Learning to Forgive (The Learning Series) (32 page)

“You’re lying. His daughter is dead,” he says weakly.

Her smile widens as she stands and tries to hand me the video recorder, but I shake my head no. This was her idea so she can run this show. She only arches her brow to show her irritation. “Javier. Come hold this.” She yells without looking away from my face. After she hands Javier the camera, she slowly walks around Bishop’s chair while letting her hips sway. The men in the room are watching her blue skirt caress her ass with every step, but I know she’s trying to gain my attention more than theirs. When she passes the second time, she grabs the handle to my KA-BAR and looks at me. “May I?”

“Be my guest,” I answer with false indifference. Honestly, I’m wondering what’s in store for this guy.

She turns toward Bishop, pops her ass in the air, and leans in. “Brace yourself.” She stands before jerking the blade out of his hand, and pays no mind to his screams. “You see, I don’t care if you think I’m lying. When my father sees this video, he’s the only one that needs to believe I am who I say I am.” She gets down on her knees between his legs not caring about the blood on the ground or dripping from his palm. Grabbing his opposite hand, she places the tip of blade under his thumbnail. “Where is he? Is he in Atlanta still, or is he headed here?”

“Fuck you.” Bishops spits in her face.

It doesn’t faze or disgust her. She just wipes it off. “Growing up with him as a father, I started watching people being tortured when I was ten. You’re the first one I get to try it on, though.” Using the tip of the knife, she rips his nails off one by one. The machines outside loading trucks and barges drown out the agony in his screams.

After the seventh bloody finger, he screams for her to stop and gives in. “He’s n-n-not in either place.”

“Then where is he? Is he close?”

At first, he says nothing, but she takes the knife and places it against his cheek with just enough pressure to break skin. “Y-y-yes. Very close,” he stutters, “but you won’t find him.”

She smiles brightly and sits in his lap as blood spray on her hands and clothes. Her knees are filthy, but none of it disturbs her. “I won’t have to.” She kisses him on the cheek before turning back toward the video camera. “Daddy, I hope you missed me. And I hope to make you proud.” She puts the gun to Bishop’s head and pulls the trigger.

Blood splatters her face but her smile never fades. “Come here,” she says to me and stands up from Bishop’s limp body. When I’m beside her, she wraps her free hand around me as her other continues to hold the camera. “And look who I’m with, daddy. Do you approve of him?” She loses her smile and the face of sadistic beauty transforms into pure evil. “If not, then come do something about it. That is, if you have the balls.”

This bitch is a true sociopath, and I’m wondering who is the real threat. Her or her father?

My clothes litter the floor of the gym’s bathroom. After I shower, I plan to throw gasoline on them, light a match, and watch them burn. My goal is to rid tonight’s events from my mind. I’m washing not only blood off my body, but also the smell of Anya’s perfume, and the kiss she ended the little video with. The thought of her sickens me, not only her poisonous tongue on mine but the enjoyment she took in killing someone. Pure fucking joy, like a kid at Christmas. She not only tortured him and fired the gun, but she also dismembered his corpse before tossing the pieces in the bay.

I’ve killed for a while now, but it’s definitely not something I enjoy. Pulling the trigger and taking someone’s life always brings me guilt until I remind myself what possible evil I’ve taken out of this world. But I’m sure Anya felt no remorse. Not one damn speck of it. Her actions are proof. The kiss she gave me was as sexual as they come, and I’m sure she was close to orgasm. And the way she wanted to continue, even after the camera was off, was proof that she got off on pulling that trigger As if high, she needed to find another form of release. I guess being raised by a Russian drug lord would fuck someone’s head up, but I believe Anya would kill a child if provoked.

She made sure Polesky’s other guy, who was at the bar with Bishop, not only personally sent it to her father, but watched the whole ordeal. So now, we wait. Either Polesky comes here for his precious daughter or a war has started. Either way, I’m following fucking orders and can’t do a damn thing about it. I just keep my eyes open and wait.

After finishing, I wrap a towel around my waist and grab a black trash bag to throw my soiled clothes in. The door opening causes me to look over my shoulder. Ryan walks in so I relax some even though I’m not in the mood for his shit right now. “S’up?”

“You tell me. I’ve been blowing your damn phone up for two days. Figured I’d eventually find you here. I got word of Torres wanting to go a round with ya and need an answer.” He leans against the wall and crosses his arms. “You interested? Cause it certainly will pay a shit load.”

The mere thought of fighting brings that familiar adrenaline rush. Being in that atmosphere is intense and winning makes all the blood worth it. Plus, if I’m planning on getting out of this mess after Polesky is out of the picture, I know I’ll need all the money I can get. “Yeah. When and where?”

“One month and in Biloxi. His turf. You haven’t fought in a while and he’s been talkin’ some shit. So when word got back to me, I came looking for ya. Of course we had words, and even though he’s in a different weight class than me, I still think I could take his ass down.” He rubs his palms together. “I know you’re gonna KO him first round. Already getting my Benjamins ready.”

I just shake my head. Ryan loves to make quick money, probably as much as he loves fucking those skanks. Me getting on his ass about gambling won’t help.

“Where’s that psycho bitch that’s always hanging on you, anyways? I’m surprised she’s not a permanent attachment to your dick.”

I shrug my shoulders as I pull on my Ominous shirt and jeans. “Don’t know. Don’t really care.”

