Nine Page 5

“You leave me no option, Nine. Maybe after a few incisions you’ll remember something.”

  The knife comes toward my face and I close my eyes in fear.

  “Stop,” Trig says. “Let me have the honor. It was my brother after all.”

  I flash open my eyes and look around. The Savior stands up and hands the knife over to Trig. He shakes his head. “Not my style. I like to deliver death quick and clean.”

  Trig looks at me and then back to The Savior. “Victor gave her drugs. She’s just coming off of them. Give me twenty fours and if she doesn’t give, I’ll kill her execution style on your dinner table.”

  The Savior nods his head with acceptance. He looks back to me and then steps closer. He puts both hands on my shoulders.

  “It would really be a pity to kill you. I could make a lot of money off you, honey. You should thank Trig. He just bought you twenty-four hours. I suggest you use that time wisely.”

  He leans down and kisses the top of my head. I briefly close my eyes in disgust. Bones and The Savior turn and exit the room. I watch them from the edge of the bed.

  “Twenty-four hours, Bones. Not a minute more,” The Savior says in the hallway. They both glance in one last time before the door closes.

  I look to Trig who is staring through me again.

  “Are you going to kill me? I swear I don’t know anything about his drugs.”

  “I know,” Trig says.

  I start to open my mouth, but he answers my question before I can even ask it.

  “I’m good at analyzing people. It’s my gift from the good Lord above.” He points one finger up. “Or you could just say that I’m highly skilled at reading body language.” He pauses. “Liars hold shame in their entire body. Their eyes shift. Their body tenses up. Their cheeks, neck, and forehead redden in fault. They start to perspire in fear. It’s like a domino effect within the body. The average person can’t lie without the body producing a guilt response.

  “Yeah, what do you see when you look at me?” I ask, scared of what he might say.

  “Fear and pain,” he responds.

  “How do you know that I’m not just a good actress?”

  “Because your chest is getting red just as you asked me that.”

  He walks over, sits on the bed, and leans in to me. His lips are close to my ear. I feel his arm come around my neck. He places his hand over my heart. I can feel heat radiate from his skin.

  “You feel that?” he says.

  “My heart?” I ask, trembling.

  “No, not your heart. I could see it thumping through your chest from across the room. I’m talking about the little prickles that run across your skin…now that’s fear,” he whispers into my ear, as he drags his fingertips across my chest.

  My throat instantly dries up and I can’t think straight. Trig quickly removes his arm from me and stands up. I watch him walk toward the door to leave.

  “Yeah, and what on my body shows you I’m in pain besides all of these bruises and cuts?” I yell out. I expect him to say something long and winded, but he doesn’t.

  He slows to a stop, but he keeps his back to me. “It’s not your body, baby. It’s your eyes.”

  Chapter 4. Hero Syndrome

  I’ve been trapped here in this basement for days now. It’s windowless and lonely. Trig comes in to examine my injuries, force food and medicine down my throat, and ask questions I refuse to answer, but that’s it. I don’t even know why he bothers. He could just kill me, but instead he’s wasting his time doctoring me up. I don’t get him at all. Nonetheless, I’m still confused and frustrated. It’s just me, my thoughts, and the silence of these four walls. I feel like I’m going crazy. My thoughts run reckless in this room and I hate it. I hate that every memory I’ve ever buried has resurfaced purely out of boredom, and I can’t make it stop. It pains me. I blame Trig for it, for keeping me caged up in this room like a wounded dog.

  I’m completely out of touch. I’ve lost track of what day of the week it is, and these small things are enough to make me feel displaced and forgotten. Although I’ve convinced myself it’s morning time, based off my internal clock, I really don’t have a clue. My stomach rumbles and it reminds me that I’m hungry. I feel weak and my body still hurts, but at least my appetite has returned. I get up from the bed to stretch. My head briefly throbs, but nothing like before. I lick my cracked lips and try to swallow my saliva to coat my raw, dry throat. All it does is make me cough. I’m thirsty and I also need to pee. I look down at the wobbly makeshift toilet and frown. I’m not using that raggedy-ass red bucket that Bones brought in. Yesterday I squatted on the thing and almost tipped it over on the floor. It makes the whole room smell like piss anyway.

