by Amo Jones
The elevator dings as I reach the floor and I step out, seeing Hector and Peyton instantly. “She has Puer Natus.”
They both freeze.
Peyton’s hand comes to her forehead. “Fuck!” She starts pacing, and Hector’s eyes come to mine. “How did she get it?”
I shrug, running my hands through my hair. “Don’t know. Found it under her bed this morning.”
“Son.” Hector looks at me, the wrinkles around his eyes softening. “You don’t have to do this right now. You just lost your daughter.”
I shake my head, clenching my jaw. “Keep me busy.”
Hector tosses a file toward me, landing on the construction table beside a saw. “I need you to check on The Rebels. They’re making noise, rustling the leaves with some very powerful people that ride on the straight and narrow. Can’t have their noses in our business.”
I nod. “I’ll handle it.” I flick through the folder, images of young people in dirty rooms, girls dressed in old clothes with heroin needles stabbed into their arms. Some of the images are old, dating back to when we were all kids. I pause on one image. A little girl with the whitest hair I have ever seen falling over her little face. Mud smudges her porcelain-like skin, and she has to be around four-years-old, wearing a soiled white dress. Her eyes catch me, stall me even. Not so much the color, because I can’t make them out, but the shape. The way they look at you through a photograph. It’s haunting. A deep cut on the side of her neck catches my attention next, it’s so deep it would leave a nasty scar. I shake my head, disgusted in The Rebels and what they’re still dabbling in.
“They’re still trafficking?” I ask, my eyebrow quirked as I look up at Hector.
The Rebels live in the shadows, the cracks between broken mountains and sand dunes, always creeping around, watching. It has been a law for us not to take out one of our own, and that law was something we took very seriously, which is how the Rebels were created. But by the looks of it, Hector wants to take them all out. They’ve always lived a fairly low-key life, but for the past year, they’ve been kicking up dust. You would think that they’re all dirty and lost, living in the slums, but they’re not. They look like everyday people with everyday jobs, doing less than everyday shit. They live in a small community on the edges of Syracuse.
He bites on a cigar. “Seems so. They’re getting reckless. I want them all gone.”
“By gone, you mean 86’d?”
“You always have to go gangster, Malum. Yes, I want them all dead.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, sure. What about the Ghost? Want me to send out a warning first?”
Hector smirks in a way that resembles his son. “Do we do warnings?” His face straightens. “It needs to be rectified. Put in its place. See if it knows anything about it.”
I leave the meet with a clear head. Peyton is still with Hector when I tread down to my car. She’s been a fucking nuisance through all of this, and I still don’t quite know why Hector is keeping her alive. The man rules with a twitchy trigger finger. Any other person would have been dead the day we found her with Micaela.
“Nate!” Peyton calls out, pausing my movements.
I squeeze the door handle, not bothering to turn and face her. “What?”
“I’m sorry about Micaela…”
I snort, yanking the door open. “Fuck off, Peyton.”
I climb into my car and head home to prepare for the trip.
Tillie
After everyone has left my room and I’ve showered and dressed, I take out the book from under my bed, desperate for a distraction. I’ve decided I’m going to finish this book, but not just finish it, I’m going to try to see the places he has sketched in hopes to find anything to connect the transparent dots that seem to be disappearing before my eyes. Shoving the book into a duffel bag I found in the closet, I swing it over my shoulder, tying my hair in a long ponytail. I’m making my way toward the front of the house to catch a cab when Elena comes out dressed in yoga pants and a loose sweater.
“Hi,” I say, unsure of what we talk about now.
“Morning, Tillie, can I speak with you for a second?”
I lick my lips. “Okay.” Then follow her into the house, taking a seat at the dining table. “Is everything okay?” God, I really hope she’s not wanting me to leave today. I know Nate has said so, but I haven’t managed to find a home or even a car. I know I still have Nate’s money in my account, maybe I can use some of that to go get a car since Elena wouldn’t let me pay for her funeral.