“Mmmhmm!
Isn’t she your girl?” he asks but I don’t answer. I haven’t said anything about her being anything to me. Anya does all that shit. And no matter how much I want to deny it, I hold my tongue and play her game.

He gets the hint and drops the issue. “Well, Cory and that yeehaw split. Bout damn time. She’s not the goat milking type. And I’m sure she’d be living the farm life if she stuck with his ass. Never did like him or how he talked to her. He’s too much beef and not enough brain to do anything else, if you ask me.”

“You and her still talk?” Cory is pretty much the only chick Ryan ever slept with twice.

“Some. She’s been hangin’ around that bitch Blaire for…”
Oof
!

He’s against the brick wall before he can finish his sentence. My forearm is digging into his throat, cutting off his air and blood flow. I don’t give a shit if he’s a friend or not. “Don’t you ever…
EVER
talk about her like that again, got it?” Instead of answering, he kicks my legs out from under me, but I catch myself before I completely fall on the floor. I like the kid, but I’ll fuck him up if need be. “You really wanna do this?” My body gets ready for a fight, feet apart, and arms ready.

He coughs to get air before standing up straight, watching me. “Fuck, no. What I do want is some damn answers. You didn’t mind when I called your
girlfriend
a bitch, but I call Blaire one and you get all fuckin crazy. What the fuck dude?”

Taking a deep breath, I relax. “Don’t worry about it. Shit’s just really fuckin’ complicated now.”

“I do worry, bro. I know you’re into some shit. I’m not sure exactly what, but I know it’s deep. But I’ve never seen you act like the band doesn’t matter. All of a sudden that Anya chick shows up, and you’re never around for practice, the shop, or the gym. Hell bro, you own the bar now and you’re hardly there. And I know you’re not off fuckin’ her because you wouldn’t be such a goddamn ass all the time. Besides that, you cringe from her. Literally fuckin cringe, dude, and that shit’s not normal.”

“Stay out of it.”

“Look, I’ll stay out of it, but if you need any-fucking-thing, I’ll be ready. Yeah?”

Ryan has been loyal to me for a while now and I know he means what he says. He would be a big help if I ever needed him. He’s fuckin crazy and has the fighting skills to back it up, but I don’t want him getting killed. “Yeah.” I agree. He comes over and slaps me on the shoulder before turning around to leave, but I stop him before he can. “There is one thing you can do. Will you keep a close eye on Red for me?”

“Already handled dude. Cory’s been staying with her a lot.”

“And?” My heartbeat picks up with just the thought of Red. Once this shit is done, I’m getting her back, no matter what. If I have to beg and grovel, I will. If I have to kill, I will. No matter the cost. My need to feel alive again has me wanting to see her. Touch her. Taste her. Just the thought brings not only my dick to life but my heart, too. I feel no life inside me since that last kiss we shared, and when Anya’s around, I sink deeper in my own hell. One I’ve only recently started to escape from. Anya has pure evil in her and a need for vengeance that swarms and touches everyone she comes in contact with. She’s devious and will use all of her assets to get what she wants, no matter who gets hurts in the process. Even Red.

Anya told me how she picked her up hitchhiking and taught her how to hustle for money. Money she later stole. She even told me how she contemplated killing Red because she was too weak to be useful, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. I guess her black heart does beat on some fucked up level.

“She’s good. Working at a ritzy ass piano bar downtown or some shit. Cory told me Janet left all her assets to her so now she has a place to live and a way to get around.”

I nod my head while picturing her face smiling instead of the angry tears from three weeks ago. She finally has a place of her own and has started a life. The only thing missing is me. With any luck, it’s not for too much longer.

“Breaking from the truth that was built with lies.”

~Blaire

Blaire

When I press my fingertips against the ivory keys, I fall into a trance where all I see is music unfolding and all I feel is contentment. For me, playing the piano is an art. I visualize my masterpiece and know what piece to perform. Then it’s all about feeling my way through it until I reach the end, either making it my own in every way or leaving it precisely as written. I’m happy just playing, and it’s taken me time and some crazy girls to feel happy again. Every day, my heart heals a little more and I keep pushing forward to get my sister back. Even though I’m still in love with Lyric, I can’t do anything about it right now besides keep my distance and get over him.

After the first week of being away from him, realization hit me. I don’t need him to fix me like I thought. I need to fix myself. So I’ve reached out and found some help with the psychologist from the hospital. I’ve slowly opened up about my past. She doesn’t push like I thought she would. She listens and shows no judgment or disgust. With these discussions, I might be reliving those nights of molestation, but I’m also fighting back. I’m refusing to let him take me down and beat me mentally for the rest of my life. Or my sister’s.

Lyric was gracious enough to have Hyde bring me all my things. He silently walked up the steps and laid bags and boxes on the porch while I stood at the door and watched, refusing to let him inside. When he carried up Benji’s guitar case, I met him half way and snatched it out of his hands. My resentment showed through my eyes and I wanted him to know how I was feeling. He never liked me anyways and had no problem letting me know he didn’t want me around. But, when I saw just a glimpse of sadness, my guard slipped and stayed that way until Cory walked through the door later that night.

She found me crying as I rummaged through the boxes that smelt of Lyric when I opened them. We decided a nice bonfire was needed as well as a few drinks. So we took all the nice pretties he’d bought me and torched them. The only thing not there was the dress he bought me in New Orleans. It’s fine, though. I don’t think I could have destroyed it. As the fire burned, Cory kept my mind occupied. I don’t know what I’d do without her around. She always knows how to make me smile when I need it most.