  I begin to pace back and forth and the red piss bucket of doom is looking better and better. Just as I contemplate using it, I hear the door being unlocked. Trig walks in. He’s showered because I can smell clean shampoo, and he’s definitely changed. He’s now sporting some jeans and a white tee. I see a tattoo on his arm peeking out from underneath his shirt. He comes toward me with a plate of food¸ a water bottle, and some rope. I can smell eggs and pancakes. My stomach rumbles again. He sets the plate on the table while looking at me. I’m holding my crotch uncomfortably and wiggling around.

  “Would you like to go to the bathroom, Nine?”

  “Unless you’d like me to piss myself.” I smirk.

  “I take it the bucket isn’t good enough for you.”

  I glare at him.

  “I figured that much. The bathroom is upstairs and down the hall. I’ll have to tie your hands.”

  “Is this really necessary?” I ask, as he steps forward and grips my wrist.

  “Yes, I believe if given the chance to, you’d kill me to get away.”

  He wraps the rope tightly around my wrist, and walks me over to the door. He takes his gun from his lower back and points it at me.

  “I’m going to open this door. I expect you to behave.”

  I nod.

  He opens it and walks me up a set of stairs and down a long hallway to the bathroom. The first thing I notice is sunlight, because I miss it. The house is quiet and just as torn up as the basement is. He guides me into a room at the end of the hall and stands there as I walk toward the toilet. I swing around to see him eyeing me.

  “So, you’re just going to watch me pee?” I ask.

  “Nothing I haven’t saw before, sweetheart.”

  “Well, since you tied my hands, can you at least help me?” I nod down.

  Trig walks over and kneels in front of me. He hooks his thumbs on the top of my panties and slowly pulls my underwear down, not once breaking eye contact with me. I feel my breath stop somewhere in my chest and it takes a while for me to remember to breathe again. He stands up and walks backward toward the door. I hurry and sit down. His eyes are still on me.

  “I can’t pee with you just staring at me like that.”

  “Fine,” he says, and turns to his side.

  After I finish, I do the best I can to wipe and flush the toilet. Trig swings around. I’m standing there with my panties around my ankles. He eyes me from head to toe. I clear my throat and hold up my hands to remind him that I’m still tied up. He nods and walks back over to help me pull my underwear up. I feel his warm fingers graze my bare skin in the process. I involuntarily moan, which causes him to look up at me. He slowly rises, and then stands directly in front of me.

  “You’re trouble, you know that?” he says. His eyes search my face.

  I lick my bottom lip. He takes his hand and reaches out to touch my cheek. I flinch as his fingers brush against a tender area. He pulls back in response, and part of me is saddened that his hand is no longer on me. Is this what being locked away does to me? Am I that starved for attention that a simple touch from Trig makes me feel good? I’m not comfortable with what I’m feeling now. The fact that I get some type of pleasure from this is wrong. I look down at my wrist to remind myself that I’m a prisoner. The reality sinks in tha
t this guy is going to kill me soon. I pull my knee up hard into his crotch, and then I make a hard exit out of the bathroom. Trig leans forward and groans in pain. I run toward the living room to get to the front door. Just as I place my hand on the doorknob, I hear the click of the revolver next to my head. I turn to see Trig standing behind me. He’s pissed. He has one hand holding the gun and the other holding his dick.

  “I swear to God, Nine. I will shoot your skinny little ass, right on the spot. Don’t take my kindness for weakness. Back to the basement,” he yells, and waves the gun toward the hallway.

  I walk past him with my head down. As soon as I get to the basement door, I spin around. I feel panicky. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be some basement bitch sitting around in her panties waiting to die. The anxiety alone is killing me.

  “Don’t,” Trig warns.

  “Why don’t you just kill me? Shoot me and get it over with. That’s your job, right? Boss’s orders? I have no info for you. Pull the trigger, Trig. Just fucking do it,” I yell.

