view the snake coiled around my forearm, he watches as the snake slithers up towards my hand. Capturing its head between my fingers, I hold it on display.
“That can be arranged.” His eyes widen in recognition.
“You’re her. You’re The Handler.” I nod. My ego inflates. The euphoric feeling I get when a victim knows who I am, pleases me greatly. The fear is already quickly spreading across his face, although he tries to hide it.
“Last chance. Talk.” I repeat. If he’s smart, he’ll save himself the pain and talk, but he’s not. I can already see the defiance in his eyes. His fear is still evident but his defiance is stronger. My demons smile.
“Have you heard of the Black Mamba?” I don’t wait for him to reply.
“They are considered one of the deadliest snakes in the world.” At this he laughs.
“I ain’t afraid of snakes, bitch.” He spits at my feet.
“When threatened..” I continue.
“They strike with such speed and aggression that you don’t even know you’ve been bitten more than once.” He visibly swallows but other than that he does well to hide his rising fear.
“It is estimated that 10 to 15 mg of venom can kill an adult. But this baby delivers anywhere from 120 mg per bite. Although, they have been known to deliver 400 mg in a single bite.” His defiance wavers but comes back even stronger than before. He’s a tough one, I’ll give him that. Such a shame he has to die.
“Talk.” I remind him.
“If you think your little scare tactics gonna work then by all means, carry on.” He replies snarkily thinking it’s a scare tactic. What he doesn’t know is that it’s the truth and it’s only going to get worse.
“Within less than ten minutes of a single bite, a rapid onset of dizziness, drowsiness, headaches, coughing, difficulty breathing, convulsions and an erratic heartbeat will set in. You’ll also experience shock, loss of consciousness, hypotension, excessive salivation, limb paralysis, nausea and vomiting, fever and severe abdominal pain.” Now fear has won over defiance.
“An untreated Black Mamba bite has a mortality rate of 100%.” I release the snakes head and watch as it slithers through my fingers and across to my left forearm, leaving my right. My eyes watch the prisoner as his eyes are trained on the deadly creature coiling around my arm. Once it’s nestled into place, I step aside and let his eyes zero in the vials once more.
“In front of you holds the anti-venom for the Black Mambas bite. You have thirty chances to tell me what they want to know.” I let his mind think as I circle back around him. I gently guide the snakes head to the front of my arm. The head coils back and strikes against the man’s neck in a move even I almost miss. He yelps out in pain and fear as I walk back to the table in front of him.
“Let the fun begin.” Now I smile. Picking up the first vial, I hold it up for the man to see his salvation.
“Talk.” The effects have already started to set in. The colour drains from his face as his body starts to shake.
“Fuck You!” He spits out. The vial in my hand flies through the air and smashes against the wall. His eyes widen slightly as he realizes my game. His head turns to look at me, defiance shining bright through his strained eyes and clenched teeth.
Ten broken vials lay on the ground by his feet. The effects are all present. His writhing and screams echo around the empty room but he still hasn’t answered. Five more break beneath my feet before I start to lose my patience. He’s a strong one, one of the strongest I’ve ever encountered. No one has ever made it past ten minutes before. I swipe my hand across the table, sweeping the antidotes to the floor. Five bottles remain as he thrashes against the restraints and screams as he curls in agony.
“Okay!” He screams out. I step off to the side letting Joe get full view of his victim. I face the table and prepare the syringes with the anti-venom. As the screaming prisoner dispels his secrets, I feel a set of eyes on me. Although I cannot see through the mirror, I know it’s him. The mystery man. I look up at the mirror. I know he’s there, watching me. Something deep in me has me feeling drawn to him. Unknown feelings begin to stir in the pit of my stomach, angering me for feeling like this to a stranger. Feelings too early to decipher, but the ever-present feeling of arousal is still humming through my body. I turn back around to the man in the chair whose features have started to turn a shade of blue and purple with black soon emerging.
“That’s all I know, please make it stop.” He begs and cries. Tears run down his face as another round of screams enter the room. I make my way over to him and proceed to inject the last remaining antidotes into his arm. The temporary pain relief sets in as he catches his breath. I let him have a few seconds to calm down before I drop the last piece of information.
