48. Epilogue Part I I
Cult Leader by King Mala, King Kitty
One Year Later
My eyes dart to the clock, throwing a glare at the well-dressed man who settles in at the bar. Some handsome, rich bastard, no doubt passing through town on business, at least judging by his suit that portably costs more than a year of my pay. Sure, why not walk in five minutes before last call? Maybe he’ll order, tip big, and fuck off quickly, following the droves of Sour Grape regulars as they settle their tabs and head out for the night.
I plaster a smile on my face, tossing my bar rag over my shoulder. “What’ll it be?”
A chill runs the length of my spine, setting me on edge as the man smiles up at me. It’s a smile, sure, but cold, frigid. His hazel eyes scream everything but friendly. “Bourbon, neat.”
I shake off the uneasy feeling, heading to the back wall for his drink.
Fuck, I need a smoke. Em had better cut this new fucking tooth and be done with it soon. If I don’t start getting some sleep soon, I’m not going to make it to her second birthday. I toss a napkin down on the counter, setting his drink on top of it, only for that sense of unease to find me again. His eyes are already on me when I glance up. “Nice suit for a place like the Sour Grape.”
The man's smirk is predatory, speckles of gray in his reddish-brown hair. “My wife visited years ago, and it left quite the impression on her.”
My hand tightens on the bar top. “Yeah? What’s your name?”
He takes a long drink of bourbon, pulling up his lip at the cheap shit. Good. Creepy bastard. “My friends call me Basilisk.”
Basilisk. Sure, dude.
I plaster on another smile. “Nice to meet you, Basilisk. I’m—"
“Tim, I know,” he interrupts, making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. He doesn’t look like a cop, but I’ve been wrong before. That was a fucking disaster. My pulse jumps as I stare at him, dumbfounded. “Tim, why don't you send your friend Brady a text? Tell him you got a hit on a girl.” He takes another swig, swirling the drink around until it creates a whirlpool in the glass.
"What?”
He sighs, and I nearly flinch as he pulls a phone from his pocket.
Fucking get it together. My eyes scan the bar, the outside walkway in front.
It’s one guy, but fuck, he’s fit as hell.
It takes me a moment to register what’s happening when he slides the phone across the bar. A cold sweat prickles under my cap when my eyes meet the panicked expression of my wife, Em sleeping beside her on the couch.
“What the fuck—”
“Text Brady, Tim. You’re wasting my time.”
I fumble, my eyes darting to my family again.
“Calm yourself. Things will only get messier if you make a scene.”
“Man, I don’t—”
The next time he looks at me, it's like looking at a fucking snake, and I’m realizing his friends don’t call him Basilisk. “Text Brady.”
“Please don’t hurt them, man. I just message the guy once we’ve got a girl—”
When his glass hits the bar top, it’s loud, making the nearby patrons glance over. My pulse jumps, my eyes wide with panic. He takes a calming breath; I don’t think it works. If his cold eyes were terrifying, what’s on his face now is…
More.
Just more.
Fuck, why is nobody helping me?
Why the fuck won’t they do something?
Sound from the phone below my nose jerks my eyes down as Em stirs on the couch, my wife’s hands gripping her thighs so hard, her knuckles are white.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck.
I text Brady with shaky hands, and the bitch replies immediately.
Brady: B there in 5. Dose?
I show the man, and he only nods, straightening the gold snake cuffs on his sleeves, as casual as can be.
Me: ready to go
Then, we wait.
Each second is like a battering ram until my phone dings again.
Basilisk checks my phone before I do, downing the rest of his drink before standing. My whole body trembles as he heads toward the back exit, and I glance down at my phone.
Brady: ready
He’s leaving.
Just like that.
But the phone is still here, the stream of my family still playing. My heart wrenches as Em starts crying. Lou doesn’t help her, staring in horror at someone off-screen as an older man steps into the frame, covering my daughter back up with her blanket. I have to swallow past the fear lodged in my throat.
I close the bar in record time, my pulse threatening to jump clear from my neck, vomit swirling in my gut.
That was easy .
Too easy.
And I know it.
Everything in my body is telling me to stay inside, to call the cops—and tell them what?
I’ve been a human trafficker for ten years, and I think someone I sold off’s husband is scaring the fucking shit out of me.
My palms are slick, shaking as I hurry out the back door, into the alley. The back parking lot has never seemed further away. The phone with my family is tucked in my back pocket. Where can I go? I can’t go home; it’s not safe.
