Chapter 2
Dima
Closing my eyes tightly I hold them shut to the count of four and then open them wide, shaking my head to wake myself up.
The past two nights my sleep has been broken with visions of the woman.
My woman. My visions usually follow a pattern.
The person who is lost comes to me in my dreams. They whisper to me, names, places, addresses, family members, anything and everything they think will help me to locate them and bring them home.
But this woman, I’m not sure. She never speaks to me but somehow I feel her.
Like our souls recognize each other. I shake my head, that’s even far-fetched for me and I communicate with people who aren’t there.
My eyes flick to the house I’m meant to be watching, looking exactly as I pictured it.
Two story, rundown, some of the windows on the first floor boarded up.
I’ve watched the man of the house come and go twice now, his overweight body, bald head and truck driver glasses a beacon of what he’s doing in private when he thinks people aren’t looking.
I’ll never understand how guys like him can live in a neighborhood and people not notice that he’s pure evil.
He looks like every serial killer in the world.
Shaking my head I wait for him to leave for his shift at wherever the fuck he works.
Probably a factory judging by his sweat stained polo shirt and the ridiculously large lunch bag he’s carrying.
He backs his old blue truck out of the driveway, then turns in my direction.
We make eye contact as he drives past me, and my skin crawls, a chill running through me before a hot streak pierces my spine.
A grin grows on my face until I’m beaming at nothing in particular.
This feeling, the hot one, only happens when I clock someone who shouldn’t be forgiven for what they’ve done.
It’s a sign that I can take this into my own hands and finish him how I like.
Slipping my phone from my pocket I double tap the screen to wake it up.
“Call Dom Landry,” I know he goes by Omen now, since he joined the DRMC and moved to the new chapter here in Louisiana, but I knew him as Dom and that’s how he’ll stay until I get a new phone. Or talk Lexi into taking on my admin.
“Yo, Dima, you good bro? How’s Orleans?” Dom asks after three rings.
I smile at the sound of his voice and his question.
I never found the Landry brothers, they found me.
At a particularly grim time of my life they took me in, helped me hone my skills and taught me that I may have been living in darkness, but there was a lightness in me that I could use to help others.
“I’m… busy. And I have a request for disposal.”
Dom’s chuckles make their way down the line. “A disposal, huh? What’s the crime?”
I take a deep breath, “Kidnaps blonde girls between the ages of five and eight. Sells their bodies until they can’t take it anymore then disposes of them.”
Cursing from three distinct voices can be heard and the crackling on the line signals that Dom’s put me on speaker.
“What’s the stats on the garbage?” Vic, or Vex seethes.
“Around 6’, at least 250 pounds. Fat, not muscle.”
“When’s the delivery date?”
I glance at my watch. I’ll have to do it sooner rather than later.
It’s a six hour return drive from my home base in New Orleans to The Keep MC clubhouse, so that’s a day out of my schedule.
If I’m right I need to locate my woman before Halloween evening.
That leaves me roughly five days to find her and save her from whoever is hunting her. “Tomorrow night work?”
“Not on a load that large. Can you push it out to the night after? Give Gretchen some time to fast for her next meal?”
“Deal. Give Gretchan a pat for me.”
“Will do.” Dom says, “Dima? Be safe, yeah?”
My chest tightens a little at the sentiment. “Always. You be safe too. There are things coming for the MC, so watch each other’s backs.”
There is a beat of silence, then a grunt of acknowledgement.
The Landrys know how I work. They know I may not always have the full picture so whatever I give them is left up to interpretation.
Until I have more information. Presently I just know that things are coming for The Keep chapter, so they need to stay alert.
The line goes dead and I slip my phone into my jacket pocket. Leaving my vehicle I make my way across the street, not paying attention to anything other than the front door of the house of horrors. I knock gently, then position myself so no one will be able to see the lock pick in my hands.
“You come for de chile?”
My back stiffens for a moment, surprised that someone has not only noticed me, but is speaking to me. This never happens. Usually I blend in, like a ghost. In and out on silent feet.
“I see ya in da dark, witch. Shadows cain’t hide you from me.”
Turning, I’m met with a dark gaze from a tiny woman in a rocking chair on the porch next door. She stares at me, hard, like she’s trying to read what’s written on my soul. The silence wraps around us both until she kicks her foot, her rocking chair creaking back on the porch then swinging forward.
“Save dem li’l gals… save ya soul one more time.” She flicks her head to the back of the property.
I lean to the side, over the railing to see what might await me in that direction.
There’s a door to what looks like an old walk-in freezer, those big ones you see in restaurants.
My head throbs in time with my heart beat, my vision hazy as I’m met with more than one little girl on a filthy mattress in a dark room.
Blinking to clear my vision, I look at the old woman in the rocking chair, nodding once.
Moving silently down the front steps I move to walk past her porch before stopping, making eye contact with her once again. “If you knew they were there, why didn’t you call someone?”
“Why I gonna do dat, when I knew you was comin’ to handle de problem?” She peers at me with her black eyes. “You gon’ handle him, yeah?”
“Da, I’ll handle him.”
“Course you is.” With a dismissive wave she turns back to watch the street, rocking without a care in the world.
Shaking my head I make my way to the freezer, the thing having seen better times. It’s rusted in places, probably from where the flood waters sat stagnant for a period of time. I make quick work of the crappy padlock, gently peeling the doors open, letting in a little light.
