11
"Did you sleep well?"
Jule's voice carries a tenderness I've never before heard. He places a bowl of oatmeal in front of Macy, who nods shyly at him. She hasn't said a word. The girl has a permanent darkness that's permeated throughout her entire tiny frame. I'm short, but Macy is at least two inches shorter than my five-foot-nothing, and her frail body forlorns emptiness—it consumes her. Her boney shoulders lean forward and her sunken eyes look to Piper for support.
"We haven't felt this safe in forever." Piper's barely inaudible words are carried to me by a breathy sigh.
I keep my eyes glued to Jule. If I didn't know any better, I swear he's crushing on Macy. He's taken a stool and positioned himself at a safe distance to carry on a one-sided conversation with her while he drinks what I'm sure is coffee. I'm reminded of how young he is, impressionable, yet eager for adventure. He's so grown up and still such a baby in my eyes. Jule loves coming home, and I hate taking him back to the trailer junk box.
But we can't move yet.
Almost. We're so close to our goal, and I've taken up hours at the club to earn five times the amount I normally do.
Just enough for Jule to enroll back into school. He's going to be a lawyer someday. He's got the brains, and I won't let him slip through the cracks.
I can't hear what he's telling Macy, but he's talking with his hands, animatedly, and making her smile. His hair cascades over his eyes, below his ears, and dangerously close to his shoulders. My baby brother needs a haircut, and I'm pulled to a memory from a time where I'd cut his hair for him. Now he just does it himself. He keeps his face shaven, but he's got some stubble now, and he looks like a young man. My heart gets this odd sensation, like a thousand mosquitos have stung it.
Piper looks the way I feel, and I suddenly understand her eagerness to protect her sister. I'm right alongside her on that one.
I breathe out, realizing that I'd been holding my breath. "What are you going to do? What's your plan?"
Macy's back is to us, and for the first time, I see Piper let go. She shoves her hands into her hair and then leans into them, hugging herself. "I have no idea."
I'm sure there is so much to uncover. In truth, I know nothing about the two women I just helped escape. Who is looking for them? What will happen if they're found? How long has the abuse been going on and who knows about it? Will it help if she gets a lawyer or reports him?
"Talk to me," I say suddenly.
She looks at me, stunned by my words, but then stands and cocks her head to the screen door that leads to the back patio. It's a warm fall morning, but the California breeze promises a blistering high by noon. Piper hugs herself and looks to the lush garden blooming with roses, thanks to Helena. I'm no green thumb. Plants hate me.
I approach slowly and stand beside her, enjoying the view. "You can stay for as long as you need."
She nods and I hear her swallow. "I don't know how we can ever repay you."
I shake my head. "This is what I do, Piper."
She turns, and her eyes are full of unshed tears. "And here I thought you were just some tween looking to gain followers and get famous on social media," she chuckles.
"Well, that's good, I guess. I'm sure that's what the entire police force thinks." Up until I got arrested and set them straight.
She nods and dabs at her eyes to clear away any trace of sadness. "Charles, the guy that was with me at the bar, my father thinks he's one of his trusted minions. But he's one of mine. He helped me and Mace get out."
I nod. Charles acted like a bodyguard in love with Piper—I don't question his allegiance. I'm sure of Piper's ability to sniff out a rat. She's been raised by one and is an expert by now at being able to set apart who can be trusted.
Her posture stiffens. "Charles told me that my father requested the force to assign a detective to hunt us down. Like a fucking sport. At first, he just sent his minions, but now, it's more serious. And we cannot go back."
I nod. "Have you ever tried exposing him?"
"You saw what good it did when you released the footage of him at the club. It's chalked up to be some conspiracy now. No one cares. He's protected. Too many dirty fuckers backing themselves up, it's disgusting."
I look into my mug. The black coffee swirls slowly and the steam rises, then dances away with the breeze. Oddly enough, the darkness reminds me of Dylan's eyes, and I clench my thighs and grip the mug tighter.
"Charles says the case has been placed on a new detective's lap. He transferred from I don't know where, but apparently he's the best. He's got a reputation for getting the job done, whatever that means."
Shit, my rookie is out there looking for Piper and Macy?
Is he telling me the truth? Is he really a good cop? Would he help them or expose them? I can't answer that, and I don't want an answer. Cops can't be trusted. "Well, he won't find you here."
