Imperial

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“Take it off.” Machi's voice rained down on me as I laid in the bed, lost and saddened by everything I set in motion.

He was right when he said I put myself in this position. I let my curiosity consume me, I let it walk me straight into his hands. It didn't make any of it right or deserved, but it was still the truth.

If I had just kept walking, I wouldn't be here. I would be home, waking up in my apartment with my cat Velcro curled around my face. I'd be having a cup of coffee with Cassie and chatting about what plans we had for the week.

I'd still be. . . Me.

Machi said his men hadn't been looking for me, if he was telling the truth, then this was all just a horrible game of coincidence.

But they did take the time to look at you.

Who were they after?

It doesn't matter. . . He found you instead.

“I don't want to.” Rolling to my side, I hugged my knees. “I like not being able to see anything.”

The blackness had started to feel like more of a friend than an enemy. It kept my mind working, it kept my senses peaked and the horrors around me in shadows. I was starting to embrace the idea of not being able to see what was going on around me.

If he was going to kill me, I wouldn't see it coming. I wouldn't have to endure those last few moments of sadness and pain. I wouldn't have the time to process what was about to happen or have the need to pray for something that was inevitable.

Death may or may not come, but I didn't have to see it when it spread its wings and devoured me whole.

“It's been days now, if you don't take it off, I will.”

“Don't you dare try and touch me.” My body crunched up tighter as I pressed my face into the space between my knees.

“I'm taking it off.” I felt his fingertips press against the blindfold, attempting to curl under the edge.

“No!” I screamed, slapping his hand away. “Do not touch me.”

“Take. It. Off.” Machi's voice drifted between high and low tones, harboring a hint of annoyance.

Pressing my hands to the side of my head, I held the cloth in place. “No.”

“Damn it, I said take it off!” The weight of his hands fell over my arms, trying to yank them away. “Just fucking take it off!”

“Fuck. You.” Clawing at the blindfold, I tried to pierce my nails into the material, keeping it firmly against my eyes.

Machi climbed up onto the mattress, straddling my waist. Releasing one hand, I swung it through the air, trying to hit him. I connected with something; his chest, his shoulder, his stomach, I wasn't sure. But it was rock hard, crunching my fingers into my palm and cracking my knuckles with an audible pop.

“How'd that feel?” he asked, pressing down onto my ribs and catching my wrist. Pushing my arm up, he pinned it high above my head.

“Fuck you!” Snarling, I grunted in anger, desperately trying to shove him off of me. But he was too heavy, crushing my chest down and making it hard to breathe. Taking in labored gulps of air, I refused to give up.

“Get off me!” Screaming, I rocked my hips, wildly bucking my body.

The two of us wrestled, his hands snatched and tore at my face, making every effort to grab the blindfold. My hands dug into my hair, holding it in place as I moved my head so he couldn't get a good grip.

“You're taking that fucking thing off.” I thought I heard him laugh as he spoke. It was a quiet giggle that didn't sound angry or agitated. His voice had lightened, turning from heated to playful.

What the hell are you doing?

Is this really where you should be putting all your effort? Trying to keep the dark?

I was fighting a battle I couldn't win. Machi wasn't giving up, and from the sound in his voice, he was enjoying our little scuffle. What good was a protest if the enemy only saw it as a game?

Let him have it, this isn't your fight. . . Living is.

“Fine,” I groaned, the single word long and drawn out. Freeing the tension in my muscles, I let my body fall limp. “Do it then, but I'm not. I don't want to see you, I don't want to see where I am, I don't want to see anything.”

The tips of his fingers curled under the thin edge of the blindfold, peeling it away. “You can't live in darkness. I need you to learn, I need you to watch and listen and pay close attention,” he said with heavy breaths still labored from our struggle.

I kept my eyes closed, refusing to look at him. “No, you get nothing.”

Machi climbed off my waist and sat beside me. “I told you that this was going to keep you alive. If you don't do what I tell you to, then I can't make you any promises.”

“Oh, now we're throwing out promises?” Stuffing my head into the mattress, I kept my face buried. “Like I'd believe your promises anyway, your word means shit to me.”

“Look at me.” Machi tugged on my shoulders, rolling me towards him. But I kept my eyes sealed shut. “Look. At. Me.” His voice grew strained, like he was pleading rather than giving me an order.

“Why?”

“You need to see in order to understand. I can't help you if you won't help yourself.” His fingers brushed the hair off my face, tender and light. “The more you defy me, the harder it's going to be on you. I don't want to punish you, that's not why you're here.”

How can you ever get out if you don't see?

I had to ask myself the question. What choices could I make if I didn't have my eyes? It wasn't the right decision to stay in the blackness, it only prevented what I wanted. An escape.

“Then why am I here?” Slowly, I cracked my lids, blinking rapidly as the light crept in. “I just want to go home.” Holding in my tears, I rubbed my eyes. “Please, take me home.”

“I can't do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you've seen too much, my guys have seen too much. I can't just send you on your way, not the way you want me to.”

