Bad Habits: A Dark Anthology

by Yolanda Olson

  “Yeah?”

  “We found something, it could be—”

  “Don’t bullshit me with could be, Fletch,” I bite out in anger. I shouldn’t be angry with him, he’s just taking orders, but there’s no one else around, and he’s used to the shit storm I normally bring upon him.

  “Look man, I know you’re antsy about this case, but I think this is a real hit,” I can hear the sincerity in his tone. My chest aches, it tightens, my heart thudding like a fucking caged animal in my chest. It’s ready to rip right through me, but I hold it down. I tame it because I’ve had these certainties before. And none of them panned out.

  “I’ll head back now,” I tell him with a groan. Hanging up, I leave my phone on the counter before heading into the living room and pushing open the patio door. The glass slides with ease, and I step out into the fresh morning air. There’s nothing for miles, and that’s what sets me at ease. Looking out over the trees, all I note are the mountains in the distance.

  I don’t want to head back just yet, but if it means there could be a link to finding my sister, then I’ll take it. I will do anything to see her again, make sure she’s okay. I always doubted that she was still alive. There were times I would see her, and I knew I was fucked in the head.

  Months passed, so many bottles of bourbon were emptied, and lives were taken by my hand, but nothing prepared me for the faux funeral my parents threw for her.

  There had been an empty coffin and a few people crying. My mother being one of them. My father, the stoic asshole he’s always been, offered a short speech on how much we all missed Kahli. My sister was one of a kind, always offering help to everyone around her, she would even walk the neighbor’s dogs when she came home from school.

  She did everything right.

  And then one night, she never fucking came home.

  Slugging down the last of my coffee, I swallow it before heading back inside. I pull out a smoke from my packet and light it before leaving the mug in the sink and grabbing my shit. Time to head back to the big bad city.

  Once I’m back on my bike, the cabin locked up, and have my shit secured on the backseat, I turn the engine and listen to it purr to life. The roar reminds me that I’m alive. It reminds me that there’s a job to do, and it also reminds me of the girl I failed so long ago.

  Opening the torque, I speed down the gravel road, focusing on the horizon as I head toward the city which I can’t see from here because it’s going to take me a whole fucking day to get back. Once I’m over the border, it will be smooth sailing down to the Big Apple.

  Sometimes, I hate being in the US, which is why I bought the cabin in the middle of nowhere, in Canada. It's my escape. New York was a reminder of what I’d lost. And I couldn’t live with that. So, I ran. Like a frightened schoolboy, I ran so far. I stayed away for years before I found Heaven, before I met God and he hired me. Even my family didn’t recognize me when I returned.

  Now I’m heading back, and I’ll make sure that the moment I find her, the moment I find my sister, the men who took her will fucking pay. Each and every one of them.

  Then, once I have their blood on my hands, I’ll focus on those who took my first love from me.

  I crank the engine even more, speeding furiously down the highway as I head back into the country where I lost everything.

  My sister.

  My fiancée.

  And my fucking soul.

  Maeve

  Thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven.

  Nights are the worst. I recall images in my mind that I don’t want to see. The haunting cries, pleasured sounds, and the gurgling of breaths visit me every day. I wish I could push them all out of my mind and focus on the here and now.

  My father always told me that we should pray. He taught me how powerful God's word was. But I never believed him.

  Why would we ask for things to be here the way they are in Heaven?

  And if God's word is true, why are there so many atrocities here on Earth?

  Somehow, I think His promises are all a lie.

  Men and women can’t do things like that and expect forgiveness as if it were merely a white lie. And if they do, aren’t they struck down to Hell? I believe that’s where my parents will end up. I’m not sure where they are now, in some small town in the middle of America is my best guess.

  In two days, I turn twenty-one and I know it’s the age my mother gave the stranger. I’m still considered a child in many circles, but I’ve seen much more than most children ever will. The horrors I’ve witnessed have made me doubt how much our so-called "God" loves us. Even on the darkest of nights, he never saved any of the girls or boys lives I saw come to an end.

