Nine Page 4

  “Don’t,” he demands. I stop moving for a second, but ignore his warning and raise up.

  “I said, don’t. You’ll bust your stitches.” His eyes burrow into me.

  “Eat shit,” I respond, as I back up closer to the headboard.

  He waves a gun toward my waist, and then nods his head for me to look.

  I let my eyes trail down. On my left side, just above my hip, I see about five stitches. My fingers are trembling as I touch it.

  “What’s your name?” he asks. “I know it’s not what’s on this fake-ass driver’s license. None of the info on here adds up. This address doesn’t even exist.”

  He holds up my identification. I ignore his question.

  “Did you do this to me?”

  My throat is pained and it hurts to speak, but I do it anyway. I let my throbbing head fall into the palm of my hand. My head feels like a bomb is about to explode inside of it. I can’t even think straight. God, I hurt.

  “I asked you a question.”

  “Fuck off,” I shout, still holding my head. I feel like vomiting.

  “Look whose tough. Not scared to die this morning?”

  “Not really,”

  “You looked pretty scared last night,” he says.

  Last night? I close my eyes and try hard to remember what could have happened. I went to the hotel. I saw the weird, hot elevator guy with the neck tattoo that read consumed.

  I flash my eyes open, jerk my head up, and look at the guy sitting not too far from me. I glance at his neck, and there, as plain as day is the tattoo. Shit. He’s the one. I force my eyes closed again.

  Then I got off the elevator and knocked on the hotel door. Mr. V. answered. I went inside, then…, and then…nothing. I can’t remember anything after that. I open my eyes and look at him.

  “Death doesn’t bother me. The pain that accompanies it does,” I say.

  A strange expression falls across his face. It looks like a mix between confusion and anger. He stands up and walks out of the room, closing the door behind him. I hear it lock. Instantly my stomach starts to turn and I feel it coming up. I toss my hand over my mouth and quickly look around. Next to the bed, I spot a small wastebasket. I kick it closer to me and attempt to hurl into it. I’m now bent over the basket just heaving. I take one hand and apply light pressure to my stitched side in fear that it may just completely burst open with all of the force happening. It takes a few minutes to collect myself after that, and just as my stomach calms down, I feel a burning sensation on my back. I stretch one hand behind me to feel several raised welts on my skin. All I want to do is cry at this point, but I don’t have it in me. I’m too weak.

  “What happened to me?” I whisper to myself, as I look around the room. Where am I? I wonder. This place is old and run down. There are several cracks in the walls. Spider webs decorate every corner of the room and dust has definitely settled all over the place. It appears to be a basement. I try to stand up, but I can’t. I look over to see a bottle of water on a nightstand. I grab it and take a few sips. It coats my dry lips and washes down the bad taste in my mouth. I sit there for a second looking down at my bruised body. I’m overwhelmed by the aches that accompany the marks. I can feel acid rising up to my throat again, so I lay back down, close my eyes, and involuntarily pass out again.

  ***

  I’m not sure how much time has passed, but I hear the sound of a door creaking open. I feel a little disoriented as I awake and try to pry my eyes open. In walks an unfamiliar guy. He’s a big man. Big as in tall. He’s tugging at his red beard as he enters. He plops down exactly where the elevator guy was sitting prior. I notice a ball of red hair that sits on top of his head.

  “You are a pretty thing, aren’t you? Even with all of those bruises. You’re a looker, girl.”

  I stare at him in a vile way, as I slowly pull myself up into a sitting position again.

  “What are you girls going for nowadays?”

  “Excuse me?” I reply.

  “Your hourly rate,” he quickly responds. “What is it?”

  “You and your man bun can’t afford me,” I snap.

  “How about this?” He grins, and then stands up. I watch him pull out a chunk of cash from his pocket.

  “I bet you’ll ride the dick now. Am I right?” He chuckles. He walks over to the bed and runs one hand up my leg. “Just because you charge more, doesn’t make you any less of a whore, sugar tits.”

  I grit my teeth as he slides his hand farther up my leg.

  “Why don’t you go deep throat a cactus?” I say and pull away.

  He puckers up his lips and mocks a kiss.

  “Bones.” I hear the elevator guy’s voice say almost in a warning.

  “C’mon Trig. I’m just playing with the chick.”

  Mental note taken. Elevator guy’s name is Trig and the red-haired douche is Bones. Police will need that information if I ever make it out of here alive. As if I would even go to the police, but it’s still good to know.

  “Out, now! This was my contract,” Trig yells.

  “Yeah, but who helped you clean up,” Bones shoots back.

  “Get out,” Trig barks.

  Bones turns and winks at me, and then slowly backs up, until he leaves the room. He shuts the door behind him.

  Trig walks farther into the room carrying a plate of food. I can smell eggs and bacon. He sits down, takes his gun from his lower back, and places it on the table. He then presumes to nibble at the food in front of me.

  “Hungry?” he asks, and points down to the plate. Just the smell alone makes me sick. I look away and quickly place one hand over my mouth. Once my stomach settles I slowly turn and look at him. He’s glancing over at the puke-filled wastebasket.

  “If you’re not going to eat, at least drink some water,” he adds.