She places a black coffee in front of me. I adjust myself on my chair, getting ready to brace myself for whatever she’s about to say.
“I want you to stay for as long as you need.”
I exhale, my shoulders slacking from the pent-up nerves I had worked myself up on. “I appreciate that, but I think you and I both know your son. He wants me out, and I don’t blame him.”
“My son is hurt, Tillie, broken beyond repair, as are you, but make no mistake, he loves you and will never really want you to be homeless or out on your own.”
I appreciate her telling me this, but Nate and I have never said the “L word,” and it grinds on my gears that she threw it out there so carelessly. She doesn’t know what her son feels, because I’m almost certain he feels nothing at all.
“Wooo.” I blow out my breath. I need to calm down, remember that she is not the enemy here and all she’s ever done is help me. I take a small sip of my coffee in an attempt to do that. Once I place the mug back onto the table, my fingers wrapping around the warm ceramic, I smile at her. “Thank you. I will stay for a couple more days until I find something else. I might be out and about for the next couple of days, though, don’t be alarmed. I’m just trying to find a car.”
She pushes the keys toward me. “The SUV is yours, Tillie. Please take it.”
I toss and turn.
“Please.”
I grab the keys and look up at her. “Thank you for all that you’ve done to help me, Elena. I didn’t know my mother.”
“—It’s a good thing,” she murmurs.
I chuckle, the first real smile to touch my mouth since losing her. “Yeah, but you’re amazing. Nate is very lucky to have you.”
She swipes her cheeks. “Please come to me if you ever need to talk about Micaela.”
My blood turns cold, my jaw turning to cement. “Thanks.” I stand abruptly, making my way to the front door. My heart is pounding against my rib cage and when I step outside and slam the door closed, I slide down until my ass drops to the cold tiles on the porch. Micaela. It’s the first time I have heard her name be said aloud since losing her. I’ve even refused to say her name in my head because it is just too painful. That one word can dismember me in the blink of an eye.
The tears start again as I’m reminded, yet again, how much I have lost. Time stands still when you’re numb. You lose track of it, of meaning. Like why do flowers bloom if they’re just going to wither? That space between that first blossom and that first wilt is meaningless. It all reaches the same fate. Like me. Like human life.
I push from the ground, swiping the tears from my cheeks and unlock the Mercedes. Climbing in, I tug my phone out of my back pocket and call Brantley. He picks up after the sixth ring. Sixth.
“Principessa…”
I ignore that annoying pet name. Think I’ll take Madison’s “kitty” over princess any day of the week. “That cabin…”
Brantley silences. “Yes…”
“Where is it?” I ask candidly, flooring it out of the house of doom. I can’t stay here for much longer. I know that. Everything reminds me of Micaela, it hurts too much.
“Off the I-5—why?”
I hang up, knowing I can find it myself if I really search my thoughts deep enough.
It takes me a little over two hours, but eventually, I’m pulling into that same driveway that we all went down before I got chased into the forest. The building where the fights were doesn’t look nearly as intimidating as it
did that night. That night that feels so long ago.
Tragic.
I cut the gas, putting the keys in my pocket. The time catches my eye as I look around the place. Just past four p.m. That gives me enough time to gather what I need. I swing the duffel bag over my shoulder and trek into the forest. The wind whisks through my hair, setting goosebumps over my flesh. It seems darker in here, where the trees keep you secluded and caved away from the sun. Ten minutes later, I’m separating a large shrub of brush and I’m face-to-face with that same cabin again. I begin walking toward it, the same withered boards holding it together by the rattling metal roof. I open the door, finding it exactly how it was the last time I was here. Only thing missing is the fireflies in the fireplace. I walk inside, ignoring the heebie-jeebies that have worked themselves inside of me. Taking a seat on the rocking chair, I swing back and forth, the tight squeak of the old wood rocking against the floorboards the only sound filling the room. I flick open the pages.
