Page 94 of Kandie Shoppe

“Ah, seems like some of my wards are hungry, just like you. Don’t worry, I’ll get around to feeding them — eventually.” He seems to relish the power he has over these helpless kids.

He’s so much like his father. I don’t know how I missed it. Bishop Smith had dirty blond hair with a receding hairline. I’ve spent so many years trying to block out his creepy, salivating face that I completely bypassed the similarities in his son.

I didn’t even know what happened to the son. I just assumed, like everyone else, that he died in the fire and the subsequent building collapse. If only that had been true.

Now, I’ve come face to face with my worst nightmare aside from the night of losing my family. This is the singular source of all my night terrors. This underground prison where I listened to other kids being tortured, and I had to endure it. Every day I fought to stay sane and not give in, knowing that any moment I would. I was so tired of being strong. I’m tired now, but I knowI have to be resilient just one more time. I have to gin up the strength I need to beat this bastard.

“Here we are.” He shoves me into the room that is lined with showerheads and tiled floors. “Keep being sweet and go bathe. Take your time. The viewers are watching.”

Keeping my gait unsteady, I make my way over to the wall line of showers. I can feel his eyes on me, already formulating a plan.

Stepping up to the shower, I turn the water spigot to hot. The pressure is heavy and despite the fact that this is probably the least ideal of situations; it feels good when the heavy pressure hits my sore aching muscles. I lean in, making sure the spring that is now biting into the underside of my breast is secure.

“Too much. You’re fogging up the lens,” he barks from where he’s positioned just near the entrance.

Working the knob, I turn it so that a little less water comes out, but not enough to make a difference.

“More.” Frustration is obvious in his voice. Out of the corner of my eye, I see he’s reading the feedback from the stream as it rolls live from his phone.

Pretending I’m being obedient, I put my hand on the knob again, but I don’t turn it.

“More,” hissing, he steps down toward a darkened area, taking something long off the wall.

My heart drops when I see that it’s a prod. He must know he’ll surely kill me if he hits me with that thing while I’m wet.

“I told you to keep being sweet, Kandie.” Taking a menacing step toward me, he brandishes the cattle prod, making sure I get it.

“I-I did what you said. The knob it just rusty.” Quickly turning, I make a big show of trying to get the knob to turn.

“Figures.” Muttering, he leans the cattle prod against the wall, kicking his shoes off, then pulling off his socks, he heads over to me.

Thanking the God of the universe that he’s not as tall as Ulysses or my cousins, I say a little prayer of strength and vengeance as he comes behind me.

“I don’t mind getting wet for you, love of my life. I may even let you wash me like you did that behemoth idiot, Ulysses. You know he was near tears earlier today when they were telling him all hope is lost and it was now a recovery operation instead of a rescue? It was beautiful to see. I even gave him a little hug and squeeze.” His low chuckle is cut off when I whirl around and jam him in the throat with the sharp end of the spring. Blood sprays out of the wound as I snatch the spring back and forth, trying my best to make the gash forming deep as possible. He grabs my throat, taking me down to the slippery slick tiles, but I’ve got the spring in good.

“You sick motherfucker,” I scream, not knowing if it’s water wetting my face or tears. His hold tightens, almost making me see stars before he gradually lessens and falls away. I rip out the spring and lose myself in burying it in his neck and face so many times that he’s unrecognizable. His face and neck are a bloody mass of goo when I finally collapse beside him.

The water sprays all over me, and the dead body beside me eventually turns cold. Shifting, I look down at my handiwork. Heaving like my body wants to throw up, I fold over my legs beside him, but nothing comes up. My body used the little food I was given yesterday for fuel. I have nothing else to give.

Fishing through his pocket, I take out a set of keys and his phone. It still working but there is no signal.

Looking at it, I see the feed. It’s going crazy. So many comments. Then I see a chilling post.

Calm down, the situation is under control. We will be back up within twenty-four hours. All bets are still good.

The time stamp was more than thirty minutes ago. Whoever he is working with will be here — could already be here.

Scrambling to my feet, I rush out the door, grabbing the cattle prod with me.

Two hours later,by the time on the phone, I stand naked at the closed door of El Diablo clubhouse.

My body feels like it’s shutting down. I’m shivering. I’m standing at the threshold of enemy territory. So many of them still hate me because of what went down between Easy and Angel.

Let’s face it. It was all my fault. Despite the fact that in my eyes I was trying to rescue kids from a terrible fate, I made a mistake that caused Angel to miss Easy’s pregnancy and nearly the birth of his son. Saban hasn’t been seen since and, like the streets tell it, Snake is still punishing her for her part in the whole debacle.

Still, I know I have no choice as I pull the heavy door open, stepping inside and gripping the cattle prod like it’s my only connection to this life.

“What in the holy fuck?” Rocco yells from where he’s standing by the bar. “Kandie?” His voice sounding hollow resounds loud in the silence that follows. That’s when I realize this is not the regular nightly hang with music, flowing beer and spirits. They were having a meeting.

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