CHAPTER NINE
LUCIANO
Scratching at my beard, my fingers ruffled the short hairs as my lips twisted into a grimace. A busty news reporter blasted from the television speakers, her words fast as she droned about a shooting that had happened sometime during the night. Someone had killed a kid- just shot him right in the head as he slept.
My cheek twitched, the blood pumping through my heart thickening as disgust mixed with anger. The concoction seeped into every vessel I had, and I arched my back as my muscles began to smolder. Clasping my hands together tightly, my fists ached to hit something.
“Aya.” Her name was a grunt as I shoved myself to my feet, my legs tightening from the urges that surged through me. “Let’s go.”
The air moved around behind me, and the springs in the mattress creaked quietly as Aya climbed off the bed. Snatching my pants from the floor, I slid into them as her gaze bored into my back. My grimace darkened at the sensation, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up.
Aya wasn’t attracted to me. I just didn’t feel the need to skirt around her pitiful boundaries. My mind went to the night before, picking on a silent conversation within the confines of my skull. She was resigned; that was what shone in her eyes when they met mine. At any point I could decide she was a burden and end her, and she couldn’t do anything about it. Her aim wasn’t to please me in whatever way but to get comfortable enough to actually enjoy life.
After all, she didn’t know when it would end.
But why wasn’t she a burden? The question pulled another grunt from me, and I fished for my keys before stalking to the door. There’s still no reason to assume she’s not useful to the Russians or who-the-fuck-else Trevor was working for.
“Tell me more about the man with the scar on his neck, Aya.” Pulling onto the street, I reached for my pack of cigarettes and threw it into Aya’s lap.
“He was short- shorter than me. He smelled like the ocean. And he talked with a lisp. He had orange hair and blue eyes. But Trevor called him Angelique…and- and he looked-”
Glancing over as Aya stumbled over her words, my eyes narrowed on the discomfort splattered across her face.
“He’s a cross dresser.” Spitting out the observation, I flexed my fingers against the wheel as Aya nodded furiously. Turning back to the road, I only had a moment to focus before she reached to offer me my cigarette.
“Y- yeah… B- but he had the mustache… and the scar. He started showing up four months ago. Every time Trevor got more drugs he’d appear the next day, and he gave him them. One time Trevor got really drunk and started screaming at him because he was being j- jerked… around. And that he needed to hold up his end of the deal. The man slapped him and yelled that he would when his boss got what he wanted.” Holding the smoke while Aya talked, I slowed to a stop for a red light before exhaling harshly. At least the guy was fucking memorable.
I took the long way to get to the gym, giving my mind time to churn over what Aya had revealed. Trevor was in some deep shit, that was for sure; part of me regretted killing him so fast. Glancing over at the woman in the next seat, I ground my teeth together and tightened my grip on the wheel.
We were missing something fucking important.
Shoving the gear in park, I pulled my keys from the ignition before reaching to snatch my cigarette from Aya’s bony fingers. The stick was only half burned away, and I lipped the butt absently. Jumping out of my car, I waited for her to follow before glancing around. The lot we occupied was surrounded entirely by large buildings that blocked the early morning sun. Cast in shadow, it looked seedy and gross; this was the kind of place a person committed a crime. Narrowing, my gaze landed on a rusted door across the lot, the paint peeling so bad I could see the rolls from where I stood.
“Why do you bring me with you? I’m a hostage?” Weaving between cars towards the dingy, dark orange barrier, my legs stiffened at the notion. Aya was getting bolder with her questions; they were no longer shallow or superficial. Granted, she doesn’t really ask too many questions, but whatever. Without breaking my stride I spoke up, my explanation flung carelessly over my shoulder.
“You’re not a hostage. Sylvi doesn’t take hostages. The idea of extorting money by playing with someone’s love for someone else is distasteful to him. You’re just of determinable value. I’d rather Sylvi didn’t kill you and Georgio didn’t torture you.” My tone was harsh, and under my fingers Aya’s wrist flexed. Letting loose an irritated sigh, I stopped a few feet from the door to turn to her. “I haven’t killed you yet. I don’t plan on letting someone else kill you, either. Questo è il mio diritto e deciderò quando sei inutile.”
Watching Aya roll her thick bottom lip between her teeth, my eyes narrowed and my cheek twitched. For a second my brain pondered what she heard when I spoke my native tongue. Surely it must’ve been something pleasurable; she didn’t know what I had said but still looked so at ease. Squeezing her wrist absently, my throat clogged with annoyance before I tugged her to the door.
