His eyes narrow when I hesitate before taking his hand. You would assume he was doing this to be a gentleman, to help out his beloved daughter, but the look in his eyes tells me he's taking this last moment to insure my obedience. I have no choice but to slide my hand in his and get out of the car.
I'm happy that my knees do not shake and my lip does not wobble, the tears dried up. There is no sign of how truly afraid I am underneath the burning rage I have. I have to hold onto my rage, grasp it tightly with both hands, to stop myself from falling apart.
I will hold this anger to the very end.
“A good daughter does as her father instructs without the tantrum, Odette.” he murmurs in my ear as he kisses my cheeks. The pilot is the only man watching us who hasn’t seen my father hit me before. This seems like such an act for someone who will look the other way anyway, the money is too good to intervene for some girl.
I give him a tight, grimacing smile and nod my head, speaking lowly through my teeth as he steps away from me, “I hope you got a good price for me, enough to keep you high for many nights to come.”
Knowing that it's going to happen doesn't lessen the sting of his hand cracking across my face. My vision whites out around the edges as I stumble back against the car. I wonder if my future husband will be as heavy handed.
I smile though the tears start forming in my eyes at the thought. This man will never lay a hand on me again. Though I don't know if my new husband will be any better, that thought gives me enough joy that I can turn on my heel and stride to the private jet. As tempting as it is to make them throw me over a shoulder kicking and screaming it's too ingrained in me to be a good girl so I walk, calm and steady, up the stairs and into the aircraft.
Anywhere would be better than here.
Chapter Two
Illi
Mounts Bay, California, is a fucking shit-hole.
I’ve hated the place my whole life, from the second my pops left me in a safe-place so I’d end up in foster care, I knew this place was the worst hell on Earth.
I have no fucking clue why I won’t leave.
Probably because I’ve built a life here, a name, a reputation that precedes me and crowds part when I arrive anywhere. The money is also fucking good, I don’t really have to work anymore but I have a taste for the blood and pain now. I have easy access to all the pain I need because of my office hours.
I guess being the Butcher has its perks.
But that’s all besides the point. The reasons I stuck around don’t matter, all that counts is that I stayed in the worst fucking city in the country. That’s where I met my heart and had it ripped right the fuck out of my chest then had it parading around, as if it wouldn’t fucking kill me to have her hurt. And she did get hurt, fucking brutalized, and I played a part in it.
I’m getting ahead of myself here.
The day I made the biggest fucking regret of my life thanks to my life in the Bay starts like every other day. I wake up, eat a balanced meal, workout for a few hours, then head down to the basement to check on the guy I’m torturing in the lowest level of my warehouse. I’d bought the place because of these basements. No one can hear you scream ten feet below ground in a room with cement walls a foot thick.
Great place to work.
I’d built an apartment in the upper levels so I could look out over the amazing views of the Bay. Psh. The docks aren’t exactly a great view but the water beyond them is nice enough. Sometimes, after a long day of cutting people to pieces, I stare out at that water and wonder why the ever-loving-fuck I’m still living in the Bay.
So I’m standing there staring at the guy, well, the fucking corpse because the piece of shit went and died on me like a pussy overnight, when my security alarms tell me someone has tripped the sensors on the far side of my property. I have zero patience for houseguests when they haven’t called ahead so I seriously fucking consider setting off a flash bomb or something to get them to fuck off, only the glimpse of the two motorcycles stop me.
I know these two assholes.
I know them well enough to give them a free pass because I'm a nice fucking guy, as nice as a sharp knife to your throat in the dark.
So instead I unlock the front door remotely and wait until I hear them cross the threshold before yelling out, “I’m in the fridge!”
Then I get to work hacking the dead guy to pieces. Nice, easily digestible pieces to ship off to a contact who enjoys using them as bait in his arctic fishing expeditions. Weird guy but he pays good green and the cops aren’t exactly trolling the arctic nets for missing perps.
It’s basically recycling.
I’m a fucking humanitarian, an eco fucking warrior.
That’s enough to have me cracking a smile as I work, the knife feeling like an extension of my arm as I slice through the meat of his legs. I can get down to the bone with brute strength but it'll take the bone saw to get the limb off of him. He must have died shortly before I got down here because his blood hasn't pooled or started to congeal yet. Makes for a messier job but easier to get it done.
Footsteps break through the quiet of my haven signalling the bikers have made it down to me finally.
"What the fuck is this place?"
Harbin's voice echoes through the refrigerated room like a gunshot and I turn to face them both, the cooled blood still dripping down my face.
"This is where the meat comes to be processed. What the hell are you two doing here? Don't you know this is my sanctuary?"
Harbin smirks and walks in with the confident air of a man who's spilled a lot of blood and his best friend Roxas saunters in like he's the reason it's always spilled, like he's the center of the world and everyone should weep at his fucking feet.
He's an absolute asshole, but he's also the kind of guy you want having your back in a fight.
"What's this guy in for? Is he a job or personal?" Harbin says, leaning down to inspect the hanging man's lax, dead face. His eyes are nothing but bloody sockets and his mouth is open in a grotesque silent scream.
Thank fuck. I swear my ears are still ringing from the real screams he was letting out last night while I played with him for the information I needed. He took the torture like a little bitch, squealing and sobbing like a pathetic piece of shit. I've seen little girls survive with more dignity.
"I don't do personal. Life's easier without any of that bullshit, you guys should know better." I say, washing my cleaver under the water at the utility sink.
Harbin chuckles under his breath and walks further into the room, his eyes on the wall of knives, saws, electric cattle prods, and all the other tools of my trade. Irritation creeps down my spine. I hate having people in here. It's my fucking happy place and I don't need people ruining it with their emotions and shit. I just need to get my work done and get my money.
He's not a bad sort of guy and I know he's not here for any sort of ulterior motive, despite his road name. He really is a Harbinger of the biblical sense; shit turns to fucking chaos when he arrives. The Unseen only call on Harbin to wade into a fight when they're pulling the big guns so having him here, in my space and poking around in my shit, means something's fucking happening.
I don't like it.
"Shit's going down, man. There's a whole lot of bad juju going on in the Bay and it all leads back to your boy.” Roxas drawls, the Southern accent he just can't fully shake slipping out even though he's been here in Cali for-fucking-ever.