Chapter 8
Momentum
Zoe
“Can you like, get rid of that thing?” Brandon says, sitting next to me.
I turn and give him an animated hurt look, placing my hand over my heart, “And why would I do that? This is the most romantic gift I’ve ever received.”
“That’s sad.” He shakes his head, keeping his eyes on me.
I shrug instead of answering, knowing it’s true—it is sad.
“What’s behind that door? The door Teddy came out of?” I query, changing the subject quickly to avoid the subject that is my sad romantic life.
It’s Brandon’s turn to shrug when he answers, “Hell.”
We sit there for a moment in a comfortable silence, before Brandon leans over and puts his hand on my thigh. I don’t do anything at first but look at it, and I finally meet his eyes with mine, “Quite bold of you to assume I won’t cut that fucking hand off and feed it to you.”
Brandon beams and puts his hands up defensively, “Jesus, okay.”
I stand back up to look around the home theater.
There are two rows of black leather reclining chairs in the center of the room facing the screen that takes up the entire size of the wall, to the right there is a large red velvet couch then on the left there is a matching loveseat.
I take my time studying the movie posters on the walls that show a mix of genres.
“That’s my favorite!” Brandon chimes as I’m reading over a Top Gun poster.
I scoff, “Of course it is. You’re incredibly predictable.” He doesn’t respond when I move over to the next one.
“However, this is a wild card.” I raise an eyebrow, now looking at the 1967 poster for The Taming of the Shrew. I look back at all the other posters. “Most of these films I can pin on any one of you. But this one is kind of left field.”
“You think so? Why don’t you try?” Brandon challenges, now standing next to me.
I cock my head at him and point at another poster, “The Big Lebowski, I’d pin it on Dean. Not just because of his masculine energy, but I think he embraces chaos-- despite him trying to act all stoic and hard.” I explained.
Brandon gives me an approving nod, so I move to the next. “Ferris Bueller's Day Off, I think also belongs to you. It symbolizes individuality and freedom, which is what I see when I look at you.”
I get another nod of approval accompanied with an expression that tells me he’s impressed. “Go on,” Brandon encourages.
“Oh, Brother Where Art Thou, I’d match to Max. Mostly due to the theme of power and judgment, but also because he strikes me as a George Clooney man.” I glance back at Brandon to see if I’m right again.
“Okay, so you’re a film buff, but you’re guessing based on surface level shit, anyone can do that.” Brandon gives a fake yawn, acting as if he’s bored.
“Fine, pick a hard one then.” I speak.
He taps his chin while he thinks and looks around the room, “Who do you think that one belongs to?” He finally asks, pointing at a poster on the opposite wall.
“The Outsiders?” I questioned. “It belongs to all of you. It stands for self-sacrifice and honor and challenges the battles of individual identity versus group identity. For a tight knit brotherhood like the Karma Boys, I’d expect that this is a movie you all cherish.” I cross my arms.
Brandon gives me a slow clap as I turn around, “Okay, I give it to you. You’re good. But you still haven’t placed The Taming of the Shrew.” He points his thumb at the poster behind him.
I sigh and walk back to it, “Well none of you strike me as Shakespeare aficionados, so I don’t think it relates directly to any of you on a surface level.” I interpret. “So, it has to mean something else. Something more personal, maybe even a family member’s favorite movie.” I look back to Brandon.
Brandon tsks, “That’s not really an answer though, now, is it?”
“No, it isn’t. But maybe whoever likes this movie does relate to the morals of the story as well?
” I phrase it like a question hoping Brandon would give me a hint or a sign in his facial features.
At first, I don’t see it, but there is a small quirk in his eyebrow that tells me I’m on the right track.
“It could be that it shows people coming to grief through their own folly, or the themes of power and the capability of influencing others in their behavior.” I continued. “My first guess would be Max, but that’s too obvious. This movie is favored by Teddy.” I finally answered.
I chew on the corner of my lip while I stare at him, hoping that I’m right in my assessment. After a long pause he finally sighs, “You’re good. How long have you been reading people, princess?” Brandon takes a step closer to me.
“An assassin’s most important skill is reading her targets.” I purr.
Brandon steps even closer. “Are you saying we’re your targets?
” His breath coasts my skin as he lowers his voice.
Heat pools in my lower stomach and I clench my thighs to relieve the pulsing in my clit.
My treacherous pussy begins to quiver, but I at once swipe away the feeling of arousal and step away from him.
“Everyone is a target.” I leave him with that and hurriedly walk out of the room.
