My shoulders shake with silent laughter.
We both put in our earpieces and turn the radio devices on. Chuckling, I utter, “Night Fury and Moon Shadow are online.”
The car slows and then comes to a stop. We park down the street, open the doors and exit. Clark stays in the car but Bob and Ari join us.
I put on a black silk mask that covers the bottom half of my face. I watch Ari put on her Marilyn Monroe mask as Frankie slips on a ski mask that has a skull printed on the front. Bob ties a bandana just under his eyes.
Unrecognizable, we remove our weapons.
My katana, Koneko, goes with me on every job. Ari removes a ten-inch hunting knife. Frankie wraps a thick chain tightly around her hands. Bob pulls out his .357 magnum.
Frankie approaches the door and whispers, “This is my last party for a while. Seems appropriate that I make an entrance, wouldn’t you say?”
She steps back, ready to kick in the door. Just as she’s about to let it rip, Bob clears his throat. He steps forwards and turns the knob.
The door opens and we laugh as Frankie sighs, “Stupid motherfuckers.”
She opens the door and we all enter. Three men immediately scurry through the back exit of the house leaving one haggard looking woman in the main room of the makeshift brothel.
I’m going to take a wild guess and say this is Margaret Pinot. The woman who is whoring out her thirteen and sixteen-year-old daughters.
High as a kite, she finally turns and blinks up at us. She slurs, “Who are you? What do you want?”
Frankie steps forward allowing the chain to drop by her side with a jingle. She greets our target perfectly.
“Evenin’, Ms. Pinot.” She pauses to smirk viciously. “We’re the X-Men. And we’re here to f**k shit up.”
With lightning fast reflexes, she swings the chain out like a whip, bracing herself and extending her arm out gracefully.
Ms Pinot lets out a bloodcurdling scream while holding her now-bloody face. Adrenaline pumps through my system making me lightheaded with blood lust. A cruel smile spreads behind my mask.
I love my job.
Chapter Eight
I spend what seems like hours cleaning myself. It doesn’t matter how many times I wash my hands, I see blood. I don’t dare close my eyes. The images in my mind are much worse than just oozing red blood.
Floating in and out of my subconscious, I hear the growling, barking and cursing from Xavier as he tries to overcome his addiction. Sheets have been changed countlessly. He throws up and pisses himself like a f**king puppy. He’s constantly on the toilet or throwing up in it. Or throwing up on the ground. Or on the bed. Or wherever the hell he’s standing at the time.
He looks pale, and shakes, although his body is burning like a furnace. It’s scary. I worry he’ll die from withdrawal.
Bob assures me this is normal. Obviously, this did not placate me. With a sigh, Bob promised me that if he saw Xavier was taking a turn for the worst, he’d make sure he’d get him to someone who could help.
That sort of helped. I wondered just how much worse he could get before Bob considered him taking a turn for the worst. However, it is now close to three a.m. I am tired. I am sore. The adrenalin of the job has worn off and my mood turns grim.
When I hear a low keening cry from the end of the hall, my brow furrows and I have no choice but to investigate. I creep down the hall to the slightly open door and my heart aches. I listen in as Tomas hears his brother’s pleas and cries; he’s rocking hard and crying with him.
I don’t step in, fearing I’ll make things worse, but my blood boils. Turning, I head down the hall to the opposite direction, to the room at the very end of the hall. With every step I take, with every growl and grunt I hear, my anger is upped a notch. Without a word, I throw open the door, trying hard as I can to ignore the stench of bile and body odour and stomp over to the bed where Xavier’s body convulses in obvious discomfort.
This should make me feel sorry for him. It doesn’t. It makes me angrier.
I reach the edge of the bed, grip his filthy tank and pull him up by it. Startled, his bloodshot eyes open wide. I pull him to stand, rear my elbow back and punch him in the jaw, hard enough to hurt him, not hard enough to knock him out.
He lands on the bed, holding his jaw, looking up at me in shock.
I sweep my arm out to the hall and pant, “While you whine and scream and cry and feel sorry for yourself, your brother sits in his room listening to you cry.” I pause and whisper, “And he’s crying with you. For you.”
My jaw steels as he continues to watch me through glazed eyes. I hiss, “You got yourself into this; you get yourself out of it. But I swear to God…If you hurt Tomas along the way, I will hunt you down like the scum you are and gut you like a fish.” My heartbeat slows as I gain a bit of control. I sigh, “This is not just about you anymore. This is about Tomas, too. Stop being so selfish and think about him.”
Xavier tries to stand but his knees give way. He sits on the bed shaking and shivering. His lip curls up at me. “You think I don’t know that?” He roars, “What the f**k do you think I’m doing this for, you pretentious bitch?” He looks to the door and his face becomes pained. “I’m doing this for him. I love him. He’s everything to me. You don’t even know me. You have no right to judge me.”
His jab burns me.
Am I pretentious?
My eyes void, I utter, “You’re right. I shouldn’t judge you, but I can’t help it. When I see Tomas, I see a light. And the last few times I’ve seen him, the light has dimmed.” His eyes fill with tears and I know I’m hitting him where it hurts, but he needs to know this. “You’re dimming his light. Choking it. You’re breaking him.”
A tear slides down his cheek. Mouth quivering, he chokes out, “I’m trying to save him. I want to save him.” He looks into my eyes, shrugs and asks a hushed, “How exactly do I do that?”
We stare at each other a little while and I find myself softening towards him. I bunch my nose. “You could start with a shower. And maybe brushing your teeth.”
He blinks and then barks out a surprised laugh. “Noted. And if I could stand on my own, I would. I know I stink. I smell myself and gag. Why do you think I keep throwing up?”
His body shaking lessens, and I wonder if this is all he needs to make it better. A distraction. It’s three a.m. and I should be tired, but I’m suddenly smiling.
I step forward and hold out my hand to him. “C’mon. Let’s get you bathed.”