“Hello? My name is Dima. I’ve come to help you,” I call softly as I make my way in.
Whimpers reach my ears and I blink my eyes, trying to hurry them to adjust. My heart lurches at the sight and I have to tamp down the pure rage bubbling up from my depths.
The last little girl I found, the one Lexi had a lead on, was taken by her estranged grandmother.
She was cared for, loved, clean and fed.
These three little girls have tear streaked faces, matted hair and bruises and blood on their tiny bodies.
“I’m here to take you home.” As the words leave my mouth the little girl in the center of the three hobbles toward me, throwing herself into my arms, the other two following her lead moments later.
Wrapping them in my arms I carry them out into the sunshine, the fresh air, and away from the nightmare they have endured. I swiftly move down the side of the house, making my way to my vehicle to get these little angels to safety.
“Witch, ya woman waitin’ for ya to find her. Best not keep her, non?”
I dip my chin in acknowledgement. My woman will have to wait until I have these kids safe and sound, and their monster gone.
La Madrina
“Ah, Lucia, little cousin, how are you?” Giuseppe wraps his doughy moist hands around my upper arms and drops wet kisses to both of my cheeks.
“Giuseppe, good to see you cousin.” My forced grin hiding my absolute disdain and hatred for the fat fuck.
If I didn’t have to check on business in the factory he runs I would never socialise with him. I’m sure he’s one of the men on the list wanting rid of me. Good thing I know he doesn’t possess the balls to do it.
“Do you want any refreshments before we take the tour?” Giuseppe raises a thick brow toward his nonexistent hairline, and I thank god yet again that I take after my mother.
“No, thank you, cousin. I have a busy schedule. Let’s take a look at the factory floor.”
“As you wish, Lu.”
I bite my tongue trying not to snap at him. “Lucia or La Madrina if you prefer.” I smile sweetly knowing full well that no, he would not prefer.
“Lucia,” he sneers through a smile. I roll my lips between my teeth trying not to laugh as we play the game of friendly cousins and not would-be rivals if one of us had bigger balls. Hint: not me.
I follow as he waddles ahead of me, waving at this and that.
Whining about which machines need more investment to have them running at their full potential.
I don’t know how many times I’ve told him that we don’t need to be making money from the sugar we refine.
I mean, sure, it’s good to line our pockets, but we really only need it to launder our money and a way to transport the drugs my family distributes.
I know all about the business we own and I know exactly how all these machines run.
I also know that Giuseppe is full of shit when he says the machines need upgrading.
The only thing investment money will upgrade is his hairline.
A standard cell phone ring tone echoes through the factory, bouncing off the walls as Giuseppe holds his fat stubby finger up, asking me to wait a moment while he answers it.
I make a show of glancing at my watch then turn my back to him, walking down the aisle to check on the machinery.
I check the dials and knobs, all the while listening in on my dear cousin’s call.
He’s switched to hissing in Italian, his pitch getting higher as he argues with his hitman.
Yes, Giuseppe, the overweight, balding son of my father’s brother is talking to the very person he contracted to kill me.
Rolling my eyes I slip my hand into my luxury purse to retrieve my phone.
I quickly flick a message to La Strega, giving her my location and a terrible boomer angled Facebook profile photo of my cousin so she knows which fat, white guy to kill at the factory.
Almost immediately she sends back a thumbs up, then a tongue, peach emoji and water droplets.
I roll my lips between my teeth, shaking my head, only to catch my eye on a large, balding man with rapist glasses staring at me from the walkway above.
If he’s going to stare at me, I’ll stare right back.
Into his soul. You don’t get to my position in the Family without being able to look deep into a person and see not only what they most desire, but whether there’s a part of them I can exploit for my own gain.
He shuffles in place a little, his meaty hands curling into fists and if I wasn’t watching him so intently I’d almost miss the shadow moving to his right.
Blinking, my eyes dart to his right once again, trying to find movement, figure out if he’s alone or not, and yet whoever, or whatever was there is now gone.
“Lucia?” Giuseppe’s fake jovial voice breaks my stare down with the creep upstairs, and probably for the best. “Ah, there you are! Right next to the machine and vat I needed to talk to you about.”
Focusing on Giuseppe and his smarmy grin I paste a bored look on my face. “Giuseppe, you know as well I do there is nothing wrong with this equipment. Now, if you wanted a hair transplant all you had to do was ask for it.” I smile sweetly.
“You little bitch! I’ll fucking kill you!” He spits, taking a step toward me and freezing with this foot mid-air.
“Ty tak s ney ne razgovarivay.”
My breath catches and eyes widen as a tall, blonde man with piercing blue eyes steps out of the shadows behind my cousin, a gun trained on him.
“Wh-what!?” Giuseppe splutters.
“I said, don’t talk to her like that.” The blonde leans into Giuseppe’s space, my cousin’s fat double chin wobbling as he opens and closes his mouth, as if to argue.
“Well, well, well, what do we have here, then?” La Strega’s light tinkling voice bounces off the machinery and Doc Marten’s boots gently thud on the concrete floor.
“Witch,” I greet her, surprised when the blonde answers at the same time as La Strega.
“Ah, she was talking to me, hot guy,” La Strega says, smirking.
“Was she?” His deep voice reverberates through the factory.