Chapter eight #2
“The best.” Relaxing as he reads the story, he doesn’t even flinch when the needle touches his flesh. He’s so caught up in the plot.
Time ticks onward, and I lose myself in my work. The artwork looks almost like a depiction of JAWS as the giant fish rises out of the water ready to devour the young man within its serrated teeth.
“What do you think?” Holding up the mirror, I watch him inspect his finished tattoo.
“You really captured my experience. The look is not fear but determination to survive. Wow, Saban. It’s outstanding.” His brilliant smile is almost better than payment.
“Five fish.” Quirking my mouth in a sideways moue, I tap my feet for emphasis.
“Alright, alright.” Laughing, he holds his hands up in defeat.
“Okay.” I need to take a quick shower, and then I’ll meet you out front.
“Kay,” he says, leaving me to clean up.
The shower feels amazing. Thinking for a hot second, I contemplate just relaxing, kicking back, spending the night watching Dramas on my MacBook and falling asleep. Knowing my bad luck with sleeping, I’d make it an hour or two before the night terrors rise again.
Pulling on a light backless top to show off my pretty back tattoos and some shorts, I pull on some cowboy boots. I’m not brave enough to wear sandals. There are just as many critters scurrying around here as there are in Shelby-Love, Alabama.
“Aye.” Amadou calls, waving friends off as he heads over to the stairs leading up to the tiny room I live in.
Which is the reason I never asked him to come up.
There’s no point in anyone who isn’t a lover coming up there.
It only houses a bedroom half the size of the one I had at home, scratch that, a quarter of the size of that princess core comfy nest, and an even tinier bathroom they somehow managed to squeeze in an ancient claw-foot bathtub with a shower attachment, sink and toilet.
“Ready?” Slowly he walks around me, giving a low whistle. “You may cause a fight in there tonight.”
“Boy, hush.” Jumping back, he easily evades my halfhearted swat at him.
“Boy, huuuush,” laughing, he tries his best to mimic my southern accent.
“How’s your side?” I ask. “Don’t be doing too much. I know you are using me to help get girls. That art is still fresh, so don’t be sweating so much it gets infected.
“Pshaw.” Waving away my concern, he winks at me, throwing an arm around my shoulders as we head down to the city center where several nightclubs are. “You know, I’m going to take good care of it.”
“Alright now.” Laughing, cause I sound like one of the old ladies back home.
“Bennie just got here. He wants you to come over.” Amadou says in my ear as I toss back a whiskey.
“Alright, when I finish my game.” Chalking my pool cue, I line up my shot.
“Fourteen in the corner pocket.” Sinking the shot. I work my way around the table, finishing out the game.
“Good job,” Aissata, my partner in crime tonight.
“Boys, drinks are on you, I believe.” Nodding to the two guys who were so certain they could beat us.
“Yeah, yeah.” Seydou and Oumar say in unison, gracious in their loss.
The privilege of playing someone as beautiful and clever as Aissata, Amadou’s sister, is enough for them, it seems. She’s home on holiday from Sofia University in Japan, and that seems she is considered a bit of a celebrity in her hometown.
“What are you having?” Looking over his shoulder, Seydou asks, heading to the bar.
“Amadou knows my order. Be right back.” I tell them, scooting by the new players waiting to take our place.
“Hurry back. I’m ready to dance.” Aissata tells me. When we go out, we only dance together. Causes fewer problems for both of us.
“Kay.” I promise, heading over the velvet rope that’s supposed to separate the hardworking locals from the Euro-trash tourists and guys like Bennie, who think of themselves as the big bosses in this area.
It would be laughable if it weren’t so ridiculous.
I don’t fool myself into thinking that men like Bennie can’t be dangerous — they can.
No one would believe that one of the biggest cartel bosses lived in a small southern town in Alabama either.
“Keeping a low profile is the key to my brother’s success.
” Lourdes would tell me. I couldn’t agree more.
Angel, with the help of Snake, had cornered the market in construction and logistics with their trucking company.
Snake was even more incognito. Angel was the face of the company.
People didn’t know that Snake held as much stock in the company.
No one knew who his mysterious silent partner, Hadrián Cabrera, was or where he lived.
Only the top people in the MC knew his real name.
To the world he was Snake, el Diablo’s primo, head enforcer.
Silent billionaire, trafficker, viper is what he truly was — whose loyalty belonged to Angel and him alone.
That is the only way I can reconcile what he’s done to those kids.
My stomach sours just thinking about it.
I wanted a monster. I loved a monster. A monster was served to me with the cold realization of what dealing with a villain truly was — not only a risk to your safety but that of others as well.