  Rolling over on the small, hard mattress, I stare at the wall. The smooth, creamy paint is slowly flaking onto the concrete floor below. I’m not sure what else to do in the dark but lie here and think about a stranger who could’ve saved me. I offered him a cup of tea, stupidly, I should’ve offered him a glass of whiskey.

  One of the sisters occasionally goes out to complete tasks out in the community, and she comes back with gifts for us all. I always get a small bottle of Scotch, or bourbon, whichever is easiest for her to get.

  I hide the bottles under my mattress. I pull one out now, scooting up on my bed before taking a long sip of the burning amber liquid. I want so badly to forget about everything. I want to drink myself into a stupor, but I know I can’t.

  I think back on the stranger.

  To the man who stole a kiss without me resisting. Is it still stealing when you give yourself willingly? I certainly would’ve run away if he’d asked me to.

  I originally joined the convent in search of answers in the lifestyle of the bible and believing in something I couldn’t see. I prayed, hoping God would explain why my parents were so evil, why they'd claimed that their practices were performed in the name of the Lord, when all I've learned here was love, forgiveness, and sacrifice.

  My stepfather, despite being a pastor, was nothing but evil. And my mother, the woman who carried me in her womb, she was as vile as the man she slept beside. Could I be as evil as they were? I take another gulp of the Scotch and close my eyes as the burn trickles its way down my throat.

  I think back to the times I listened. I heard the sounds of pleasure, of filth and violence, yet even then, in my young mind, I knew it was wrong. Thankfully, my stepfather never came into my room to seek pleasure with me. I was safe. I was guarded. But the other girls, they were torn apart like dolls, broken and shattered.

  Closing my eyes, I lie back, setting the bottle on the floor before I focus on the spinning ceiling. Even though I drank my body weight in alcohol before joining the convent, I’m still a lightweight.

  I’m nothing more than an imposter trying to be a nun. I always wonder why Alexia is so crass, so vile in some of the things she says, then I realize I’m judging her. I’m just as bad. I may not voice certain things outwardly, but deep in my gut, I’m needy for all-consuming passion. For darkness. For a man to engulf me with his lust and craving. Because I’m broken.

  Behind my lids, I see images playing as if they’re on a screen. I recall the moments of surprise when my body reacted to touch, to smell, or to physical contact from boys at school. My stepfather made sure I was a virgin after every play date, after each trip to the movies with my friends… he’d make mother check for my purity.

  He believed this was the only thing that made a woman worthy of entering Heaven. I wanted to tell him that if that meant being anything like my mother, I’d rather rot in Hell, but at the time, I wasn’t strong enough. I was far too young to utter those words.

  And even now, living in the house of the Lord, I know I’m not worthy. Not because I’ve done bad things or because of my actions, but because I know I don’t belong here.

  Closing my eyes, I focus on the pain that still lives in my heart. It's been two long years since I walked into the convent and asked for sanctuary, thinking it would save me. I now
know nothing can save me.

  How can I save all the souls my parents stole? I can't. There's nothing I can do, and for that, I live in my own personal hell. Shoving off my bed, I make my way to the small closet that sits against the wall. The heavy wood is dark, reminding me of the closet my mother used in our spare bedroom. I never opened it. I was too scared to see what was inside.

  I tug open the door to mine, and I’m transported back to the past. Back to one of the many nights that my father was so angry, he shut me in my little closet to punish me.

  “Little girls should be good, and you are so far from being good right now, Maeve,” Daddy utters in a voice that tells me not to argue. He shoves the door closed, and I’m locked in the dark for I’m not sure how long. Sometimes, it’s only an hour, other days, when he’s in a very bad mood, it’s longer.

  “Baby girl,” Mommy coos from the other side of the door. “You need to pray, ask the Lord to make you behave. He’s good to us, remember that.” She tells me this all the time. I don’t believe her anymore.

  It’s been a year since I’ve seen things in their bedroom. Since I’ve spied them enjoying things that I know in my mind are wrong. I’ve read about the Devil and the things he makes people do. Even though Daddy works for God, I think it’s the Devil who has hold of him.