  He springs up from his seat and comes closer. I watch as he grabs the basket and walks it outside. He enters the room again, closing the door behind him. I continue to stare as he sits down. He pushes his chair away from the table and then leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His thighs are spread apart and it feels like an interview is about to take place. He points to the water on the stand next to me. I pick it up to amuse him. He continues to stare at me so I unscrew the lid and take a few drinks.

  “Happy?” I say.

  “I’d like to know who you are. Give me a first name at least,” he says.

  “It’s Nine. Can I go home now?”

  “What type of name is Nine?” He arches his eyebrow and licks his lips.

  “I don’t know. What type of name is Trig?” I say through my teeth.

  He nods. “Touché, Nine. Let’s try this again. What’s your real name?”

  “What’s your real name, Trig?” I fire back. He smiles again in frustration.

  “You do realize I have a gun?” he calmly asks.

  “If you wanted to kill me you would have done it already.”

  “Or maybe I’m waiting for the right time.” He cocks his neck back.

  I stay silent. He’s right. I’m acting as if I have the upper hand and I don’t. I’m damaged, sitting here in pain, in some tore up old basement, on an old mattress in my underwear, with some complete stranger. I should be scared, but as usual, I’m in bitch mode. Maybe it’s the pain talking or maybe I’m just a glutton for punishment.

  “How long have you worked for Victor?”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t have time for games. How long have you worked for the guy at the hotel?” I stare blankly at him. “You know, the prick that did that number on you.” He waves his hand out in front of him.

  I freeze up as a memory of Mr. V. backhanding me strikes. It’s followed by another memory of a boot to my face. I gasp and then stare up at Trig.

  “You didn’t think I did that to you, did you?” His face is stern.

  “Victor is Mr. V.,” I say to myself, as I continue to try to piece things together in my head from last night. “I don’
t work for anyone,” I mutter.

  “Why the beat down then?”

  “I don’t…know,” I say, embarrassed. “I just remember him smacking me and then his boot kicking me in the face. Right here.” I reach up and feel my cheek.

  Trig pulls out a little medicine bottle and places it on the table.

  “Do you know what this is?” he asks.

  I shake my head.

  “This is Ketamine. It’s usually used for anesthesia. Some use it as a date rape drug. I found it on Victor at the hotel. Ketamine has a tendency to cause vomiting, headaches, distorted images, memory gaps, sometimes complete memory loss.”

  I can recall Victor’s voice now. “Ketamine. It’s a neat little drug.”

  “The liquor. He handed me a glass of Brandy last night. He spiked my drink.”

  Little bits and pieces are coming to me. I close my eyes, and that’s when I get an image of Trig. He’s holding me in his arms, and I’m bleeding. I flash open my eyes and look up at Trig.

  “What were you doing at the hotel? Why were you there?” I question.

  Trig remains quiet. My insides are burning with questions. I look down at the bed sheet, trying to make sense of it all, but I can’t.

  “What happened in that room?” I shout. He looks down at the floor.

  “I was walking by and I heard you screaming, so I busted in,” Trig says.

  That’s when it all starts trickling in. I ball up my fist as fragments of the night bang against my temple, almost as if they want to be remembered. I place my hands over my ears. The sound of the tape being stretched out before Victor placed it over my mouth echoes through me. I hear his words so clearly.

  “Let me show you what I do to bitches who take my money.”

  I shake my head. “No you didn’t. He taped my mouth shut. I remember now. His hand was covered over my entire mouth at some point. You couldn’t have heard me scream.”

  I let my hands fall down to my lap.

  “What else do you remember?” Trig looks concerned.

  My eyes water up as I continue to shake my head. Trig is waiting for it. The memories are bombarding my brain. The knife. The belt around my neck. The gunshot, the blood, and the body falling on me. My heart starts to beat faster now. My airways feel constricted and my stomach is sick again.

  Trig remains quiet.

  “You killed him,” I finally say.

  I blink away the tears and then pull myself up to a standing position. Trig immediately shoots up from his chair. I groan in pain and slump forward catching my weight on the bed. Trig scurries over and reaches for me.

  “Don’t touch me. I want to go home,” I demand. “Take me home, now.”

  “You can’t, Nine.”

  “Why,”

  “You just can’t,” he says.

  “I can’t. I can’t. You keep saying that. Why the hell not?” I yell. The pain rips through my body. I bend over and balance my hands on my knees. Trig grabs my arm.

  “You weren’t supposed to leave that hotel alive.” He pauses. “I had orders to kill you.”

  I look up at him in shock. He had orders to kill me. But why? I lick my dry, cracked lips.

  “Sit down and drink some water,” Trig says. “You look like you might faint again.”

  I sit down and breathe a little easier as the pain in my body subsides. Trig walks over, grabs the water bottle off the table, and brings it back to me. I watch as he takes a prescription bottle out of his jacket. He unscrews the cap and drops one pill into the palm of his hand. He then stretches his hand out to me.

  “I’m not taking that. I’ve been drugged enough for one night, thank you.”

  “It’s a painkiller. You’re in pain. Take it,” he commands.