The number. I run my finger over it, the curve of every angle. I’d say it’s identical to my trailer when I was growing up, but why? Why would it be my trailer. This is the cabin from two drawings, but the one that perks my interest the most is the drain cover that says Perdita on it. I flick through to another page that I haven’t seen yet, and it’s a sketch of the gates of Perdita. The ones that lead into the township. The soft gray smudges are flicked high, the edges as sharp as the gates in real life. I flip the page to the next chapter, and it’s a dungeon. I notice a small signature on the bottom. It’s a scribble, and I have to squint my eyes just to make out the words. Perdita. I stand from the old lounge chair, pushing the book back into my duffel bag.
I know where I need to go, but I need someone to take me there.
I know what I need to do to make that happen.
I floor it onto the highway and dial Madison’s number through the Bluetooth. She picks up.
“Hey, I was about to call you…”
“Where are you? There’s something I need to show you.”
Pause. “At Bishop’s.”
“Okay, I’ll be there soon.”
I hang up and make the trip into the city, my nerves wracking around inside of me. It’s a good distraction from the pain.
My eyes flick to the rearview mirror and I notice a dark SUV following. It’s been on my tail since I got on the highway. I chew on my lip, trying to figure out what to do. I see a shoulder coming up ahead and pull in, the tires skidding against the asphalt.
The SUV follows, and I take a second to sit there, my eyes on the rearview mirror. I can’t make out the driver through the small rearview mirror and the tints. I open up my phone and send a message to Madison.
If you don’t hear from me, there was a dark SUV following so I pulled over. I think it’s the same car that came to Nate’s the first night I was there and told me to come outside to meet him. Sorry I didn’t tell you about it. I kept so much to myself. I guess I like secrets just as much as the guys… Anyway, I was coming to show you something. When I slept in Daemon’s room, I found his sketchbook. I wanted us to go to Perdita because a lot of the sketches are drawn there, but a couple are done of a broken cabin in the woods, and my trailer number—weird, huh? I’m jumping out of my car now to see who these motherfuckers are that have been following me. Love you. Please take care of Nate, Brantley, and Bailey. I forgot to tell you about Bailey, Bishop will fill you in. X
I climb out of the car, slamming the door closed behind me while clutching the strap to my duffle bag. The back door opens, and I see a polished Oxford shoe peek out, landing on the dusty road.
I tuck my hair behind my ear, just as the door closes. My eyes travel up his body, and then land on—Nate’s dad?
Confused, I step forward, licking my lips. He comes directly to me, popping his collar.
“Tillie, nice to formally meet you…”
“I wouldn’t call this formally, but okay. Why are you following me?”
“If I say to come with me, will you listen? I don’t want to hurt you. We won’t hurt you.”
I think over his words, my eyes searching his. “Why?”
He turns his gaze over his shoulder to look back into the Cadillac and then back to me. “Because I have information that you will want. I promise I will bring you back to your car when we’re done. If that is what you want…”
Why would it be something that I wouldn’t want?
If he wanted me dead, he’s had plenty of chances to do so.
I tilt my head. “Why did you want me to come outside when you came to Nate’s?”
He gestures toward the waiting SUV, just as a large truck zooms past, my hair flying up everywhere and the wind almost knocking me to the ground.
“Alright,” I mutter, making my way to the SUV. “I appreciate you not trying to kidnap me.”
“Oh, trust me, I almost went there…”
I roll my eyes, gripping the door handle and slipping inside the warm enclosure. I assess my surroundings. Two suited men are in the front, both wearing dark glasses, shading their eyes. Gabriel climbs in beside me and the truck pulls away, back onto the highway.
I can feel my phone vibrate in my bag, but I ignore it. My point was made. Madison knows.
“So, talk.”