I rush through the house and up the stairs to my appointed room, slamming the door behind me.
“What the hell is your problem?” I whisper-yell to my groin. “Thirsty whore, this is not the right time to get a mind of your own.”
I want more than anything to be back in my own apartment. I need to get away from these Greek gods and their sorcerer capabilities that enchant my vagina. I pace around my room trying to rid myself of this pent-up aggression, needing a release, air, or something.
Sex could help.
No. If I do decide to partner with the Karma men, it will need to stay strictly business.
Sex will just muddy up the water and blur the lines, and I know I wouldn’t be able to limit myself to just one of them.
I’m sure that would cause even more problems than I already have.
They’re all crazy. There is no telling how possessive or jealous they get, so sex is off the table.
I shake out my hands and shoulders to cool myself down and get my nerves under control. Once I feel my heart rate slow, I exit my room again and slam into a hard body.
“Shit, sorry.” I mutter and look up at the man standing over me.
“Easy, there.” Max smiles and straightens my shoulders. “Where are you rushing off to, Harpy?”
“Harpy?” I ask, pinching my eyebrows together.
He ignores the question, and asks again, “Where are you going?”
“Just needing some air. Getting a little cabin fever locked up in this house.” I say, trying to maneuver around him.
Max puts his arm against the wall, trapping me against the bedroom door, “What are you holding?” He snatches the bag out of my hand.
“Hey! That’s mine!” I yell trying to snatch it back, but he pulls it out of my reach.
“What the fuck, is this a tongue? Is Brandon running around without a tongue somewhere in this house?” He studies the bag, still holding it out of my reach.
“Not to my knowledge, but that was a gift. Give it back!” I yelled, jumping to grab it.
“A- a gift?” He furrowed his eyebrows, but it's quickly followed by a sigh, “Teddy.” Max pinches the bridge of his nose before turning away from me, stealing the tongue.
I rush after him, but his steps are outpacing me as he barrels down the stairs to the mystery door that Teddy came from earlier. He goes through it, and without hesitation I follow him into the space behind the door, followed by more stairs. “More stairs? What the fuck,” I mumble.
“Filthy fucking rich, but you can’t install an elevator?” I huff, still trying to catch up to him to retrieve my gift from Teddy.
Once we make it to the bottom, I observe the converted basement. ‘Welcome to the Show’ by VOSTOK is blaring loudly from a speaker. The floors are a sleek marble; the walls are white—a stark contrast to the upstairs.
“Teddy!” Max booms, yelling over the song.
Teddy stands from his hunched position and looks back to us, brightening when he sees me. “Hi there, little devil.” He gives me a smile while he turns down the speaker.
When he moves, I see what he was hunched over. A limp and bloodied body lays on the floor, missing a few limbs. Only then do I notice the chainsaw in his hands and the fresh blood dripping from his body and face.
Max throws the bagged tongue onto a metal table and glares at Teddy, “You can’t do shit like this, Teddy.” He scolds.
Teddy looks from the bag to me, hurt showing in his expression, “Little devil, d-did you not like it?” His voice is low, and I can almost see a quiver in his lower lip. His expression pulls on my heart strings.
“I loved it!” I rush the words out. “This sourpuss,” I point at Max, “stole it from me.”
Teddy looks relieved but then hardens his face when he looks back at Max, “Give it back to her! She likes her gift!”
Max lets out a labored sigh then passes it to me without even sparing me a glance, “Fucking weird.” He grumbles.
I ignore him and cherish the bag before giving Teddy an appreciative gaze.
“Once you’re done here, it’s time for us to have our meeting upstairs.” Max says.
Max grabs my wrist to pull me with him as he exits the room, but I snatch my arm back. “I want to look around.”
Teddy lights up and rushes to my side, “Do you want to play, little devil?”
Before I can answer Max interrupts me, “No, Teddy. You go ahead and clean up and maybe later you can play if Zoe here can’t comply.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I chime in, but I get no answer.
Groaning, I decide to follow behind Max until something catches my eye. “What the hell, did you steal my fucking garrote?” I ask Max.
All I get as an answer is a chuckle, which irritates me even more, making me stomp up the stairs.
Once we are back up to the main level, Max shuts the door and towers over me, still clutching my wrist. “I told you not to mess with Teddy.” Max growls.
I peel his fingers off of me, “Grab me like that again, and I’ll tear your throat out and shove it so far up your-”
“Do not threaten me, Harpy.” he interrupts me. I wait for him to try to grab me again, but he stalks away instead.
I cross my arms and lean my back against the door. “Asshole.”