  He backs me up against the door and grabs my face firmly in the palm of his hand.

  “Don’t push me, because I’ll have no problem doing it,” he says through his teeth. “Remember, you’re not in charge here, pumpkin. I’m not one of your customers. You can save that tough act for your bedroom play.”

  “Fuck you,” I yell.

  I pull my face out of his hands and stare at him in disgust.

  “Maybe another time.” He smirks, as he grabs my arm and shoves me inside the room.

  He stands in the doorway, strips off his white shirt, and tosses it at me. I catch it and stare down at the ball of fabric in my hands, and then back up to him. I take in his tribal chest and sleeve tattoo that runs down the left side of his body.

  “Cover up that shit…You’re like a goddamn temptress.” He waves his hand toward my body.

  I slide it over my head and stare at him in irritation. He takes a step back and slams the door.

  Trig’s scent is all over the shirt and I can’t help but pull the collar up to my nose. He’s wearing the same cologne he did that night in the elevator. I quickly release the fabric. I hate thinking about what happened in that room. I’m still in pain and every time I move I’m reminded of Victor.

  I turn my head and look over to the table to see the plate of food that Trig had brought in earlier. I’m famished at this point, so I run over and start shoving eggs and pancakes into my mouth, as if I’ve never eaten before. I drown it all down with the bottle of water he left me as well. After I eat and damn near lick the plate clean, I look down at the fork on my plate. It’s not my weapon of choice, but it will work. I grab it and place it in a position where I can use it for self-defense. The handle is gripped between my fingers, and the prongs are sticking out. I sit down in the chair and wait, and wait and wait. I’m waiting so long that my ass hurts. Trig never returns. Hours are passing and I’ve now gone from sitting to standing to laying spread out on the floor. I hear the door unlock, and then it creaks open. I pull myself up to a standing position. Trig takes one look at me and laughs.

  “Are you going to stab me with that fork?”

  “I might,” I respond, as I pull my chin up.

  I look down to see that he’s carrying a small brown paper bag.

  “Or you could just use your fork for this.”

  He holds the bag up higher.

  I frown at my feeble attempt to kill Trig. He nods to the table. I trudge over and sit in the chair, fork in hand still. He tosses the bag on the table.

  “Fork, please,” he says.

  I lift my hand and drop the fork on the table.

  “What’s in the bag?” I say, as I keep my eyes directed off Trig.

  He pushes the bag toward me.

  I slowly pull it closer to me and peek inside.

  “A cupcake. You brought me a chocolate cupcake?” I squint my eyes at him.

  I’m pissed. What hitman goes out and buys a cupcake? I’m lost for words. It’s incredibly hard to be mad at your captor when he’s doing un-killer like things.

  He looks at me for a while and then he leans all the way back in his chair.

  “Do you have a problem with cupcakes?” Trig asks.

  “No. Just you.” I push the bag back toward him.

  He slides it right back at me, and then leans forward, resting his elbows on the table.

  “So this is how it’s going to go. I ask a question. You answer, and then you get a bite. It’s easy. It’s enjoyable and everybody wins. You look like you could use the sugar anyway.”

  “You’re forcing me to eat?”

  “You eat and play the game or I kill you.”

  “Whatever,” I say, as I slump into my chair.

  “Name?”

  I roll my eyes and exhale. “I’m not playing this game.”

  “Yes, you are.” He taps the fork on the table. “Name?” he repeats.

  “Fine. It’s Storm Wilson.”

  Trig pulls his chair closer to me. He digs the fork into the cupcake and places it up to my lips. I slowly open my mouth and then he shoves it in.

  “Why was Victor trying to kill you?”

  I take a moment to swallow. The cupcake is pretty damn good, but I’m not telling him that.

  “He wasn’t trying to kill me; at least he wasn’t at first. He was trying to break me. I take a lot of business in the area. I’m good to my customers. Clients have left his girls to come see me. It’s a money loss game for these guys. This wasn’t the first time a pimp has harassed me over the years. I’m worth a lot out on the streets. I bring in more profit than any girl in Las Vegas does. He wanted to bring me on board to be his little cash cow.”