Jasmin, Jule, and I are parked under a bridge, waiting for one of Noah's friends. Helena's house has a landline, and we called his cellphone to make sure he'd meet us. We can't drive to the trailer lot and risk Dylan catching us.
If he connects the truck to me, I'm fucked. It has to look like we caught a ride with someone, and for now, Erik will have to do. He walks toward us, and I step out so he can take my place in the driver's seat. He knows the drill and doesn't ask questions. It's better this way, that way if he's ever questioned by police, he truly doesn't know anything.
"Am I supposed to keep this from Noah?" he asks in a rushed whisper.
Jasmin clears her throat and places a gentle hand on my shoulder. I look back with a questionable gaze and she gives me a little squeeze. "For now," she says. "Just let us figure this one out and keep quiet about it."
She's never fully trusted Noah, or anyone but my brother and me, so I don't blame her for wanting to keep Noah in the dark about the truck.
We make it back in twenty minutes, which leaves Jasmin and me exactly one hour to get ready for work. It's dark by the time Erik lets us out of the truck to then store it in the shed. We leave him to it, hoping it convinces the rookie cop that we got a ride from our neighbor, in case he's watching. And then it occurs to me—what if this motherfucker has cameras? Shit.
My focus turns to my little family. Whenever we return from our patch of paradise, we're all glum and miserable. And this sets over us as we walk toward our trailer.
Jule is quietly, yet animatedly, explaining an episode of Stranger Things, in an attempt to distract us, when a jingling sound rushes toward us.
"Oh, shit," Jasmin squeaks and grips my arm tightly. Jule moves in front of her and begins to wrap his arm around me to do the same when I notice what all the fuss is about. Max is rushing toward us, his tail wagging crazily and his tongue hanging out.
"Hey, boy." I squat down and he shoves me back, then covers me with kisses.
"What the fuck?" Jule gasps. "Your new friend?"
"Yea, he's a cutie." I rub his massive face between my palms and kiss the top of his head.
"Max," Dylan's roaring voice calls. It's not a yell, but it cuts the air and chills you. "I'm sorry, he's deciding to be disobedient. Thankfully, he likes you."
Jule straightens, and I can feel Jasmin's focused stare on me. She knows he affects me but hasn't pressed further.
"Did you move here to unleash the hound on us?"
"Jule," Jasmin snaps.
"No, he's gotta know. Moving here puts us at risk. The last thing we need is a cop sniffing around where he shouldn't. The corruption is uptown, not here."
"I moved here to make sure no one is fucked with," Dylan retorts. His eyes shift from Jule to me and stay there. They darken and he snaps his fingers. Max reacts robotically and moves to sit next to him.
Jule narrows his eyes. "Right."
"Come on, Jule. You have to finish your essay." Jasmin puts her hand on his shoulder and gently moves him to our trailer. "Justice, we'll see you inside."
How my best friend knows that I can't go in just yet, I have no idea. But thankfully, my brother listens. His acceptance to the school depends on him turning that thing in, and he's just about finished. They disappear into the trailer and Max whines suddenly.
"So, who was the ride?"
"What?"
Dylan points behind me toward the shed. "The ride."
I roll my eyes. "What is it with you always interrogating me?"
"Fine, I can find out another way."
Fuck. "A neighbor, okay. We take rides all the time."
"And where were you?"
What in the fucking world? "Listen, rookie, I don't know what makes you think I have to answer your fucking questions."
I turn on my heel and flip my hair for emphasis when his hand reaches out to pull me toward him. His grip is strong yet gentle. Suddenly, Max stands and lets out a low growl. The beastly hound moves to stand next to me and glares at his master.
Dylan looks down and smirks. "Easy, Max. I'm not going to hurt her." His smile doesn't reach his eyes. He looks at me, and I'm suddenly centered in place. My belly flips and tightens and my thighs press together firmly. "I'd never," he murmurs.
He grazes my cheek roughly, and it's as if he's dropped an ice cube down my back. It slides down my spine and sinks between my legs, melting me in its wake. A puddle with his name on it gathers at my center.
"I know exactly where you were, but we can talk about that another time."
He what?
"I just thought you should know that the two men who killed your parents are dead." Dylan lets go of my arm and I instantly feel the void of his hold.
I feel like I'm falling and all the air has left my lungs. But I can't take a breath in. It's as if I've been shoved under water by an unforgiving wave that continues to collide with my body. It smacks me back and forth, pushing me further down into the depths where only shards of rock await me.