  I look at him in hesitation, and then I stare down nervously at my bare bruised legs. I’m clenching my mouth closed in fear. I don’t want it, but I need it.

  “I’m not asking you, Nine. I’m telling you.”

  He puts one finger under my chin and gently tilts my head up to look at him. “Now open.”

  He runs his thumb over my bottom lip and pulls it down. I cooperate and let my mouth drop open wide enough for him to push the pill in. I lock eyes with him as he tips the water bottle up to my mouth. A few drops dribble off my lips. He takes his warm thumb and rubs it across my chin. The sensation of him touching me makes me hold my breath. He quickly pulls his hand away when he realizes what he’s doing. I have to remind myself to breathe again.

  “You said someone ordered you to kill me. Who? Why?” I blurt out.

  Just as I say that, something dawns on me.

  “Shit. You’re a hitman, aren’t you?”

  “Don’t ask me questions you can’t handle hearing the answers to,” he replies.

  “You killed a man last night, and I’m currently wearing his blood. I think I deserve a few answers.”

  “I saved your life. I think that’s more than enough if you ask me.”

  I watch as he pulls out a cigarette from his pants pocket and lights it up.

  “You expect answers from me, but you won’t answer any of mine. Pshh.”

  “That’s not how it works. You don’t get to make demands. You don’t get what you want here.” Trig takes a puff of his cigarette and blows out the smoke. He’s slightly pissed.

  My brain is spinning. I start thinking of Victor and how a maid probably found his dead body.

  “Oh my god. My fingerprints and blood are all over that room. It’s going to look like I did it. This is a setup, isn’t it?” I close my eyes.

  “We swept the hotel. That is the last of your worries right now.”

  “Swept, as in cleaned up the place, or swept, as in you moved the body?” I ask.

  “Stop!” he shouts. “Enough with the questions.”

  I jump at his booming voice. The room fills with silence.

  “Just kill me already,” I quietly say, as my head drops.

  “Just kill me. Take away the pain. That’s what you kept mumbling throughout the whole night. I’m starting to think I should have just shot you at the hotel.”

  “You actually stayed awake all night, watching me?” I question.

  Trig pretends not to hear me and looks around the room.

  “I was drugged, beat, and stabbed. What else would you expect a victim to say?” I continue.

  His dark brown eyes burrow into me as his head tilts to the side.

  “I have a hunch that’s not what you meant when you said take away the pain.”

  He’s sure quick with the comebacks. I shoot him a look that I’m not even sure of. He keeps his eyes on me. He’s staring hard, almost like he can see through me.

  Right then, Bones walks in. “We got trouble upstairs.”

  Trig takes a puff of his cigarette and blows the smoke up to the ceiling.

  He walks over and gets right up into my face. His whole attitude changes.

  “I need some answers, Nine. We’re losing time. This isn’t going to end well if you don’t help me, especially if that’s who I think it is upstairs.”

  His tone scares the shit out of me.

  “I don’t know what you want. I don’t work for anyone. I never met that guy before last night. I know nothing. Just tell me what to do. I’ll cooperate if you let me go. Nobody has to know about what happened. It’s between you and me.” I’m just spouting off in fear now.

  “Fuck!” Trig yells, and walks out of the room. Bones peeks in and shakes his head at me before closing and locking the door.

  I sit here replaying last night in my head. What information does, Trig want from me? I have nothing to offer. I’m going crazy here wondering who’s upstairs. Is it the person who wants me dead? Twenty minutes or so passes and the door swings open and in walks Trig, Bones and another man who makes my heart stop. He’s tall, husky, and has a scar that runs down one side of his face. He stands before me in an all-white suit. His dark eyes set upon me like a tiger does to a gazelle.

  “The gi
rl who goes by Nine. That’s cute.” He pauses and looks at Trig and then back to me. My spine shrinks and my legs shake with just one stare. “Do you know who I am?” he asks.

  I shake my head. I can hear my heartbeat in my ears now.

  “On the streets they call me, The Savior.”

  My eyes widen and my heart quickens. I’ve heard rumors of this guy. He’s the top drug dealer in this area and he’s ruthless. People would have to be insane to mess with him.

  “Oh, you’ve heard of me. Perfect. That makes my job here easier.”

  He grabs a lock of my red hair and twirls it around his finger.

  “Nine, I have a problem and I need your help.”

  I look at Trig and then over to Bones. They remain perfectly still like statues.

  “Your buddy Victor took something really important to me. Something that is worth a lot of money. I would be forever in your debt if you told me where I can find my drugs at.”

  “I-I-I don’t know anything. He’s not my buddy. I just met him last night.”

  The Savior laughs at me. He bends over and places his hands on both sides of my face.

  “You’re such a pretty girl. It would be a shame to have to cut the skin off your face for lying. We both know you work for him. So again, I ask you this, where are my drugs?”

  “I’m telling the truth,” I quickly reply. “I work for myself.”

  “Shhhhhh,” he places his finger to my mouth. “Bones, hand me a knife,” he commands.

  Bones takes a knife out of his pocket and hands it over to the psycho.

  “I don’t know anything. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I start to panic.

  I look to Trig for help, but he’s staring off into the distance. I start to cry.