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“Come on girlie, don’t do that or I might drop you,” the man complains, dodging a kick to his ribs, but I am relentless. My foot connects, and he doubles over for a moment. It’s not enough to get the brute to let me drop. I could have tried harder, but I want to be rescued by my knight in all black armor.
Suddenly I’m spinning. He must have set me down. I pause for a moment, regaining my composure before the familiar tug is on my arm as this guy pulls me forward. We walk in silence until one of their phones rings. I can only hear one side of the conversation, but it sounds like an interesting one. I don’t get to listen very long, because I am shoved into a room. My captors place a lock and chain around my ankle and then they remove my beanie. It doesn’t matter. When I finally get a look at my surroundings, the first thing I notice are their peacock themed masquerade masks.
“No funny business. Hopefully, this will all be over soon,” he says. “Make yourself at home, get some rest and someone will bring you food.”
This might not be so bad. The space is a stark guest room. There’s a basic bed and a chair with no other furniture. There are no windows, which means I am probably right about being in a basement or somewhere else underground. It doesn’t make a difference. I am still going to enjoy my time playing the helpless victim.
I sit on the bed seductively and pat the spot next to me. “Either of you big, strong men care to keep me comfortable and warm?”
They back away, scurrying out the door and slamming it shut behind them. I can hear the sound of the lock turning, which only makes me laugh. Word about my reputation has obviously gotten around. I may as well get comfortable. I know what’s on the other side of the locked door, but there is a second door in the room. I assume it leads to a bathroom. When I open the door a few moments later, my suspicions are confirmed. A sink, toilet, and shower, the basics glisten in front of me and I can’t help but appreciate that they are clean. No cupboards, no shelves, no mirrors, or windows. The bathroom is bare. I retreat into the room where the bed looks inviting. Tomorrow will be a new day and right now I could really use some sleep to clear my head. I need to stay sharp in order to maintain the upper hand. This place seems safe enough. If they wanted to hurt me, they would have by now. I pull back the top down comforter and climb beneath it.
The lock and chain are uncomfortable, as the cool metal presses against me it digs into my sensitive skin, pinching and pulling against it. If I put up with it tonight and complain that it is hurting me tomorrow, maybe I can convince them to remove it. Ignoring it will be easy tonight. My eyelids are already heavy. I am slowly slipping away to my dreams, where I know my love will visit me. Christian will fill my dreams with different versions of his arrival. He would want me to know he’s thinking of me. I am sure he’s torturing himself over losing me. Tomorrow I will wait for him, all the while weakening our enemy from the inside. Our revenge is coming and they are going to be sorry they messed with me. For their treachery, Christian will make them pay with their lives. No loose ends, no survivors.
Chapter 5
Undying Trust
Chrisian-
Thehouseisamess, littered with bodies everywhere. Blood stains nearly every surface in the hallway. Before the Don arrives, I need to make sense of the attack. He’s going to have questions like how many men? Are there survivors? But the biggest question will be, who did this and how? It’s my fault, a fact I will never forget. I’ll live with my guilt forever. When the men weren’t up to my standards, I should have called it in. I should have requested a second layer of protection. The red flags were present all night. Guards out of place when I arrived, the strange woman at the club, and our run in with her in the parking lot. This was organized, well calculated, each piece of the puzzle slowly sliding into place. I need to check the car. I bet it has a tracker on it.
The guilt is already lapping at my heart like burning hot flames destroying me from the inside out. My rage is brimming over as I return to our room to grab the aluminum bat I keep tucked behind the door. It might not help me bring Quinn home, but if I find any survivors, it will come in handy. The men in our room are dead as a doornail. Once I’ve checked their pockets for clues, I toss the nearby weapons and half empty clips onto the bed. Every surface in this room will be replaced, and it will be as if nothing ever happened. I make quick work of dragging the bodies into the hall, then move on to clearing the upstairs. No clues, and no survivors upstairs. There could still be a threat down stairs and I wonder if I should wait for reinforcements to arrive. If I do, I can almost guarantee I will live to seek my revenge. At the same time, I’m in deep shit and if I act like a coward, I have no doubt I will be punished.
I run my hand across my hair before descending the stairs to the main floor. Halfway down, I hear movement. It could be my enemy or someone who survived the attack. I take every precaution to move stealthily until I am close enough to see the man’s face.
“Clay,” I hiss from where I am crouched behind the kitchen island.