I barely recognize that my body is floating and pressed against a solid heat that cradles me. The absence of air consumes me. The vacantness roars in my ears. It blurs my vision and holds me hostage. It's as if the Pacific claimed the land and a wave truly did materialize to fill my lungs with its saltiness.
"Niki?" Dylan coaxes. "Steady. Breathe slowly in and out."
I hold on to the gentle yet stern command in his tone. "They're dead?" I finally manage. It feels like mushy and salty cotton fills my throat.
"They are."
I notice I'm no longer outside but inside Dylan's trailer. Or rather, his mansion. It puts all other trailers to shame. It's enormous and modern. Black and gray furnishings, dark oak tables, and sleek leather. It's unlit except for a dim lamp on an end table. I'm leaning on his loveseat, and he's bent down on one knee, hovering over me.
I was fourteen when three men barged into our home. Vork gave the order and then walked out. One of the men assaulted my father, beating him while the other took advantage of my mom. They tied my father up so he could watch and then they shot my mom. Two bullets, two men. Then one of them shot my father's kneecaps and then they shot him in the head. Four bullets, two men. Their faces were a blur, but I never forgot their voices. The memory of Vork delivering the instructions, in his cold and distant manner, lives in my head rent free. They never saw me, but I saw everything.
"How are you certain it was them? The officer at the time said they didn't leave evidence behind and that there would be no way to find them."
Dylan nods knowingly. "It was them."
I'm not sure why I want to know, but before I can scrounge for an answer, I blurt out, "How?"
Dylan swallows and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. His touch singes my trembling nerves, taming them. It stabilizes the hurricane in me. "One of the men was shot twice in the head, the other had both kneecaps blown off, as well as two bullets to his head."
The same way my parents were taken. "Do they know who did it?"
He clears his throat. "It's an ongoing investigation."
For years, I dreamed of their deaths, witnessing or delivering them. I wanted to walk about knowing they were no longer breathing, no longer enjoying the same sky that hung above us. And now they were dead. Killed.
I don't pity them. I'm not sure if that makes me as horrible a person as them, but I don't give a fuck. In fact, I hope they suffered, gasped and sputtered for their lives in vain.
Dylan's cell buzzes next to us and I notice the time.
"I have to get ready for work."
"Nym-Pho again?"
I bristle at his questioning. "What's it to you?"
He chuckles dryly and shakes his head. "I'm not interrogating you, Niki. Just… be careful."
I stand and move to the door. Ignoring the magnetism between us. "I can take care of myself, rookie."
I leave before he can say anything else. I don't have the energy for him right now. My body's reaction to his is cataclysmic, and it shocks my nerves, vibrating through me. His voice is the symphony that tames my thoughts, his body stabilizes mine into a blissful calm that allows me to feel complete. It's unnerving. I don't know who the fuck he is. And in less than a month, he makes me feel what Noah never could.
But I can't want him. I shouldn't. I ignore my neighbors' skeptical eyes, watching me leave the cop's trailer, and sulk home.
"What did he want?" Jasmin stares out of the moving car. We caught a ride with one of the bouncers. He doesn't mind giving us a lift for fifty bucks a night. It's more than he should get for taking us in literally the same direction and destination he's headed toward, but beggars can't be choosers.
"Mom and Dad's shooters were killed."
She gasps loudly and faces me. "When?"
"About a week ago. I don't want Jule to know. He needs to focus on getting back on track with school."
She nods slowly. "Of course."
Something tells me there was more that Dylan refused to say. I don't know, something about the way he said ongoinginvestigation. An inkling beyond my brain's ability to understand or perhaps accept. Also, I'm wary about the manner of death, eerily exact to the way they took my parents. If I didn't know any better, it gave off revenge kill vibes.
"Did he really move there to keep us safe?"
I sigh. "I don't know. I didn't get to ask him anything about that." Nor did I get to ask him what he meant about knowing where I was. That would be catastrophic.
Our ride slows down and we both pin our eyes to the exterior of Nym-Pho's massive structure. I don't have the strength to put on my fake smile. Fuck, what if el cerro shows up tonight? I have got to get it together.
As if sensing my thoughts, Jasmin reaches for my hand and squeezes. "I'll put you in a cage for your shift."
I nod and lean into her. Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry.
"No one will bother you. Just sway about and we'll make sure to collect your tips."