Resting my hands on my forehead, I looked up at the ceiling. It was more yellow than white, with thick crown molding that appeared to have been gorgeous when it was young.

But that beauty was gone, it was forgotten and left to rot. Pieces of the molding were hanging off, secured in place by rusty nails. Huge chunks of bare wood were visible between old strokes of paint, while spiderwebs and dust took the place of shine and mystique.

Water stains marked the ceiling like a disease, sprawling out like mold on a damp piece of bread. The bed I was on had the feel of a prison bunk, the shaky metal frame was corroded and flaking. A plain green sheet covered the mattress and a folded up gray blanket rested on the end.

There was one large window, boarded up and sealed shut, keeping any sign of the outside world away. The paper that dressed the walls was pealing off in all directions, flopping over as the glue was no longer strong enough to hold it in place.

It was dark, dirty and disgusting, making my skin crawl as I sat idling, gushing with the need to be free of everything that had to do with a place like that.

The room was meant for a movie, a gore flick, a scene where a masked killer had trapped unsuspecting victims.

Looking up, I stared at my killer. He was completely opposite of what you'd expect. He was clean cut, put together in such a way that he dripped dreamy sex god; not kidnapper, life taker.

“What's going to happen to me?”

Machi reached for my hands, pulling them away from my face and examining the swollen, raw skin around my wrists. “Shit, you really did a number on yourself, these need to be cleaned.”

The touch of his fingers was surprisingly gentle, they swept lightly over the open skin as his face softened in concern. The way he caressed my wrists sent my body up in flames for all the wrong reasons.

My stomach swarmed like a cloud of locusts as my skin buzzed from head to toe, storming my heart like the hard crash of a lightening bolt.

I tried to hate it, I tried to ignore it, but his touch was unexpectedly kind. It was hard to believe that the same hands I had seen squeeze the air out of another were still capable of that much tenderness.

No. He's a killer, he's a monster.

Nothing he could do can make you forget that.

“Like you care.” Rolling my eyes, I yanked my hands away. “You think I'm really going to believe this nice guy act you got going on right now?” Tucking my hands under my ribs, I hugged myself tight. “Fuck you.”

“Things aren't always how they appear.” His lips thinned into a tight smile as he tilted his chin up. “You've got a little fire you in, that's good. . .” Strumming his lower lip with his thumb, his brows arched high. “You're going to need it here.” Standing up, he hovered over me, scrubbing his jaw. “It won't save you, nothing can save you from what you're about to see.”

Pursing my lips, I rolled back to my side, away from his all-consuming glare. “Then I'll just close my eyes again.”

“That won't work, not here. Come on, sit up.”

“No.”

His massive hand scooped under my jaw, forcing my face to his. My eyes opened wide at the sheer strength and demand of his touch. “Sit up.” Pressing his thumb into the center of my chin, he lifted my head off the bed. “You can either work with me here or I won't be able to protect you. You might think I'm the bad guy, but you've got a lot to learn.” Dropping my face, he stepped back.

Watching him, I studied his expression, his eyes, the way his hands stroked through his hair and pulled it off his forehead. He didn't seem to hold the same evil I thought I had seen.

The man I had seen that night was riddled in anger and rage. He was bleeding fierce, raw hate from every pore. But maybe I had read him wrong?

I still didn't know what was going on in that moment, I didn't know the history between the two men or what caused it to explode with such violence. The reason behind it was as much a mystery as the man who had decided to execute on site.

Machi implied he wasn't the bad guy. . . Was he right?

Or was he just blowing smoke up my ass?

Was what I actually saw just him ridding the world of another piece of shit? Could that other guy have been the real monster?

Stop! Look where you are!

He still took you!

Good guys don't claim the innocent as theirs.

Machi hovered over me, his black wavy hair glistened in blue highlights under the small light in the center of the ceiling. A tight green t-shirt hugged his shoulders, framing his large biceps and firm chest.

Staring down at me, his almond-shaped green eyes sparked in thought. It was like he was focusing on me, but I wasn't the center of his troubled mind.

Light lines stretched out from the corners of his eyelids as his mouth turned down in a frown and his hands opened and closed by his sides, balling up tight and releasing.

His face was weathered, tired, sick of it all. He didn't look like he wanted to be there anymore than I did.

There was something about the way his eyes bore into me, the way his gaze flared in frustration and crashed in apology. I wasn't sure if he meant to show me what he was feeling or if it was just something he couldn't hold in anymore.

But I saw it.

“What do you want from me?” I asked, pushing myself up and curling my fingers into the edge of the mattress. “How can you expect me to just give in? I can't, I won't.”

“You need to. The sooner you just give in and do what I'm asking you to do, the easier it will be on both of us.”

Shaking my head, I looked up at him under hooded lids. “You took me—remember? Or did you forget that?” Crossing my legs, my fingers slinked under my thighs. “You're acting like I have control over this fucking shit storm. I don't—you're the one running the show.”

Machi stood taller, rocking his jaw back and forth. I could hear his teeth grinding against each other as his mouth worked them together. His eyes stayed still, glowering behind heavy lids. “You're wrong.”