“Luciano! Sei venuto in una buona giornata, mio fratello.” It felt like much longer than a day since I set foot in a gym, and I released Aya’s arm to roll my shoulders. Dylan’s voice was loud, echoing off the high ceiling and the beams that held it up. The friendly greeting overpowered the sounds of people punching bags and each other.
Taking Dylan’s large hand, I only grunted as my gaze scanned his form. For a burned-out boxer he looked good, his pale blue eyes shining and blonde hair dampened with sweat. Shirtless, he sported lean, wry muscles that no longer held the rigidity of his 20s. His gym was always too hot; even in the summer he only had a single fan on for his wife as she worked behind the front desk.
“Dylan. I brought a friend for your wife.” Even as I spoke the words a little voice in my head protested. Dylan’s wife was nice enough, but she was also extremely critical. Grimacing as I released his hand, I glanced at Aya only to find her mossy gaze on me, swimming with apprehension. My eyelid twitched, jaw clenching, and I blew a hot breath from my nose.
“Great- you know, Sarah’s been grumbling to herself all morning. I bet she could use the company.” Nodding slowly at Dylan’s almost perky observation, I watched the color drain from Aya’s face. The only time I left her alone was at the house where I knew exactly where she was at all times. Sylvi wasn’t a coward, but I didn’t put it past him to try something when I wasn’t there. If he did, there was no point in being angry because there was nothing to be done. Life would go on- he knew that.
But I didn’t want Aya to die until this fucking shit storm that loomed over her had passed. Acting hasty never amounted to anything good.
Slowly Aya took a step, and her throat flexed in a gulp as her eyes finally left mine. Her body was stiff as she walked away, and my gaze slid down her form. She was filling out- her ribs had disappeared and her hips were less pronounced. Long legs rippled from the tension that gorged her muscles, and I narrowed my eyes on her ass. Twitching, my fingers prickled before I forced myself off her.
There’s no fucking way she’ll let me touch her. The thought brought a certain taste of bitterness to my tongue, and I gnashed my teeth. Many things I might’ve been, but a rapist wasn’t one of them. Whores brought me no pleasure but finding a woman to fuck was more complicated than simply asking. I had to find a club, pick a girl that didn’t look too drunk, and worry about her vomiting in my car. That was just too much work when it was just as satisfying to jerk off in the shower.
“Luciano-” With a jerk of his head Dylan beckoned me, and I followed him to a line of punching bags before he spoke up. His voice was harsh, gravely from dozens of hits to the throat that was easily covered up by pitch. “You really have a slave girl, then? I thought that was just a rumor Johann said to make himself feel better about you losing him a ton of money.”
Clenching my hands into fists, rage ripped through my chest as I sneered at the man before me. My shoulders tensed, back straightening as my heart pounded hard against its cage.
“She’s not a fucking slave. I don’t trust Sylvi not to kill her- that impatient fucking ass. Trevor had her for a reason. I want to know why.” Hissing, my mouth dripped venom, and Dylan arched a bushy eyebrow. Skepticism overtook his expression even as his hands reached for a bundle of fist wrap.
“So it’s true about Trevor- he was working for the Russians after all?” The quizzical note in Dylan’s voice snapped me out of my red haze, and I narrowed my eyes on him. My mind’s eye burst with color, flashing back to the ride here and the description Aya had given me of the cross dressing man. Dylan might know something, I grumbled silently, people come here all the time to get patched up.
“Yes. I need to know if you know anything about a man with a scar-” Sliding my pointer finger down my neck as Aya had, I watched through slits as Dylan followed the movement. “He’s a cross dresser- orange hair- short as fuck…”
“I’ll have to check, Luciano. You know it all looks the same to us now- just going through the motions. The only time we really remember is if it’s a kid that got caught in the crossfire.” Dylan’s words hit me in the chest, and I grunted as I remembered the face of that little girl from this morning. Even the most heartless murderers in the game didn’t kill kids- it was an unspoken rule. If a person put a hit out on a child, it was that person that usually ended up dead. Children were never bad; evil wasn’t inherent.
Kids had to learn all of that, and sometimes a really sick fuck got his claws into them- like Georgio. The man was a god damn psychopath, with just enough sociopath in him to fool people. He even managed to buy out an orphanage in Italy to ‘express his distress over violence’. It’d been a very public thing even though I knew that some of the kids were going to end up like me. Georgio wasn’t stupid enough to use all of them; someone would notice eventually.
Shaking my head of the thoughts, I thrust my hand out as Dylan unrolled the wrappings with expert fingers.