The music vibrates off the metal bars of the birdcage structure that holds my body elevated twenty feet off the ground. It's an elegant gilded mini fortress, immovable and secure. There are two others with semi-nude dancers inside. I could get used to this.
But I keep replaying the deaths of my parents in my head.
I'm sitting in a makeshift closet, a crawlspace in the wall. A sliver of light gleams in and I press my face to it. The broken wood of the doorframe splinters my face, my eyes burn, but I refuse to close them. My parents died that day, but they took my soul with them. A part of me died right alongside them that night, but I forced myself to continue for my baby brother. He didn't have anyone. I needed to step up and grow the fuck up.
Whatever problems I thought I had in my hormonal teenage rebellious stage were stripped from me, like acid filling my veins and cleansing away the purity of being a child. I forced myself to suffer right along with them so that I would never forget.
And now the bringer of their deaths was gone, too. Did they suffer? I fucking hope so. Did they cry and beg for their lives? I don't know, but I pretend to hear their voices screaming for someone to pity them. I only wish I would've been there to replace my parents" screams with theirs, so that their shrieks would fill the remnants of the tattered memory that's stuck on replay. I don't want my mom and dad to suffer anymore.
The music is upbeat tonight, the aesthetic stays the same, but the beat coming from the speakers alters from night to night. Today's theme is sexy pop. I think it's one of Ariana Grande's songs, but I can't be sure.
My hearing is fucked tonight. I gyrate my hips and flip my hair to the thrumming of my parents' heartbeats. I'm covered in sweat and my hair clings to my back and neck. The full face mask is surprisingly comfortable, but still hot as hell. I know I'll be red as a tomato when it comes off. It's a black fox mask with gold piping along the pointy ears, eyes and nose.
I have a sheer lace bra on with a faux gold chain attached to a black choker around my neck. The gold chain drips down my front and connects to the garter wrapped around my belly. The chain dangles near my thighs, and it looks like frozen dew drops over the flesh. My pussy is covered by a lace thong. I get to be barefoot in the cage, thank the she-devil that commands the existence of this kingdom of sex and booze, because I wouldn't be able to make it if I had to dance the night away in six-inch heels.
Suddenly, I feel someone's gaze on me.
I'm dancing basically naked in a dungeon of sex, so of course, people watch me, but this feeling is different. It's a palpable grip on me, a tug toward the one person whose gaze alone peppers my skin with goosebumps. I can literally feel someone's touch, their thoughts mingle with my own. It forces my attention to a man sitting alone, feasting on me. His penetrating gaze influences a reaction in me. Without ever even touching me, his eyes alone have provoked a physical interaction as my body leans into the bars, a gravitational pull that forces me toward him.
He's in an all-black suit, black tie, black shirt, and a black mask over the top half of his face. The man licks his lips then lifts a short glass with a dark brew up, as if to salute me, then drinks it slowly, his eyes caressing my moving curves. I blow him a kiss, then flip my hair and turn around.
I don't have the headspace for meaningless flirting to gain some more cash. The table below me holds a five-gallon glass jar and there are only hundreds inside, all mine. And although something about the man stands out, I shove it away. The pain in me is too great to care to investigate.
I bend down, and Billy, the bartender whose name I learned right before I entered the cage, hands me a double shot of tequila. I knock it back, relishing in the burn it leaves in its wake down my throat. I prefer this feeling over the continual stab that repeatedly pierces the hole where my heart is supposed to be.
I hand him back the glass and signal him to give me another. After shooting it back, I lean on my haunches and tilt my head back until it touches the floor of the cage. I lift my arms and caress the air, then slowly lift back up, my hips moving in circles, then up and down. I stand up slowly, my hips dip low, and I expand my arms to hold both ends of my prison.
I close my eyes and give in, the roar in my ears building, and I finally allow myself to let go. I'm in the sky, but not quite in heaven. I'm floating on a black rain cloud. It's the darkest part of eternal paradise. It isn't hell, where we'd be subjected to the perpetual flames of torture. I'm in a place of bliss, of quiet content and peace.
Here, in this cage, I let go, baring it all except for what lives deep inside me, tormenting me. No one ever sees that. I can't expose that side no matter how much I try, so I feed off of the energy of everyone's hunger, their thirst for excitement and their approval of me.
I don't know what I thought would happen once my parents' killers were found, imprisoned or executed. But somehow, I thought it would make me feel better. Yet I still feel empty.