Gabriel stretches his neck, his eyes coming to mine. He looks so much like Nate in this lighting. They have the same square jaw, only Gabriel has a grey shadow of a beard scattered over his. Handsome for an old dude. “To start off, your mother, Katsia.” He places a leather satchel on his lap and pops it open, taking out a piece of paper and handing it to me. “She has left you with this account.”
My eyes fall to the paper. It’s a trust account with enough money to survive for three lifetimes. “What?” I freeze. I’ve never seen that many digits in my entire life.
“It’s true. She wanted you to have this, but only when you were ready, Tillie.”
“Ready for what?” I ask, looking back to him.
He offers me a small smile. “Ready to do what it was written for you to do. The one thing that The Kings have been trying to stop you from obtaining.”
“And what is that?” I question, my tone hanging off a bite.
A slow merciless smile comes onto his mouth. “Take the throne, of course.”
“The what? Speak American, not Elite King.”
Gabriel flexes his fingers. Nervous trait maybe? “You need to take over Perdita, Tillie. Only you. There is no one else that is born for this duty.”
“Nope.” I shake my head. “I don’t want that job. Give it to someone else.”
He chuckles, pulling out a cigar from his jacket and clipping it, pressing the end into his mouth. “You don’t have a choice.”
“I don’t want the money.”
“With or without the money, you still have to do this.”
I think over everything that has happened the past few days. How my world has crumbled, and my insides feel as though they have been poisoned with cyanide.
“Tillie. Right now, The Kings have Khales running it into the ground. She has locked up most of the Lost Boys into cages, not feeding them while keeping her favorites near. She has time and time again proved to be a nuisance. She’s running around playing queen while destroying everything that Perdita was built for.”
“And what is that, exactly?” I bite out, my anger reaching a new level. “A place to kill newborn baby girls? A community that keeps people sheltered and away from the real world? Those people don’t even know that this world exists!”
“It’s the way the movie plays in this world, Tillie.”
I exhale, licking my lips. “I know. I just wish I understood it more.”
“You will,” he says, his hand coming to my knee. My eyes go up to his, the blue depths reminding me so much of his son. “You’re smarter than everyone else. More street smart than your mother, resilient from your upbringing. Now that the power is offered to you, are you going to take it?”
I thi
nk over his words, the same throbbing pain in my chest from missing Micaela thumping inside of me. Everything reminds me of her. “Take me to Perdita. I’ll make a decision then.”
I already know what my choice is.
His lip kicks up in a smile. “Deal.” Then he hands me a small leather pouch. I pop it open and peer inside. Three credit cards are inside as well as a few other pieces of papers. “The account is yours anyway, Tillie. Whether you choose to take on your rightful duty or not. I wouldn’t hold it over you.”
“And why not?”
He looks outside his window. “Because I am no longer a King.”
Nate
“What the fuck do you mean she sent you a text?” I grit my teeth, making my way into my house. I called the hit on The Rebels. Kings don’t do the dirty work unless it’s personal. The Rebels aren’t personal. They’re not worth us getting our hands dirty over, so I sent Rob in. Rob resembles Bullet Tooth Tony from the movie Snatch. Accent and all. He’s ruthless, expensive, and about as lethal as a virgin on a stripper pole.
“I mean she sent this text saying someone was following her.”
My body stiffens, my foot landing on the third step. “I gotta go.”
I hit dial for Hector as soon as I’ve hung up on Madison. He picks up. “Yes?”
“We have a problem.” I begin telling him everything Madison just told me, including her little attempt to go onto Perdita to follow Daemon and his stupid fucking sketchbook.
“Call a meet!” Hector barks down the phone, hanging up. He’s not happy. With good reason. Hector has been wanting to shut down Perdita for a while now, buying time until he figures out how to do that by putting his cock warmer in charge over there. If Tillie takes over—as she was supposed to—that means that we no longer have control over Perdita or the soldiers and people on there. I mean, under it all, we have power and pull, but they only ever answer to a Stuprum. Handing someone like Tillie that much power can be catastrophic. Not to mention…