Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
DIORA
I split off from the guys once we arrive at the mansion. It took us an hour and a half to get here, and in the long car ride here, we went over the plan.
This is only one of the ‘homes’ that Calix Smith owns. Opening the door, I find myself surrounded by stained glass windows and high arches lit with dim candles. The walkways are lined with a velvety red carpet and hardwood floors with intricate moldings of angles and swirls, like a church.
A fucking church.
I could vomit from the idea they took design inspiration from a church for a trafficking ring event house.
I step in from the servants’ quarters’ door, dressed in an outfit far too sexy to be an average waiter.
I let Juliet straighten my naturally curly hair to fit the dress code.
It was nice having Juliet help me get ready for tonight, for what she thinks is a date with Elliot.
Is this a date? Our first date? Hmm, our first date.
No, the ball was definitely our first date.
I watch as everyone bustles around. Girls dressed like me running around with tremors in their fingers and a deep fear settled in their eyes. I figure now is the best time to lace all the drinks with dustings of crushed up hemlock.
The drinks tonight are liquor—old fashioneds, I think—in fancy, mug-like glasses that are supposed to be garnished with a fake white flower.
This plant I have is similar-looking to what is supposed to be garnishing the drinks white and is poisonous to the touch and more so when ingested. The amount I’ll put in each drink will only weaken the buyers here tonight, not kill them.
Killing them will be done by my hands, well, knife. I’d use a gun, but my aim is shit.
All the trays are being filled with drinks and finger foods. As a man in a black buttoned shirt places the drinks on the trays, I follow behind with my beautiful plant that looks more like a garnish than a poison.
No one can tell this beauty is a poison.
It kills to be dumb.
I could almost laugh at what we were doing. Us being heroes? Being the good guys? Never thought any of us would see the day. But nothing is funny when I see little girls and boys being dragged into rooms in dirty robes and tears staining their cheeks.
This place is disguised as a church, damning the innocent and serving the evil. I watch as the other frightened wait staff gather appetizers and drinks on silver trays, and I grab one, too, following their lead.
If anyone thinks I don’t belong, no one says anything.
The level of terror in the room is hard to swallow.
Even as I venture down the halls to the room that Elliot and Enyo will be in, I still feel nerves tickling over my shoulders, but I also felt the itch to kill crawl its way up my spine and circle around my neck.
Having an excuse to be bad causes a thrill of joy to lace my limbs. We have two jobs here tonight: kill every single buyer in here and get the kids to a halfway house.
I dampen my smile, since no one else is smiling, and I finally make it to the room on the top floor.
On this whole floor, there is only one door.
One single girl with a tray like mine stands outside the door, probably waiting to be called in, but once she makes eye contact with me, she furrows her brows.
I wordlessly tilt my head to signal her to move, which she doesn’t.
Damn, I was hoping that would work.
“What are you doing?” she mutters, scared. Her brown eyes are glassed over, as if they’re holding back tears, and her wrist shakes under her tray, spilling her drinks. She’s outside the boss’s room, and she’s terrified, which means that if the girls mess up here, they’re punished.
Maybe they’re punished regardless of who they serve tonight.
“You’re wanted.” I speak lowly to her, getting way closer than I would like. Our noses nearly touch, and I smell her sweat and perfume mix.
“Why?” Her voice is shaky as she brings her tray down off her shoulder to hold with both hands.
She’s got the same dress on as I do, the same tights and four-inch heels clicking on the stone floors.
While this dress may be sexy on me, it’s a crime on her.
She looks no older than fifteen and should be in big tulle dresses, not mini black dresses that almost show her ass.
She’s got freckles lining her checks and curls straining under her heat pressed hair. She is a beautifully trapped girl.
“Do I look like I know why?” I snip, trying to keep my vocabulary short in case I mess up and use the wrong term.
“You’ve got quite the attitude for a newbie,” she scoffs and storms off. I watch her swish her ponytail as she walks, and I could smile at the fire she still has, despite her situation. She doesn’t know this will be her last night here.
Getting her to leave was much easier than I thought it was going to be. I replace her by the door. Wafting the drinks over my nose as I move the tray to balance on my hand and rest on my shoulder.
The flower floating on the top is pretty, but the extra leaves I had ground inside these drinks will do most of the work to weaken every drinker in this house.
Footsteps sound from down the hall, and my eyes snap toward the noise. According to Elliot, no one is supposed to be here except for the one waiter outside the door. Who the hell is coming?
I wear my knife in a garter on my inner thigh, but if this is trained security coming up, I won’t have the finesse to grab it in time. Rolling my lips, I wait and keep my gaze straight ahead of me as the thundering of boots gets closer. I hear male laughs and shit talking.
The men playing security guards must be here willingly if they are able to laugh. It’s then I fantasize about my knife sliding clean through the sides of their necks. A quick movement. I wonder if my blade would poke through the other side.
“Hey, you’re not the usual dime piece standing here.” A voice snaps me out of my fantasy and my eyes jerk to them. Two of them. Smiles wide and hair buzzed. Muscle packed on muscle, and I know just by that alone I need something stronger than a knife. I need a gun.
I keep my eyes glued to the wall.
“What’s your name?” one of the brooding men asks, as one of their fingers traces the line of my collarbone. It sets the skin ablaze, and I imagine a line of dirt following the path his finger makes.
Glaring at the one who put his nasty hand on me, I turn, ready to pounce, when I feel the cool metal of the one weapon I wished I had against the back of my head. The other security guy leans in, his hot breath hitting my ear.
“By the time a pretty girl gets to this level, the fight is gone and their lights are out, so tell me, what are you doing here?”
My lights are on? The lights in my eyes are on? My head snaps to the side, regardless of the gun pointed at my head. I meet the eyes of the guard, his face mostly covered by the ski masks they wear, but I can’t help the hope that fills my gut.
“You can see my light?” I ask.
“Bitch, what the fuck kind of question is that?” the other one snaps, his spit landing on my face.
I watch their faces. I hope they can tell me just one more time. One more time, that’s all I need. Maybe… if I could show Mom. Maybe if Mom saw the light in my eyes now—I shake my head as the scar on my forearm lights with awareness.
I don’t know if it will change anything if she sees the light in my eyes now. I’m still her monster, and I probably always will be.
Clenching my jaw, I push back the weak girl who only wanted to be good. The girl who’d do anything to be told she had the light. I need to be sure the light is what these guys saw.
“My eyes have a light?” I ask again, looking at the guy with the dirty finger to see if he’ll tell me. Why do I have the light now and not when I was six? Why now, when Mom can’t see it?
She was so heartbroken over my eyes being dark, and the one time they have light is when… is when I’m on a mission. A mission to free the kids in the trade. A mission to kill everyone involved.
I guess they get tired of my questions, or maybe they don’t feel the need to answer, because the guy behind me knocks my head forward with his gun, and that’s when I see my chance to dip out.
The tray nearly drops from my hands, the drinks spilling on the carpet as I trip forward, but my hand grips the handle and is urged in the room before the guys could tussle with me anymore.
I sigh against the door, and I hear their sharp curses as they try for the door handle.
“Wait, the boss is in there. We can’t go in,” I hear one of them say. The pressure on the door handle stops, and I finally look up, only to meet unfamiliar eyes.
“Well, well, excuse the hell out of me, gentlemen. Normally, our girls are trained better than that,” the unfamiliar man says with a light laugh, his smile wide over his naturally tanned skin.