Volatile Obsessions by Dee Garcia (10)

Burning Ramos to a crisp was oddly satisfying. It somehow seemed to melt away all the stress mounted on my shoulders, no pun intended. For the briefest moment, amongst the unrelenting sparks and voltage, bliss replaced grief. I felt weightless, yet brimming with such privilege and sovereignty.

His cries did nothing for me.

Nothing.

If anything, they prolonged that sense of peace within me.

Thinking about who expected him home, what his loss would do to his loved ones, what the consequences could be after the fact…nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Simply put, the man was a casualty of war. Nothing less, nothing more.

Cruel and heartless, perhaps, but I didn’t have a heart. Sympathy wasn’t a quality I possessed nor cared to possess. The world didn’t give two fucks about me when everything I ever cared about was ripped away at the seams, so why the fuck should I give a shit about anyone but myself?

Why the fuck should I trust anyone else?

Instilling trust in people was pointless, and often times, entirely misplaced. Loyalty meant nothing to our species unless it suited them and their needs.

“We’re ready, boss,” grunted Roscoe as the last of my newly acquired army hopped out of the van and gathered in the alley way across the street from Black Widow.

The war on Lux was sheer minutes away from commencement. With Ramos out of the way and the Queen fully aware of the newcomer who was a clear threat to her business, Vic had finally given me the green light to get the ball rolling.

That newcomer was me by the way, in case you hadn’t connected the dots already—if you hadn’t…c’mon, mate, pay attention.

“It’s showtime, fellas,” I declared, glancing around my entourage as I took one last pull from my smoke. “Masks on. Let’s rile up the Queen of Miami, shall we?”

They nodded, each of them knowing exactly what role they played in this preliminary and rather petty experiment. Tonight wasn’t so much about hurting anyone or reducing numbers. It was more a test of Lux’s strengths and capabilities.

A taste of what she was made of.

Judging by what I heard of her sultry voice, I imagined she tasted pretty damn sweet… Didn’t share that shit with Vic, though. Not even a peep in regards to her accent, which for the record—yes, threw me off. I most definitely was not expecting the Queen of Miami to sound like that.

Slipping my mask in place, I blew out a cloud of smoke and flicked my cigarette into the street, cocking back the slide on my firearm with ease. “I truly loathe repeating myself, but for the sake of covering all my bases, I’m giving you lads the run-down one last time, so listen carefully. Move quietly, stay alert, and don’t get too comfortable. No unnecessary noise once we get inside either. Keep your identity hidden at all times, and for the love of God, stay the bloody hell out of her office. Oh, and if any of you so much as tamper with one hinge on the outside of that building, we’re going to have a massive fucking problem. Are we clear?”

Another round of silent nods ensued, their faces all hidden behind different masks; some creepy, some downright terrorizing. It was like The Purge, except no one was dying tonight.

Not yet anyway.

Ten minutes later, the whole lot of us had broken into Lux’s empire without incident. Bodies hard at work littered the first floor where all the make-up production clearly took place. Well, used to, because when she and her crew waltzed in later this morning, they wouldn’t be getting much of anything done except clean up, and alerting customers their orders would be a tad delayed.

Happy Monday, Miss Mercier.

Materials used to create the make-up had been unpackaged and spilt around like confetti. Boxes ready for distribution had been ripped open and emptied onto the floor, colorful powders and shards of glass splattered around the now broken packaging. Several machines had been vandalized and broken, too, including conveyer belts and all their according electrical wiring. These guys were thorough, leaving not one thing unopened or standing.

As for me, I’d yet to touch a thing, and not because I didn’t want to. I was just waiting, waiting and watching. Stalking along from space to space. My move would come last and I preferred it that way, gave me a moment to supervise these monkeys and enjoy the mayhem unfolding before me.

The brunt of it all was what would probably hurt Lux most.

Her weight.

Her supply.

The room used to separate and package all her, we’ll call them pharmaceuticals, was the perfect cover-up. A well- thought out operation. One would think the scales and baggies were used to weigh and distribute make-up. Everything blended in seamlessly.

I was impressed to say the least, so impressed I found myself shaking my head in slight disappointment as I glanced around the space. It’s a shame I had to ruin it for her. In another life, we might’ve been great partners. She was obviously an intelligent, resourceful woman, and those were two qualities I admired. Rare to come by these days when sharing a business with someone.

Alas, this wasn’t that lifetime, nor would it ever be. Lux would loathe me through each and every one, in any way, shape, or form. Couldn’t fault the woman, considering her life was about to go from lush to mediocre, but I didn’t care either way.