He turns, nods at me, and holds his fingers to his lips. Obviously, he knows something I don’t. He slides in next to me, holds up two fingers and points toward the dining room. I dip my chin in understanding, then hold up three fingers to count us down. We both move effortlessly to neutralize the threat. Clay takes his man by surprise at the same time I swing on my guy. I knock the gun from his hand and the bat pins his now broken hand against the wall while my forearm shoves his face into it. “Tell me who sent you!” I growl through clenched teeth against his ear.
“Never,” the man whispers.
“One of you better squeal. The first one to tell us who you work for, gets to live. Shall we play a game?” Clay asks, cocking his gun against the other man’s temple.
“Yes, let’s play a game, boys. Both of you, on your knees. Now!” I shout, pulling back and swinging the bat onto the back of my guy’s knees. He slams into the wall before dropping to the ground.
“Kill me and get it over with,” he says, spitting blood on the ground.
“Where’s the fun in that?” I ask, laughing wickedly as my face contorts into a deranged grin. “All killing and no torture makes Christian a dull boy. Wouldn’t you agree, Clay?”
Clay laughs an equally maniacal chuckle before replying, “It definitely makes you a dull boy. If they won’t confess willingly, we can just streamline this beating and move right into torture.”
“Torture it is then, boys.” I slam the bat down hard into this guy’s shoulder as Clay pistol whips his guy, knocking him out. “There are chains and ropes in the garage, along with tarps. Let’s get them tied up so we can finish sweeping this level.”
We drag the two men off towards the garage, intentionally slamming them into walls and furniture as we make our way there. Clay kicks his guy down the five stairs, then steps over him to retrieve the tarps. I drag my man down the stairs and slam him into the metal chair in the center of the tarp Clay spread out. We make quick work of restraining them both before cracking the conscious one on the head and, knocking him out as well. Together, we head back into the house and continue our sweep of the main floor in silence.
We kick the limp bodies over in the entryway. There are splatters and bullet casings everywhere, but no one else survived this attack. I feel a little better knowing that whoever ordered this assault lost nearly all their men, but my heart is heavy knowing that we suffered just as great of a loss in numbers. Our biggest loss was Quinn, and there are still two men breathing with a death sentence. I want their heads on a metaphorical platter. I will not rest until I find her safe and kill every single person involved. My knuckles clench against my side and I know Clay can feel the rage inside me building. He lays a hand on my shoulder.
“Don’t worry, Christian, we will find Quinn and when we do they will suffer,” he offers in reassurance.
“No Clay, they will do more than suffer; they will pay with their lives.”
“Come on, let’s get the rest of the bodies from down here piled up and then sort through any weapons. I assume he will arrive soon and we need it to be clear we are working our asses off to fix this,” Clay replies.
He’s right. The Don could show up at any time now, and we need information. It’s best not to keep dwelling on the situation. Instead, I let the immense anger flood through me and drive my adrenaline. These assholes ruined a perfect night with mon bijou,my jewel,and they are going to regret it.
Fireandsmokefillthe air. My eyes and lungs burn from the smoke, but it doesn’t stop me from tossing another body into the large fire pit. Later, the ash from the fire will be transported to the sewers, where it will be washed away and cleansed, never to be seen again. This will be a job for some of our lower-level members, similar to the ones who will arrive for clean up detail soon. Clay and I shouldn’t even be dirtying our hands with this mess, but we’ve both been around long enough to know how this goes. If there’s work to be done. It’s best to get it done before you’re told to. It also goes without saying that rank never exempts you from doing work, even if the work should be beneath you. If you want to maintain your status among the elite few at the top, you have to put in the work to remain there, even when that means burning bodies.
The sound of clapping echoes around me and fills my ears. I don’t have to look to know he’s arrived. I’ve never in all my years of membership felt more ashamed to face the Don than I do right now. My body begs to tremble with anticipation or to allow just one hair to stand up on the back of my neck, but I force it to remember that rule number one of the Arkham Mafia is to show no fear. Today, things are different. As the sun threatens to chase off our cover of darkness, I have no choice but to cease disposing of bodies and face the Don in what might be my darkest hour. I can only hope that he grants me redemption. Time seems to tick away slowly as my thoughts of what will happen if I am not granted redemption collide with the present around me. I wipe my brow with the back of my arm before lifting my gaze without hesitation to stare into the beady black eyes of the person who is about to determine whether I will live or die.