  Trig breaks off another piece of cupcake and holds the fork up.

  “I need those drugs back. Do you have any information on Victor that would help me? Did he say anything to you that night at the hotel?”

  “Are you really asking me if we had pillow talk?” I point to my face. “Does this look like we sat down and had a nice conversation?”

  “I’m just trying to help you, Nine…or Storm, or whoever you are.”

  “Yeah. Sure you are. How does this benefit you?”

  Trig shakes his head.

  “Oh. That’s right. I don’t get to ask questions. You’re totally off limits.” I huff.

  “You’re not making this easy.”

  “I don’t fucking know anything. How many more times do I have to keep repeating it? Why don’t you search his house, and rummage through all of his shit?”

  “I did,” he quickly replies.

  “I take it you didn’t find much.”

  “No. I found something alright.” I stare at him with curiosity. “I found surveillance pictures of you.”

  “Well, that’s creepy.”

  He drops the fork and holds up the entire cupcake. I lean in and take an angry bite. I feel the frosting mash against my skin. I lift my tied hands up to wipe if off.

  “Stop. You’re just making it worse,” he says.

  He reaches over and wipes a smudge of chocolate from the corner of my mouth with his thumb. He then takes that same thumb and places it up to his lips, and slowly sucks it off. I just stare like a deer in headlights. Fuck. He’s hot. He seriously makes heat rise from places where it shouldn’t at the time being. I’m all kinds of twisted right now. I shouldn’t feel this way about somebody who’s holding me hostage. My hands are tied up for God’s sake. He did save my life though, but he’s a hitman of some sort. At least I assume he is, which means he kills people for a living. What the hell is wrong with me? I’m suffering from hero syndrome, right? Trig rushed in and saved me, which is probably part of the reason I can’t think straight. I can’t differentiate if he’s a good or a bad guy. Most girls would probably be feeling the same way or maybe I’m just that disturbed.

  “Nine!” he says. I snap out of my thoughts. “I’m talking to you.”

  “What?”

  “I as
ked you who Jenny is.”

  I look at him for a minute. He recites off a cell phone number that belongs to her.

  I stare at him confused.

  “Jenny – who is she?”

  “She’s my roommate and my assistant. Why?”

  “How does one assist a prostitute?”

  “Escort,” I correct him with angry eyes, as if the word prostitute is beneath me.

  Trig looks at me and nods.

  “Tell me more. How do you know her? What did she do for you?”

  I look at his gun and then back up to him. I decide to give him a short version of our back-story, which includes where we met, and how we started in the business. I explain to him that Jenny is a number cruncher, and that she does all of my accounting and sets up my appointments.

  “Why are you asking about Jenny?”

  “Phone records. She’s made and received several calls to and from Victor.”

  “What?” I say, surprised as I push back my chair. “That’s not what she told me.”

  I think back to when she said that he had called a month ago and then once yesterday morning.

  “Well, she lied to you.”

  I feel pissed, but I’m not sure whom at. Trig or Jenny.

  “What are you saying? You think Jenny was involved with Victor.” I scoff. “Where do you get off even suggesting that?” I squint my eyes in disbelief. “You don’t know her.” I bang my fist down on the table.

  “Nine!” Trig warns.

  “No. Fuck you and this cupcake and all of these questions. I’m done.”

  I attempt to stand up. Trig leans his body forward and quickly reaches out. He hooks his fingers between both of my wrists, catching the rope.

  “Sit,” he demands.

  I’m shaking, I’m so mad.

  “How many calls,” I shout, as I plop back down. “I want to know how many times they talked.”

  “At least fifteen, if not more. All within a short window.”

  There would be no reason for her to talk to any of our clients fifteen times. There had to be a reasonable explanation for it. I stare down at the table in shock. I don’t want to believe that she sent me to that hotel for the beating of my life.