Chapter Three
Sweat rolls down my temple. My body feels sticky and overheated.Who knew teaching self-defense classes would be so taxing? Not me.
”Okay girls,” I say, breathlessly. ”Take five.”
The room lets out a sigh of relief. They”re as tired as I am, and we”re only halfway through today”s class. I glance around the room as I sip my water bottle. My class is for women and girls, ages nine to ninety-nine. The majority of the women here are in my mother”s program, The Warrior Dove. It”s a non-profit that helps women and children leave domestic violence situations. Well, really, any situation. I”ve never seen my mother turn away someone in my twenty-six years.
She ran a place like this when we lived in Ireland too, just on a much smaller scale. When my father moved us all to America, she wasn”t happy. Ireland had been her home for so many years she couldn”t bear to leave it. But she did for my father. She”d do anything for him, and he would for her. If he were still with us.
My hand goes to the white gold necklace clasped around my throat. I fiddle with the V charm. The last gift from my father. A pang goes through my body like it always does when I think about my dad. He”s been gone three years now. Everyone says time heals all wounds, but that”s a lie. The heartbreak of losing him still pulsates and bleeds. There”s no healing it.
”Ms. Vivienne?”
Pulling myself from my thoughts, I look towards the soft voice that called my name. ”Yes?”
One of the newer additions to The Warrior Dove glances around, nerves filling her whiskey-colored eyes. She”s a few years younger than me, at least. Emilia is her name, I believe.
”Can I speak to you privately? It will take just a minute.”
I furrow my eyebrows. ”Of course. Emilia, right?”
She cringes. ”Close, but it”s Emilie.”
Damn.
”I”m sorry. Follow me, and we can talk.”
She nods. I lead her out of the room and into the hallway. It”s deserted, like always when I”m hosting a class. We want the girls to feel comfortable, meaning there will be no onlookers. So twice a week, my mother sends everyone, sans security and herself, home early for the day.
There”s a blast of cool air out here. For a minute, I”m grateful for the reprieve. But standing here in tiny shorts and a sports bra, it”s not long before I feel goosebumps on my arms.
”What can I do for you, Emilie?”
”I need your help.”
Her voice is clear and strong despite the worry I see all over her face. She”s been here a month already, but I can still see the yellowish shadows of old bruises marring her skin. I hope she”s asking me to strangle the asshole who created them.
”My daughter,” Emilie starts again, looking over her shoulder. ”Last night, she had a visitation with her father. It”s supposed to be supervised… but the supervisor left early for some reason. He probably charmed her. It doesn”t matter. When I went to pick her up, I caught him on top of her…” She trails off, emotion clogging her voice.
Her body starts to shake before a full-blown sob wrenches free of her chest. The horror of what she”s implying hits me in the chest. I pull her into my arms, tears burning my eyes. The two of us stay like that in the chilly hallway until her eyes are cried out.
Emilie pulls away from me. She looks me straight in the eyes and says, ”I want you to kill him.”
My lips fall into a line. ”You know what I do?”
She nods. ”You”re the nightshade he was always so scared of. I wasn”t sure at first, but one of the other girls confirmed it the other day.”
I recoil at her use of my stupid nickname. It started out as a joke at the club. The regulars thought it was hilarious. Somehow, it became an identity of mine. I don”t like it. Makes me feel like I”m a vigilante, like Batman or something. When all I really am is a woman fed up with the treacherous men polluting the Earth.
”And you sure this is what you want?”
”Yes,” she says, not a moment”s hesitation. ”Please, Ms. Vivienne. I can”t pay you, but please. Help me.”
Tears roll down Emilie”s face as she begs me to help.
”Shhh,” I say, comforting her. ”I”m going to help. And you don”t owe me a cent, okay?”
”Okay,” she says. ”What do you need from me?”
”I need you to tell me what you know about him.”
”O-okay. His name is C-Carlos Mendova. He”s a loan shark on the strip.”