  I pray for them. Every night, but it doesn’t help. Nothing helps. So, I sit in silence. I don’t answer my Mommy when she tells me things as if I’m stupid. I’m not. They don’t know how intelligent I am.

  Silence fills the closet. They’ve left me in here. Since it’s the weekend, I don’t think they’ll let me out for a while yet. Two days. Can I really spend two days here? Curling my thighs up to my chest, I wrap my arms around my legs and rest my chin on my knees.

  I close my eyes, wishing for something to do, but Daddy made sure the closet is empty. I’m not allowed anything, even though I can’t see in the dark, having even just Torrance with me would help.

  Sounds echo through the wall, and I have to close my eyes and count. One. Two. Three. Voices filter toward me, and I shove a finger into each ear. Nothing stops the knowledge of what's happening in the living room.

  Even though I can't see them. I know.

  It gets louder. It’s like a song that gets turned up in volume until it’s too loud and my ears hurt. The deep bass of my daddy's voice, the tinkle of my mommy's, and the gritted tone of the girl they’re ‘cleansing’ is the soundtrack of my nightmares.

  A scream so loud, so shrill, resounds around me, and I’m sure my bedroom window is about to shatter. When it falls silent, I hear a thud then my daddy's voice. I can’t make out the words, but I’m scared. I’m more afraid than I’ve ever been.

  I attempt to kick open the door of the closet, but it’s shut tight. I don’t know what just happened, but it wasn’t good at all. Voices come through the doorway, close to my bedroom, and I hear a man’s voice. It’s not Daddy’s voice. It’s a stranger.

  “She will be mine,” the deep rumble sounds like a monster from the movies Mommy lets me watch. “I promise you, the moment she’s old enough, I’ll come for her.”

  “Twenty-one, please,” Mommy says, and I’m more confused than before. “Give us that.” There isn’t a response to her plea, and I wonder if the stranger has agreed with a nod.

  I’m not sure how much time passes before the door opens and Daddy pulls me from the darkness. He lays me on the bed, pressing a kiss to my forehead before leaving me in my bedroom.

  My muscles ache, my body hurts, but I don’t want to unfurl from the ball I’ve curled myself into. Fear rattles through me like the blood rushing through my every vein. I know something bad is about to happen.

  I just don’t know what.

  Kahn

  Give us this day our daily bread

  Pulling into the drive of the mansion where the organization is hidden in the basement, I smile when I notice Fletch outside smoking. We’re not allowed inside with that shit, per the boss man.

  I kill the engine of my Kawasaki and swing my leg over the bike. Tugging my helmet off, I tip my head in greeting to him.

  “Hey, asshole.” I grin, setting my helmet on the seat before making my way toward him. I pull out my own smoke and light up.

  “Where you been?”

  “At the cabin,” I tell him, pulling in a lungful of smoke.

  He chuckles, “Did you have some pussy up there?”

  “Nah, been a good boy this time,” I can’t help laughing. He’s one of those assholes you can’t help but love because he’s straight up. No other men I’ve come across are as honest as Fletch.

  His blue eyes and blonde hair make him a pretty boy, and I’ve teased him time and time again about it. He looks like he belongs in a fucking boy band, not working for a man like God.

  “You? Good?” He laughs out loud, his head falling back as the sound falls from his mouth. “I think you’re all strung up on that little nun you told me about. The one you want to bend over?”

  “Fuck you, man,” I punch him in the shoulder. “That woman is far too good for me. I reckon she’d probably jump your bones before she'd come anywhere near me after I’d run out on her.”

  “She likes bigger cock then?” he jests, earning him another swift punch to the gut, causing him to double over choking and laughing. “Man, you’re in a good mood.”

  “I know.” Shrugging, I kill the smoke with my boot before following Fletch into the foyer of the house. It’s big, fucking huge, with paintings that cost more than anything I own. The gold and marble make the place look gaudy, but that’s what the boss man likes. Over the fucking top bullshit.

