"Men are disappointing, anyhow. They fall like dominos, just pluck up another as if you're picking flowers."
A bell rang, it was Millers cat trying to get her collar off. Stupid thing to wrap around a cat, you can't leash something not meant to be owned. The tiny bell was like a punishment, it rang on her collar like a coughs on a clock. I looked up at Miller, she was zipping up a makeup bag I'd never seen before. She should be packing shit into boxes, gods did she have a long way to go before moving to her new place. Then I would be alone.
"Are you listening, sweetie?"
"I'm sleeping. Trying to."
"Trying, trying. I'll be quieter." She picked up a tart from the counter and licked the frosting caught on her fingernail. I turned onto my side, gods was she loud. I'd told her my heart had shattered from the landlords death, the man I'd been sleeping with. Told her that I couldn't get out of bed, not for a while.
In a way it was true. Dammit the bastard got me good; he hitched his heel in my ribs before he bled out. Not a lot of men can get at you when they're draining. I moaned the way I moved in the bed, something had broken inside, something important. I'd take myself in tonight, now would be too dangerous. Tonight it could be a fall when Miller was gone. But right away, Miller would know if she'd seen me fall, or heard it. She's a good girl, really, but gods does she need to move out quicker.
It had been a few hours before Millers cat woke me up again, it must of been one in the morning. I had finally fell asleep when she left to rent a few men from the pub to help her carry her shit to Pt. Lucys Street. It was a whore house; I was losing my only friend to a damn whore house. A nice whore house, though.
Miller was asleep in the bed with six plates staked on her night stand. I'd gather them if I wasn't afraid to wake her up. No, suppose tonight I'd slip out and find another man. I'd limp about and let him follow me into an ally or offer me a ride, how would I get my knife in him? How would I slip in between his ribs when I would be clutching tight to mine?
I grabbed a rollup and slipped out anyway, I lit it up and let the smoke melt into me, I drank down the tobacco like a cold breeze, warming my lungs against a rose stained chest. It was cold out, and I could feel the bars on the door pressing through my gown. I didn't have to live here, in Blaylock, not really. There was no point. But I would stay, for the talk and the men and the liquor, because nowhere else could I get away with killing my landlord and enjoying a cigarette on a cold night afterwards.
My stick melted down to my fingers, a browning lit nub staining my nails with an aged smell. I put it out on my heel and went back in the building, back to my bed. But another bell sang, the bell on the door that announced someone's entrance. Now though it was coming towards me, the handle slamming into my chest. I threw a hand over my ribcage instinctively first instead of backing up, a mistake, a gods awful stupid mistake.
The knob cracked against my hand, thumping against the bruise on my ribs. I knelt over, gaping, a sound of awe cackling. Something was wrong, something was very wrong. The pain was immense and immediate, it grew and grew under and around my chest, in my lungs. I couldn't breathe. Something was wrong, oh gods. The man that threw open the door knelt next to me, but the pain was everywhere. I could see it so far out I couldn't see anything else, I could see black dots squirming in the corners of the street. I felt a shock down my hip and impossibly, down my left leg.
"Miss, are you alright?" But I knocked his reaching hand away. I clutched onto his shoulder and stood, he huffed but didn't stop me. Holding my side I walked into the building, limping, brooding. I thought I couldn't make it up the stairs, I could, I thought I couldn't make it to my room, I didn't. I collapsed at the door, moaned the way I hit the tile and how my waste spazzed. The pain was a living thing thrashing in my chest, collecting cells and blood and demanding to heal itself.
I knocked once, it was weak, I knocked again, again, and again. I screamed for Miller, I screamed until all the doors in the building opened until finally Miller opened ours. Her thick frame was in the doorframe, she didn't help me up, only knelt down. "Vic, since when do you drink?"
She has sucked in a breath then, looking into my eyes, welling with tears and tired, so damn tired and ready for shock to take the pain away. "Miller, something is wrong. Fuck, something is very wrong, Miller."
Ф
"I didn't get his name."
But he had brown hair. Brown eyes. Thick eyebrows.
I'd been explaining it to the police for a while.
"Could it possibly be Sayter Hamel you're talking about?"
Why would the Crime Lords second be in this part of Blaylock unless to torment us?
"No. He had tan skin."
"Race?"