“Am I?” I waited for him to answer, to tell me that this was nothing more than a trick, a sick way to teach me a lesson.

I wanted him to tell me we were in a shitty hotel at the edge of town, that he was trying to prove a point that I shouldn't be snooping in windows because what goes on behind closed doors is none of my business.

Only he didn't; he didn't say anything like that.

“Look, I have a job to do.” Raking his fingers through his hair, Machi sighed. “And right now, you're part of that job. If I don't follow orders, I'll end up just like that asshole. I don't want that and trust me—you don't want that either.”

His words sent goosebumps over my skin. Machi said it like a threat, but his eyes seemed to tell me something different. They glazed over, falling out of anger and into sadness.

“What the hell does that mean? I'm already dead aren't I?”

“That's not what I meant.” Dropping to his knees, he braided his fingers together.

“Then what do you mean?”

Pointing up at me, Machi squinted. “I'm the only thing here that can protect you, without me. . .” Pausing, he pressed his palms together, slowly rubbing them back and forth. “Without me, you don't stand a chance. Those men I was with, the other men that are here, they'll make you wish you were dead, and no one will stop them.”

There are more here?

More men like him? How could that be?

“But aren't you in charge? I mean the way you spoke to those other guys, I thought you were the boss.”

Shaking his head, a small twitch teased the corner of his lip. “We all have to report to someone.” Standing up, Machi let his arms fall still, hanging with precision at his sides. “What's your name?”

He's one of many. . .

Fuck.

Letting my head fall into my chest, I kicked my feet nervously. “Why does that matter? I'm no one, remember?”

“Tell me your name.” His hands splayed open, fingers dancing against his thighs. “I'm starting small here, I'm giving you a chance to prove you can listen. That's the key in a place like this, that's what I need you to do.”

“What kind of place is this?” I asked, sitting with tears in my eyes as my future slowly disintegrated before me. “I need more, please, just tell me what the fuck you really want from me. Don't I deserve that at least? Give me some sort of reason for all this.” My eyes pleaded with him for an answer.

How could he expect me to just do what he said when I had no clue what the fuck was going on?

I couldn't prepare myself, I couldn't accept what was coming or build a wall to protect whatever I had left; not without knowing the truth.

“Name?” he asked, not giving me the answer I was seeking.

Looking up, I tried to read him. But he was stoic, waiting for an answer. The glaze over his eyes was gone, the lines now filled as his face sat emotionless.

The man I had caught a glimpse of, the tired and depleted face that cradled my heart for a tender second was gone.

“Imperial.”

“Imperial? Really?”

“That's what I said.”

“It's just, that's not a name you hear every day. Actually, I think you're the first Imperial to ever pass through here.”

Looking down at the floor, I shrugged my shoulders. “That's my name, you asked, you got an answer. I don't really give a shit who else has come through here.”

I was hoping Machi didn't register any concern in my voice. Because the truth was, I did care. I cared if those people who came also left. I cared if they walked out on their own or were carried unwillingly. . . Because knowing that could show me what was coming.

Did they ever leave at all?

“Alright,” he said, lifting a hand to cup his jaw as his eyes searched my face. “Pixie.”

“What?”

“That's your name—Pixie.”

“What? Why—”

Holding up his hand, he cut me off. “In here, your name is Pixie. Don't ask me why, just agree with me.”

Nodding, I fiddled with my hair, tucking a loose strand behind my ear. “Okay.”

I was trying to agree with him, I wanted to do what I had to do to get the answers I craved. If I had to play along, I would—for now.

“Good, see you're learning already.” Holding out his hand, he flipped his fingers for me to take them. “Come on, I have something to show you.”

“Show me what?”

“Exactly what you want to see.” Bouncing his hand in my direction, he nudged it closer.

I was hesitant, eyeing his hand like it would burn me if I touched it. “I can stand on my own.”

“I don't doubt it, but I'm not giving you the option. Take my hand.”

Reluctantly, I wrapped my fingers in his and stood. “Where are we going?”

“You want answers, I can give them to you. But, there are a few things you need to know. . .” Pausing, he took a small step ahead of me, keeping our fingers locked together. “I need you to keep your head down and stay a little behind me, and you can't speak, not a word.”

“Why?” I asked, my mouth hanging open and brows dipping in.

“Do you want answers or not?” Looking up at him, I felt his fingers twine firmly around mine. “I'm trying to give you a chance, I need you to trust me, even if it's just a little.”

I wanted to believe him. I wanted to think he was going to do the things he was saying, that he was giving me a chance to get my life back if I just listened to him now. That he was going to protect me even though he's the one who brought me here.

But how? How do you trust the Devil? How do you put your faith into the same person who brought hell on you to begin with?

There was no way for me to know if he was lying or not. But his eyes. . . They spoke truth.

From the hands that brought death to another, I felt the weight of his words, I felt the honesty in his voice.

And right then, all I had was his word to go on.

I had to trust him.