Chapter 44
Poison
Burned frames
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T he walls are painted in red, white, and black checker box design; throughout them are different varieties of painted pictures hanging of naked women. Some with chains around their necks, while other men stand around holding the chains—another perverse art of a woman held against her will while in bondage hangs from a wall.
I look away, ready to tear the pictures down. Who in the fuck drew these? The floor is outstretched with deep red carpet, dark like red wine. It's crisp and clean, as if no one walks on it.
“I like creepy, but fuck me,” Mal says, glancing at the walls and pictures.
“This is sick.” Anita looks around in disgust.
We continue down the hall that seems to stretch on forever until we reach the middle. As soon as we make it there, the doors at the end of the hall open. Men, or women, with dark suits, silver skeleton masks, and best of all, guns now face us. They immediately point and fire in our direction.
“Shit,” I grit, slamming my hand into Anita and pulling Mal back to the wall.
“Looks like the fun has started.” Anita huffs with a smile.
I can’t help grin back at her, the exhilaration driving in my gears. We each pull our smoke bombs, tossing it in both directions as the bullets fly around us. Some hit the edge of the wall. The gunfire stops, and I can hear the confused murmurs of the shooters; then seconds later, a pop and a hiss sounds along with angry curses and shouts. One of my techs, Jesse, added a little sting that burns anyone's eyes that’s in it’s proximity.
Everybody puts on their shades to block them from contact with the mist. Without further ado, I simultaneously activate my HP-M5 submachine and Jax does, too. Moving from the wall, Mal and Jax take the other end, shooting at anyone we see standing. Anita stands next to me, shooting her HK-MP7 submachine. She stands rooted in place despite the pressure from the discharge.
Eventually, the mist began to dissipate, and now you can witness what's left of the damage.
No one is left. For now. I look down the halls, spotting one door that looks different from the rest. It’s red with that centipede symbol I’ve come to despise.
I turn to Mal and Jax. “You two take the direction down that hall. No one makes it within two feet of this door.”
Jax places his gun down, bobbing his head slightly, and for once, there appears to be some life filled into his eyes. Mal begins walking back; already excited that she gets to use her gun some more.
I turn back to Anita. “You ready, amor?” My eyes roaming up her body as she stands between two men dead at her feet.
“Of course.” She smiles, stepping over the bodies, and heads toward the door.
I saunter to her, my gun at my side. “What do you want for dinner?”
Her gun’s raised slightly. She taps her chin in thought. “I have a taste for tacos.”
“I like it.” I stepped over the body whose head was blown in. The spilled tissues and crimson reminds me of squashed tomatoes. Hmm. Some salsa on tacos sounds nice.
Her arms brush against mine, her finger gliding over my knuckles. “What do you want to eat?”
I side eye her with a grin. “I think you know the answer to that.”
She snickers, grazing on my arm again. “Food darling food.”
“Tacos or quesadillas.” I shrug.
“Quesadillas it is, then.” We arrived at the door, the bright red burning my eyes. It’s so fucking ugly, and it stands out like a dirty nail. The same key code sits above the black knob, the dotted light shining neon red.
“I’ll cook it.” I raise my gun, preparing for what’s behind the door.
Anita brows crunch as she fixes her weapon. “Maybe don't burn the chicken this time?”
“You still ate it.”
“That's typically what happens when there's nothing else to eat,” she replies with a giggle.
There goes my ego. Adios motherfucker. No doubt burst into tiny pieces, but a smirk still forms. Honesty is what I love about her. Regardless.
She raises the card to the door. It beeps green with a click.
I nod, twisting the knob and walking in. “What the fuck?” I remove my glasses.
I didn’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t a staircase that takes you underground. The walls are made of concrete, like pieces of a mountain rock, black and white steps spiraling down to a dark stairway with dull red and brown lights illuminating the path.
We peer at each other, not sure where this leads us to, but there’s no going back. This ends here.
“I always knew it was some shit like this going on. Deep dungeons, people in masks,” Anita mumbles.
I snarl. “I’ll vomit if the worst-case scenario comes true.” Kids tied down there, inexplicable things being done to them. Hell, I’ll savagely kill them all until their meat is scrapped from the bone.
We descend the steps steadily side by side, sure to not walk too hard so there’s no creak. Our steps match each other to keep the balance. I lean over to her ear. “So, I know you said you can’t cook.”
Her head shakes slowly, her eyes straight ahead. “Correct,” she whispers.
“I can teach you.”
Her brows tip higher. “You’ll teach me how to cook burnt chicken?”
A chuckle rumbles in my chest, but I contain it. “That’s top-level chef expertise, it doesn't get any better than that, amor.” I lean closer to her ear, brushing my lip over the dents. She shivers on impact. “And if memory serves, the only reason that chicken burned is that I had you bent over the counter fucking that tight cunt until you cried out my name. Does that ring any bells?”
The memory fills my head, recalling the way she cried and suffered through my onslaughts. I didn’t stop until she was convulsing and squeezing around my cock from her torturous orgasm. Through the fire alarm and all.
She folds in her lips through a smile, licking them over. She doesn’t respond to me, and that says it all.
“Exactly what I thought.” I press a kiss on her cheek before straightening up.
The closer we get, the more we can hear the subtle voices of other people and the soft music of opera. “He wants to make sure the problem is handled,” one voice says.
“We just sent up at least twenty men. I'm sure the problem will be handled.”
The room must be soundproof then. My arm lifts, stopping Anita. She halts, pressing into the rock wall. I lean over to the end of the stairs that seems to open into a large lounge area, filled with men and women. All in skeleton masks. The masks look almost realistic, it's disturbing. Inspecting some more, I quickly counted ten individuals, and none seemed to be armed with weapons. But I can tell they’re not just regular people, they’re killers, too. Two young men come out in black and white outfits, carrying a tray of champagne. They look straight ahead, not directing any stares. One guy takes a flute, then slaps the waiter on the ass. The smack nearly made him drop the other drinks. They chuckle at the audacity of touching someone else without their consent.
My throat tightens, repulsed by the scene.
“How many did you get this month?” someone says as I turn to Anita, who’s watching me for an answer. I tell her what I am seeing. I lean into her, my chest pressed against her body, one foot on the lower step while the other one on the higher.
“We can hold them at gunpoint. Whoever they’re waiting for is down here,” she whispers, looking up at me.
I glance down at her. “Gunpoint or not, they’re not making it out of here alive.”
“Agree.”
I stare at her a little longer, savoring in the way her dark eyes shimmer like coins brushed under the blue sea.
I love her face. When the bangs are removed, I get a full visual of its symmetrical shape, how naturally trimmed her brows are—not too light and not overly thick, and her long lashes that seem to flutter when she blinks.
I swear, it's like I'm seeing her for the first time. My chest tightens, and my heart palpates. It seems surreal when I think back on it. I wouldn’t want anyone else fighting this fight besides her.
No one at all.
I dip my head, same as her, rising on her tiptoes to meet me halfway, our lips meet in a gentle kiss. Our softest kisses are the ones that shoot a stampede of tingles down my spine, hitting the base and tightening my balls. It reminds me that regardless of what kind of darkness we face, that we can create our own light with one another.
“Now or never,” she whispers into my mouth.
I release a quiet, agonizing breath. I nod, stepping back, a large part of me wishing I didn’t have to leave her touch. I stroll down, raising my gun to my eye view, walking out.
Someone notices my menacing figure. “Fuck it’s him.”
Hello motherfuckers.