I”ve heard that name before. Carlos Mendova and his brother, Cesar Mendova, have a seedy little strip club—or they did. Until my brother found out they were part of a human trafficking ring he had recently broken up. He shut them down and killed Cesar. It seems he missed the other brother.
”Where can I find him?”
”He”s staying at the Thousand Suns motel.”
My face contorts in disgust. That place is a shithole. Worthy of a pig like Carlos, though.
”Where is your daughter now?”
Emilie nods towards the room we just left. I follow her line of sight to a little girl. She can”t be more than eleven. There”s a haunted look in her eyes that I recognize. It stares back at me every time I look in the mirror.
”Her name is Nevaeh.”
Turning back towards Emilie, I squeeze her shoulder. ”I”ll take care of Carlos. Don”t worry about a thing.”
Emilie swallows. Her shoulders slump forward. ”Thank you.”
Together, the two of us head back into class. I go through the motions of teaching, keeping my eyes glued to Emilie and Neveah. The latter winces as she copies my movements. Watching her do so sends a fresh wave of pure rage through me. A man like Carlos deserves the worst death I can conjure. I”m giddy at being the one to send that animal to the deepest depths of hell.
My brain is in overdrive as class ends, trying to come up with a plan for Carlos. Killing him quick would be too merciful. In fact, killing him in general feels like an inadequate justice for what Neveah has suffered through. His violation of her will plague her for the rest of her life. There will be nightmares and flashbacks. Tears and screams. She”ll forever wonder why her. What was it about her that made a man hurt her so much? Carlos may have committed the crime, but Neveah is the one sentenced to a life of grief. Death seems too easy. I”ll just have to make sure I make it hurt. Maybe I can have my little sister look into him. A man like that is bound to have some secrets. Profitable secrets. Money like that could give Emilie and Neveah a chance to build their dream life.
A chorus of screams erupts from the little girls in the room. Following their line of sight, I find my mother looking in through the window on the door. A few of the girls run towards the door and push it open.
”Mrs. Francine.”
”Hey, my beautiful girls,” my mother says, leaning down to hug them. ”How are you?”
I dismiss the rest of the class as the girls fawn over my mother. I”m grateful for the interruption so I can sneak out. I”d rather not get stuck with my mother. She”s been hovering since my baby sister ran away and my older sister went on her honeymoon. I love her; I do. But this is the exact reason I moved out. I need my space. That woman sees too much. I just need a break from her treating me as if I”m broken. I know I”m broken. I don”t need her to drive that point home.
Grabbing my bag, I attempt to slip out through the back room. I”ve barely stopped when all the hope of going unnoticed goes up in smoke.
”Vivienne Rosaline McBride, don”t even think about sneaking out.”
Well, shit. I turn around.
”Do we really need to do this tonight?”
She rears back, a hurt look crossing her face. Fuck.
”You don”t want to spend time with your mother?”
I can feel the tiny, sharp teeth of guilt gnawing on my bones. Tears are welling up in her electric green eyes. Double fuck.
”Of course I do. I just really need to get some work done.”
”You can take one night off to have dinner with your mother, Vivi.”
I blow out a breath. ”Fine. Let”s go upstairs. I need a shower first.”
The instant I give in, her whole demeanor changes. Her tears evaporate right before my eyes. Annoyance pierces through the sting of the guilt. More at myself. She shouldn”t know how to play me so damn well.
”Okay,” she smiles as she loops our arms together. ”I haven”t gotten to see your apartment yet.”
”You designed it,” I snark.
When she designed the non-profit, she added twelve floors of apartments to give the women and children a safe, secure place to live. I live in one of them. In addition to having my space, I”m also here as an extra layer of security for the girls. We”ve never had any issues before, but you never know.
I wave goodbye to my students as we cross the threshold. My mother is quiet as we ride up the elevator to my apartment. When the doors slide open, she doesn”t detangle our arms. As if she”s afraid I”m going to vanish. She”s not handling the three of us girls being out of the house well at all; I knew that. But I didn”t realize it was quite this bad. I”m almost sorry to let go of her arm, but I have to get my keycard out of my bag.