People who didn’t sign up for any of the mayhem visited upon them.
Just thinking of it spurs my feet over the VIP area.
The bodyguard takes a quick perusal of me, realizing quickly I couldn’t possibly be hiding anything in my little shorts and backless t-shirt.
“Mon cher.” Standing, Bennie barely tops my five-foot-one.
He resembles a Bessemer pimp I saw once who wanted to do some business with the club.
Everything went well until he offered to take me off Snake’s hands and wouldn’t take a polite no for an answer.
Snake brought back his boots and sold them to someone in the club for the insult.
“Bennie, mon ami.” Allowing him to hug me, I return the sentiment if not with the same words.
He’s a good time at the club, but I don’t fool myself in allowing anything more.
He seems like the type who would go from zero to a hundred in five seconds.
Already had that, thank you very much, and on the run because of it.
“Come sit, mon belle.” Shooing one of his hangers-on away, he makes room for me.
“How’s everything with you, my friend?” I ask, accepting the drink the bartender sent over. Knowing better than to take drinks from men like Bennie. I have no desire to wake up with my coochie, bottom and throat all sore and probably carrying a burning STD to boot.
“Bon. Bon. Champagne?” He proffers the bottle, though he sees me sipping my drink.
“I’m good.” Holding up my little shot glass of whisky, I’ve barely drunk.
“What do you need, beautiful Saban?” He asks knowing full well.
“Hash.” Taking the drink, I watch as he assesses me — how badly I want it and what I’d be willing to do to get it.
“You know my network is vast.” My eyes widen at the change of subject before I have a chance to school my features.
His eyes spark at my reaction.
“OOOKAY.” I stress and shrug like, what of it.
“Being one who has his ear to the ground, I hear things. So many things that are not of interest. However, when I hear there is a bounty of fifty million US dollars on an American Haitian woman with a body full of tattoos, locs, curvy, beautiful. Well…” He trails off like he hasn’t just dropped the biggest bomb into my life.
“Um,” a heavy hand stops me when I nearly bolt from the seat.
“We take care of our own around here, ma belle.” He says, dropping all pretense. “And no matter what brought you here, you are one of us now.”
Still, fifty million dollars is a lot of money. That’s dead or alive money.
Snake really doesn’t care what happens to me if he placed that kind of money on my head. He wants me dead.
“I need to go.” I say unable to hide my fear or the frantic need to get out here and as far away from this man as possible.
“Saban.” The seriousness of his tone stops me.
“No one here will give away your location. I’ve already made sure of that.
It will give you time to get your affairs in order.
The message was for no harm to come to you.
However, wherever you end up, perhaps get rid of the hair and cover the tattoos.
” Cupping my hand he transfers the hashish into my sweaty palm.
Curling the bag into my fist like it’s a treasure, I can only nod.
“We could have had so much fun.” He quietly laments with a sad little smile, like he’s committing a dead woman to memory.
Loading the hookah, I sit on the floor beside my bed in a routine that’s become far too familiar.
My tummy is tight. Checking the room again to reassure myself for the fifty-eleventh time, I’m safe.
I light it, watching it bubble. Excitement fills me watching the smoke fill the glass.
I made sure to use just enough. I’m not sharing, so it doesn’t take much just for little old me.
Taking the hose, I draw the smoke deep into my lungs.
Euphoria fills all the cracks in my mind where worry resides.
The slow slide of bliss encompasses me. The fear that ate every step to my small little loft has evaporated.
Gone is the need to check every corner of the room for any uneven shapes that may manifest into my horror.
By the third drag, I feel myself drifting.
The coals are already cooling by the time I pull myself out of bed, smothering the ash just to be safe.
The coolness of the fan slides over my skin. Thankful once again that I live closer to the coast rather than the city center, which can be humid even in the night air, I turn into the soft down of my pillow, ignoring the shape.
“It’s nothing.” I mumble to myself. “It’s not him.” Drifting off, I reassure myself, ignoring the looming shadows dancing on the wall.
My eyes shoot open when a heavy hand presses against my mouth, so hard I taste blood.
“Shh.” I look up into the cold dead eyes of the man I once wanted to share my life with.
Swallowing against the cold press of the knife, I whimper when it breaks my skin.
“Quiet. I don’t want to have to kill the boy watching over you downstairs.”
In one swift moment, he pulls a burlap sack over my head. Panic seizes me, darkness surrounds me as I hyperventilate. I can’t catch my breath.
Pinpricks dance before my eyes seconds before a sharp sting spark in my back and I pass out.