She seemed to have what I wanted and I was damn sure going to have it.

The guys continued milling about, pulling me out from my daze as they ambled around me, transferring brick after brick of weed and cocaine out to the truck we’d arrived in. Some appeared as though they could be ecstasy or molly, too, but I wouldn’t know until we made it back to Vic’s factory, now better known as Noir Coast Distillery.

In any case, the sight of it all pleased me. There was plenty of money to be made here, and I mean plenty. An obscene amount, one Vic couldn’t hide or deny, and I was already imagining all the ways I could blow my cut as I started up the stairs for Lux’s office.

Unlike the distillery, Lux had taken care of furnishing every last nook and cranny of the building. The floors up here were a glittering white tile, a stark polar opposite from the ebony damask wallpaper on the walls that made up what appeared to be a small lobby overlooking the main floor. They curved inward slightly, leading you right to a dark Victorian desk that sat askew to a tall set of raven doors. Not one paper, folder, pen, or paper clip was out of place, everything neatly tucked in its place.

I assumed it was Vic’s desk based on the anal vibe I got just looking at it, and I almost trashed it for shits and giggles—because why the hell not—but why waste my energy on something so trivial when the Queen’s chamber was mere feet away?

After all, that’s what I was here for, right? To help him purge Miami of the little bitch?

Actually, no, allow me to rephrase that—to help him purge himself of the little bitch.

He wasn’t fooling anyone. Our evening with Ramos last week ensured it, and I didn’t even have to coax it out of him. He did it all on his own. Tried to play it off afterward as though it were a simple lapse of judgement given the moment. As always, I kept my mouth shut, nodding in agreement at all the appropriate times. Better he think I didn’t have a damn clue. Gave me the upper hand while I ran my own little experiment on his deceitful ass. I was interested to see how long he’d drag this facade out, how long he’d lie right to my face.

Each time I thought on it, it made me angrier, more skeptical of his word, too. And yet, I had no right to be. I’d brought this on myself when I jumped at the chance to leave New York. I hadn’t much of a choice really. The past was creeping up on me quickly, leaving me little to no time to conjure a proper game plan, so I took off a second time.

Unfortunately for me, that’s how it would be for the rest of my life.

Always running, watching my back.

The lone wolf.

Fucked up part is I’d do it all over again if I had to. I regretted very few things in my life, and what I left in London was most certainly not one of them. Helping Vic on the other hand…that might make the list if we continued on this route, and should that end up happening, there would be no ‘apology accepted’ this time.

He’d be dead to me. End of story.

Right now wasn’t the time to dwell on Vic and his hidden motives, though.

I had a Queen to dishevel, and I planned to dishevel her well.

This is going to be fun.

Curling my hands around the finely curved steel knobs, I burst in through the double doors of Lux’s dark office like a bull out the gate, only to stop short almost immediately thereafter. The distinct, sweet scent of sandalwood and roses rushed me in a flurry, firmly rooting my Converse-clad feet to tiled floor. I inhaled another deep breath, then another and another after that.

If this is what Lux smelled like, it’s no wonder Vic had a perpetual hard-on for her. The scent was mouthwatering. No really, I was salivating at the mouth like a fucking dog. Somehow, it matched her alluring voice, too, leaving me to wonder if what she looked like would match as well.

Was she blonde?

Brunette?

Slim?

Curvy?

Tall?

Fun sized?

Vic wouldn’t tell me.

“You’ll just know,” was all he’d offered when he’d briefed me on the woman.

I had an idea drawn up in my head based on his type and what I’d heard, but something about his resistance to talk about her led me to believe maybe she wasn’t his type after all. Needless to say, I was thoroughly intrigued and equally anxious to finally catch a glimpse of her.

And if my plans worked out the way I hoped, she’d be banging down my door soon.

Very, very, soon.

My lips curled in an appeased smirk as I stalked over to her desk and dropped down in her plush leather throne. Everything was clean and pristine. Dragging a finger along the edge of her desk, I glazed over the minimal items on display. Judging by the decor out in the lobby and from what I could see here in the darkness, it was obvious Lux fancied a classic, gothic style. I’ll admit, she had good taste, but perhaps that’s because I gravitated towards gothic decor as well. Although mine was a bit more modern goth with hints of rustic thrown in the mix.

Who are you, Lux Mercier?

The question replayed in a loop as I spun around in her chair, glancing around the shrouded office. Ironically enough, she’d be asking the same question about me in just a few hours. The note I was leaving on her desk ensured it…