Pushing my door open, I lead her inside my apartment. The lights turn on as we walk through the foyer into the living room. I watch as my mom takes it in. She runs her hand along my purple velvet sofa.
”You really made this place your own.”
Her tone is full of pride more than anything, but I sense a sadness in her words.
”Thank you,” I reply. ”I”m going to shower, and then we can have dinner.”
”Let me make you some of my special tea first.”
Yes. A little THC is exactly what I need right now. It helps me get creative with my murders. I need that in spades for Carlos.
”I could use some tea. I”ll show you where everything is.”
I set my bag down on the marble kitchen island before putting the kettle on the stove.
”Honey lemon or chai?” my mother asks, pulling out a little tin full of tea bags from her purse
”Do you just carry that thing everywhere, or did you plan this?”
”You never know when you might need a little special tea to get you through the day,” she replies. ”Now, which flavor?”
”Chai.”
I hate honey lemon. Really, I just hate honey. It reminds me of some gross cough syrup my mother used to shove down our throats when we were kids.
”Guess your aversion to honey hasn”t changed since you moved.”
”First, honey is gross. The smell alone is enough to make me gag. Don”t even get me started on the viscosity. Second, you make it sound like I”ve been gone for years. It”s been two months.”
”A lot could change in two months.”
”Not my taste buds.”
”Fair enough.”
The kettle screams into the kitchen. I move it off the burner before grabbing two mugs from the cabinet and filling them with hot water. Once I carry them to where my mother sits at the island, she drops the two bags into the water.
My mother takes a sip before placing her mug in front of her. ”So, how have you been?”
”I”m fine.”
She gives me a look as if she doesn”t believe me.
”What?”
”I just worry about you,” my mother finally says. ”Always have.”
”I know. But I”m fine. Promise.”
”Okay. I”ll try to relax.”
”Thank you.”
”It”s just that you”ve been so different since the incident.”
”The incident? That”s what we”re calling it?”
”What would you rather I say?”
”The truth?” I say, a flare of anger going through me as the memories from my sixteenth birthday assault me. ”I was gang raped. Don”t try to act as if it wasn”t a big deal.”
”Jesus, Vivi,” my mother croaks. ”I”m not doing that. I just don”t want to remind you if I can help it, baby. You”ve been so angry ever since it happened.”
I want to laugh or cry, but I”m unsure which would be more productive. She thinks I”m angry? I”m not angry. Anger is too simple of an emotion to describe how I feel. How I”ve been feeling for ten long years.
”I have a right to be upset,” I reply.
”It”s been ten years, Viv. You have every right to be upset, but don”t you think it”s time to let this go?”
A humorless laugh falls from my lips. ”Let it go? Why would I do that?”
If I”m being honest, I don”t know how to let it go. That night may have been ten years ago, but its pain is like an infection. It has spread and spread. Now, I’m so consumed by the it all, I don’t know how to claw my way out of the hurt.
”So you could be happy. You could meet someone and fall in love. You could have a family.”
”I don”t want a family.”
”What?”
”I”m not going to give you any grandbabies, mother. Never.”
”You”re sure?”
”Am I sure that I don”t want to bring a child into a world where people destroy anything beautiful? Yeah, I”m sure.”
I know my place. I wasn”t built to conceive life but to end it.
She looks shocked. ”Okay, well, even without that, you should let yourself heal.”
I barely resist the urge to roll my eyes. I love my mother and all. If I”m honest, the woman is my hero. She helps everyone she meets. She”s kind and loving yet disciplined. My mother is the exact woman I always wanted to be. But the truth is, I”ll never be her. Not even close.
”How do you expect me to do that?”
My mother”s face twists. ”There”s no magic recipe to healing. You just keep moving forward until the pain isn”t so bad anymore.”
“Easier said than done.”