"White. I don't know, maybe Cuban?"
The other cop turned, "Sayter Hamel could be tan. In the dark, maybe."
I rubbed at my temples, it hurt.
"It wasn't Sayter fucking Hamel."
They jotted that down too. They jotted gods damn everything I said down as if I was giving them the recipe to good fortune. It made me tired, I was tired. I wanted to go to sleep, in my bed, at home, no pain. But I kept lying, I lied because if the Crime Lord found out I killed Greg Nibson, my landlord and a gambler in the vaults in his debt, I'd be skinned and hung for Blaylocks display for the money he couldn't pay off.
I personally believe I did Gregory a favor. If I hadn't killed him, Sayter Hamel would, and Sayter kills slowly and creativity.
It was the one man I would never consider going near.
"One last thing before we go,"
I rolled my eyes, made sure they saw,
"Enticing."
The barrel bellied man cleared his throat,
"A woman has been waiting outside for you. Mona Madëon."
"The owner of the whore house on Pt. Lucys?" I rolled my shoulders, the only part of me not spiraling in pain. What in the hell did that bitch have to say to me?
"Yes, dear. I believe so." The chubby man walked out, his partner stayed behind. A slim faced man with a pitiful smile.
"May the Gods be with you. Don't listen to her words, girl. You know what women like her do to girls like you."
I do. Gods, I do. It's why I've refuse to acknowledge Miller half the time, how I can't stop her and what she's going into.
Pt. Lucys enslaves girls.
Ф
Mona Madëon hugged me, greeted and shook my hand. It hurt, but I stood straight and sized her. I don't believe she was afraid of me, she should be with what I've done, but she wouldn't be. She was old, a blonde wig on her balding head. Her ribs were crushed into her frame from a lifetime wearing a corset, this woman was petite, thin and spider like. If I punched her, if I just straight up fucking punched her, she would probably fall into a coma.
She sat next to me on the hospital bed, her dress expanded over her legs like swans feet. I felt even more sick, looking at this women that if not for her fortune, would of died from frailness alone.
"Miller has said so much about you,"
She put a hand on my side, I cringed and pulled away.
"Miller runs her mouth more than she intends."
She ignored me, "I hear about your medical bill, the nurse slipped me a little estimate. Can you pay that all off with what you make on the street alone?"
I could kill her right now. I could kill her, take the money she brought with her to pay the bill because of her own assumption, and fucking leave. But I had no doubt she and the Crime Lord had business together, and if I even so much as touched her I was damned.
"I won't be one of your girls."
She laughed, "Victoria. How do you think it will be so different from your life now?"
"I want my own freedom, I know you lock your girls in rooms and keep them from getting out of the house. I know, because I've watched that house since I was a girl, right across the street. No girl that goes in comes out. No girl but you."
And my grandmother. She escaped, was so strung over it she cut through men like cattle. Whatever she did to her would happen to Miller. Maybe even me.
"Darling," Her face was serious now.
"Do you know what happened while you were out for the past two days?"
I froze. She had done something, hurt someone. Had she taken Miller? Was she dead? Was I about to be? I was going to die. I was already dying and she was going to quicken the pace.
"Sayter Hamel tortured the Crime Lord to death. He's in charge of Blaylock now."
I flinched, and stayed about where I was.
I rolled the words in my head, felt them on my tongue.
That was it. I was damned. I was damned along with all of Blaylock because the one man we all feared was the one in charge of us all. Unless she was lying, or this was a dream, or hell, most likely. I had died in the hallway, or on the way to the hospital, and now I was in a hell of Sayter Hamels creation.
Mona Madëon smiled sadly, "You know what Blaylock will turn into with him as Crime Lord. Let me protect you, Victoria. Come home with me."
Mona Madëon died a month later, Sayter had killed her. I don't know why, nobody does. Miller died too, she died trying to escape, died when it was supposed to be me. Died because I was stuck in the hospital for the month.
The new Crime Lord killed the woman meant for me to take. Killed the woman who killed the only friend I had.
I would kill him for it too, someday. That's all there is to do in Blaylock nowadays, what with our new Crime Lord.
A/N
It's been so long and this chapter is shit and I have so much work to do but I promise ill edit it someday when im not being a piece of shit.
Just a few more chapters and its over yall