Where the fuck is Brady?
I’m going to be sick.
“Her name is Chloe, my wife.”
I try to scream, but the sound gets jerked through my throat wrong, making me choke. “I don’t know anyone named—”
“Really, I should thank you.”
What?
“It’s because of you and your friend Brady that I found my little pet. Bought her straight off the market. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” He chuckles, a fond smile disrupting the cruel look on his face. “God, I am crazy about her.”
What the fuck is going on?
“You have Brady, my wife and daughter—”
“You remember her, right? My Chloe?”
Chloe…
“Fuck, man, I don’t-“
“Her last name was Tyson.”
I stop, my eyes widening on him, the darkness of the alley making him look far more threatening, if that was even possible. I gawk in horror, because I do remember. I remember her fucked up eye; I remember the police after that. We had to halt operations for a few years.
I remember the reports after. She went from missing to wanted .
Most wanted.
Traveling with a man, do not approach , armed and extremely dangerous , the works… “Thought you said your name was Bask-?”
He laughs, the sound making me take a step back. I can take him. He’s alone. That was fucking stupid. He could have a gun, though. “I have many names, countless ones. It's helpful in my line of work.”
“Yeah?” I try to sound casual, but my voice slips. “You a trader? I don’t know my contacts, if that’s what you’re after. I just dose them. They do pickup. Brady takes them first, though he didn’t …He didn’t with her . We-“
“No, I’m not a trader. Some would say I’m far, far worse.”
Then, he hits me, with what, I don’t know. His fist, maybe. It’s one of many hits, blinding pain soon giving way to darkness.
Pain.
It’s the only notable sensation when I wake.
Pain and then…cold. My head lulls where my chin was resting on my chest, spit and copper— blood covering my mouth and more . My face is fucking throbbing.
“…you win. I really thought he was dead.” It’s a woman. I strain to listen, but I can’t. Everything hurts.
Someone just grunts in response.
I think I’m going to be sick.
Someone is crying, sniffling in the room. My head explodes with pain when I try to move it, so I don’t, just willing my eyes to stay open. Lou?
No, fucking Brady.
He sounds like a chick, his bloody, naked form making me look to mine. My cock is hanging flaccid on my thigh and my entire front is slicked with blood. I retch as I force my head up, my eyes finally focusing on the woman seated in a metal folding chair in the center of the fluorescent-lit, bare, concrete room. She’s in a white pantsuit, a wide-brimmed hat outlining her dark features.
“I trust you’ll send me updates on how they’re fairing.”
“That depends,” she responds, staring at me with disgust.
My mouth opens in horror when I try to move my legs, finding them unresponsive. I try again, and oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, I can’t feel my legs .
The man sighs. I think it's Basilisk, but I can’t stop staring at my twisted, fucked up legs. “Must you always be like…this?” He trails off.
“You just gestured to all of me, Warrick.”
“Exactly.”
She gives him a half laugh, uncrossing her legs to lean in, looking at me so hard, it makes the sick in my throat surge closer. I need to think.
Fucking think!
“Did Stuart release the woman and her child?”
He huffs. “Of course.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone you guys have gone soft.”
My family—they released my family.
I look at Brady, trying to get his attention, but he’s sobbing now, his hands clasped over his ass.
“Did you tell her?” The woman asks.
“I will.”
“It’s one hell of a wedding anniversary gift, I’ll give you that. Perhaps next time, diamonds, maybe a new collar. I’ll have Andres send you the link for those chocolates we had at the lodge last month. She loved those.”
“The edibles, you mean. It took her twenty-four hours to sober up, and she painted dots on my suits.”
“Perhaps a lower dose, then.”
“I’m going home,” he huffs, sounding more annoyed than anything. Then, his eyes find mine, and he’s not annoyed at all. The rage I see there forces a sob from my throat, my body tensing so hard, I scream. Something is wrong. Fucking hell, my legs . What did he do to my legs?
“Give Chloe my love. We’ll be over for a visit soon.”
“Lucky me,” he quips, the heavy door opening and closing behind him as the woman laughs.
I shake, staring at her, tears burning the cuts on my face as she stands, walking over to me with all the leisure you’d use when walking the beach. When she squats in front of me, another sob rips from my throat. “My name is Mahari. Welcome to the House of Bloom.”