“It takes up to 30 or more vials of anti-venom to cure a Black Mamba bite.” His head whips up to meet my face, eyes wide in fear.
“You had five.” I announce with joy. As I leave the room his screams become ear piercing as he realizes his death is near. I look at the clock situated above the two-way glass as I enter the next room. Five minutes left before his body shuts down, maybe a little more since he does have a tiny dose of antivenom in his system. To be honest, I’m impressed he lasted so long.
Standing in front of Joe, he hands me a black duffle bag similar to my own containing my pay.
“It’s all there, I promise. One million in cash.” With a nod I walk towards the exit.
Just before reaching the door a strong hand clamps tightly around my arm, stopping me in place before a deep masculine voice that sends shivers straight to my core speaks.
“What’s your name?”
Chapter Ten
MASON
This is why I don’t drink.
My head is fucking killing me and my throat feels like the Sahara Desert. Untangling myself from the two blondes flanking my sides, I watch as they cuddle into each other. Another night of party and pleasure done right.
Getting up off the bed, I walk into my en suite or trying anyways as my body feels dead from the night before. First thing I do is to get my drunken ass in a nice hot shower. My body is covered in the dried sweat of sex, which usually never bothers me but I’m not a fan of it in the mornings. I like to be on the top of my game, which means being healthy, clean and ready for what the day has in store for me. Steam fills the bathroom quickly as I step inside the open glass shower. Molten water washes off the sins of yesterday which was a day of annoyance for me. I found a fucking rat among my men who was selling me out. The problem wasn’t finding out who it was, because honestly, he was always a little flaky. The problem was him not being cooperative. I spent six hours beating the shit out of him and he still didn’t betray his loyalty to this unknown enemy. I should have expected this though, he’s one tough motherfucker. I knew he wouldn’t crack so easy and not even the roughest treatment I could give him would make him break. He’s been in this business a long time so he knows how the game is played.
Shutting the water off, I feel slightly refreshed but still in need of some painkillers and greasy food. My go to hangover food. Something salty, cooked in oil and smothered in grease. My mouth is salivating just thinking about it.
Throwing on a pair of grey sweatpants, not bothering to dry off, I make my way to the kitchen. The smell of bacon halts me for a second before I quicken up my pace.
“Oh, Monty, I could kiss you.” I say to my best friend, right hand man and roommate, who’s slaving away over the stove grilling bacon
to perfection. He’s got culinary skills I could only dream of. He could give a Michelin chef a run for his money, whereas I can only cook a good steak and that’s about it.
Planting my ass on the kitchen stool, leaning my arms on the island bench top in anticipation for what I know is about to come.
“Yes, yes, I know. Everyone loves me.” He says, metaphorically flicking hair over his shoulder with his gay tendencies showing through.
I’ve never met a more prouder gay man than him. It’s tough in our world being open about your sexuality like that. More often than not, you’re beaten to death. The criminal world is a very repressed society. Men rule, women follow. It’s rare coming across an openly gay man in our job. They’re either too afraid to come out or they’re just not in this business. Monty makes it clear who and what he is. He’s had more than his fair share of targets on his back because of his sexuality but make no mistake, Monty is not someone to be messed with. His tall strongly built Asian ass can kick mine any day. He knows every type of martial art out there, but that doesn’t mean I don’t give as good as I get. I make him work for the win. If he wants to knock me on my ass then he’s gonna have to try real fuckin hard for it. Because Mason King don’t ever give up. Mason King, never loses. I get what I want and when I want something, I take it. Even if I have to fight dirty, because in this world there are no rules. Anything's game.
“I made your favorites.” He sings across the kitchen as I watch and try not to drool all over the place as he gracefully places a plate full of crispy bacon, perfectly cooked pancakes with my choice of toppings; strawberries, butter and syrup or chocolate sauce. I feel like the traditional topping of butter and syrup today and to top it off, is one of Monty’s hangover specials, fried chicken, my favorite. Everything you ever need to cure that dreaded hangover.