  He doesn’t call himself God for nothing.

  “He here?”

  Fletch nods. “Yeah, in the office. He has Sawyer and Amir in there at the moment.” We head into the kitchen to find Chloe smiling at Ayla as if they’ve just found a fucking diamond plot.

  “Hey, handsome,” Chloe smirks, strolling toward me like she’s about to get a taste. Not today, darling. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “Yeah, been busy, babe,” I press a kiss to her cheek to keep her calm before heading to the coffee machine and grabbing a mug. Once it’s filled, I turn to regard the team. “What jobs are you both on?” I question the girls.

  Chloe is the queen bitch—beautiful, blonde, blue-eyed. She and Fletch could be family, siblings, but they’re so far from it. She goes undercover and swindles money from rich assholes who are addicted to her pussy.

  She has an eye for art, so she travels to Europe, ensuring the deals God sets up bring in a lot of money for the organization. Only, the art in question is laced with all sorts of drugs.

  Once the pieces are sold, we find the dealers and take them out, one by one. As much as I think Chloe is beautiful, I would never want to fuck her over. She’s lethal.

  Then we have the sweet and innocent Ayla. Bright red hair, green eyes, and full, pouty lips. She’s our girl who gets into parties where the sex trade is rife with vile assholes. She’s tried to help me find Kahli so many times, but we’ve always failed. One thing about Ayla, she may look like a little doll, but she’s fucking deadly. She can take down a man double her size.

  “I’m heading to Italy,” Chloe tells me. “Some rich asshole wants me to party with him on his yacht,” she informs us with a glint in her eye.

  “Sounds like you’re on the usual,” I remark, lifting my coffee mug toward her. “And you, Ay,” I glance at the pretty redhead.

  “I’m heading out to see our contact in Colombia,” she informs me with a blush, and I have to roll my eyes. She’s had a crush on the man in question since she first walked into his house.

  Victor Cordero is everything a woman should steer clear from, but then again, so am I.

  “You know he’s never going to marry you,” Chloe bites out, pinning her glare on Ayla. Like sisters in a fucked-up family, they’re always fighting.

  “Who said I want a ring?” Ayla retorts. “Anyway, I be
tter get going.” She rises, pressing a folder against my chest. “This is for you. I think it’s time you found your sister.”

  “What?”

  She doesn’t respond, nudging her chin toward the folder. Ayla turns and heads out the door with me hot on her heels.

  “What did you mean?”

  “Boss man found a compound, but you need to go in undercover.”

  “How do you know?” I question. My chest is tight when I think about what they’re trading, and my lungs struggle to pull in air. The thought of finally finding Kahli makes me nervous. Not because I don’t want her back, but I worry about what condition she’ll be in when I do find her.

  “I know you think she’s dead,” Ayla tells me. “But I don’t think she would’ve given up so easily. Even though the darkness that surrounds these women we save may steal their hearts and minds, sometimes, their souls are stronger for it.”

  “And what if they’re not?”

  Her gaze lowers to the floor, and I know she’s thinking the same thing I am. This may be my last shot at finding her, my sister. I want to grab her, shake her to spill all the secrets, but I know it’s time for me to get out there and find Kahli.

  “Kahn,” boss man’s voice comes from behind me, causing me to turn toward him. He’s dressed in an onyx pinstripe suit that seems to hug every curve of his muscles, almost to the point of tearing from his limbs.

  “Sir,” I greet with a nod. “Good to see you again.”

  “Meet me in the office in ten minutes. I’m going to grab a coffee, then I need some fresh air after my debrief from Amir and Sawyer,” he tells me, leaving me with Ayla as the two men on my team saunter into the foyer.

  “Hey man,” Sawyer shakes my hand, pulling me in for a one armed hug. When he steps back, Amir shakes his head and offers me a small smile. That’s one thing about Amir, the man who came to us from God’s contacts in the Middle East — he’s a silent killer. He's known for walking into a house, taking out everyone without getting a scratch on his perfectly olive skin.