Page 17 of Queen of Madness

Onyx rolls her eyes before shoving the toy farther. This time, the gag he produces is wet, and we both take a quick step backward to let him empty his stomach onto the floor, along with Maddy’s dildo.

After he’s thoroughly done, rage overcomes his now disgusting features as snot runs from his nose and into his soiled mouth. “You are nothing more than one of the sluts who warms my cock every night. I have worked for the Murphys for ten years. If you don’t return me, they will skin you alive, you stupid bitch.”

Onyx’s head tilts to the side, a genuine look of confusion drawing her eyebrows together. I, too, find myself baffled at his misstep. Does he not realize where he is? That no one is coming, and he has probably already been replaced?

“I never said I didn’t plan to return you,” she coos. “I fully intend to. And as it stands right now, I think it will be in four different pieces. What do you think, Shire?”

Moving around, I join her side, looking over the mess of a man in front of me. Visions of my own mother’s face pierce through me. Her knees soiled and bloody. Vomit clinging to every inch of her clothes. Her promises of being able to come home soon falling on deaf ears. It wouldn’t be till long after her death, and two months after my sixteenth birthday, that I found the same image looking back at me in the mirror—swearing to myself I’d be able to escape them soon.

A gentle squeeze of my bicep brings me back, and I force two slow draws of air before I’m able to hear her over the frantic beat of my heart. I shake my head and decide to ask him something to better answer my Boss’s question. “What do you do for the Murphys?”

“Fuck you.” The guy spits in my direction, and before I have a chance to respond, Onyx moves, hitting him with such force his lips split open. Anger and frustration swirl in his irises and he tries to jerk himself free of his restraints.

Onyx kicks her leg up and digs her heel into his upper thigh, the dark fabric instantly growing darker. His screeches of pain echo in the room, and I can’t help but laugh at how easy he is to hurt. Though the Murphys don’t do any of their own heavy lifting, the members that have worked with them the longest have much higher pain tolerances.

His face falls to me, his chest rising and falling as he tries to control the sobs working through him. “You’re fucking crazy in the head, bitch. Completely fucking bonkers.”

“I’ll tell you a secret, friend.” I move to the edge of the room, knowing his time is near. He hasn’t been useful in the slightest and Onyx doesn’t like to waste her time. “I like to think all the best people are. It was lovely meeting you.”

His head whips back to Onyx, who is still watching him, boredom playing on her features. “Sure you don’t want to answer her?”

“Phineas will find you just like he found your whore of a mother. Only this time, he’s going to fuck you until you beg for death, like he should have done to her in front of your shit fath—”

He didn’t see that Onyx made a fist with the hand attached to the bracelet. He didn’t see that the ring being pulled caused a blade to slide out from the top, stopping just five inches past her knuckles. And his arrogance, or perhaps stupidity, stopped him from seeing her move. But he did feel the moment her knife pierced through his windpipe, just before slicing it open vertically. Blood splatters, his garbled cough causing it to spray out, and land across her chest.

Unable to grab at his now filleted throat, his face morphs into pure horror as an unfazed Onyx dips her clean hand into her sheer bra and pulls out her queen of hearts card. She kisses the back before shoving the shiny card inside his gaped-open mouth.

“Apologize to the boys for the late hour but have them deliver this lovely specimen of a man to the front gate of his Boss’s.” She wipes the blade on her slacks before letting her fist go and withdrawing the knife. “Have them cut his tongue out and have one of my gardeners grind it up and put it in the dirt for my roses. As much shit that comes from his mouth, I just know it will make good fertilizer.”

It’s three a.m., and to say I’m exhausted is a fucking understatement.

Little sleep isn’t new to me. Stress isn’t either. But I’ve also never been a double agent working against two opposing sides of the Mafia while racing a clock. And while I’d literally kill to quiet my mind for just a few minutes and attain a fragment of rest, I know it’d be pointless. I’ve sunk into the soft bed—my bed—more than once, but instead of sleeping, I only replay my conversation with Maddy.

Shortly after fitting me for a concealed weapon belt, she and the twins left. She informed me on her way out that I was free to rest or roam around until my shift ended at six, mentioning she knew it was a lot of information to absorb. But even without already knowing what I did, I caught up fairly quickly.

Besides, no matter who these people are, what they do, what my job is, how much I get paid, or where I’m allowed to shop—all of it…noneof it actually matters. The only thing I need to understand is that I’m nothing more than a pawn on the board being moved by both sides. It’s not prevalent information, and it damn sure doesn’t surprise me to learn I’m bait here as well, but still, my mind is restless. Every thought I could ever have are tangling with each other, fighting over what I should worry about more.

Whether it be my mom and her inability to eat the fucking food we make and leave for her in the fridge.

My sister and where she is or what she’s having to go through right now.

My life and the bill due to some imaginary force that won’t accept anything I’ve paid thus far.

Ormaybe the fact that I’m content under a roof full of killers, like the one currently stopped in front of my door.

It’s a female, based on her light and hurried steps, and she’s positioned herself to the right, just out of my limited view, keeping her shadow away from the bottom of my door.

Initially, I almost think they’ve figured out who I am, after all, and a sick sort of peace creeps into my muscles. It calms the swell of anxiety over everything else, promising a swift end to the shit hand I’m holding. But the thought washes away when I think of what that would mean for my sister.

With a brief look around the room, I find four objects I could use to kill whoever’s on the other side. I don’t move, though, and instead wait, mirroring her stillness.

The moment only lasts another breath before her presence vanishes and she rushes down the stairs as quickly as she’d come up.

The anxious veil returns, forcing my mind back into a frenzy. My hands fist at my sides, my short nails biting into the flesh of my palm to the brink of breaking through, until I release my tight grasp. Over and over, I do the same thing until small crescent bruises form in the skin. I’ll go insane if I continue to stand here for the few remaining hours of my shift.

The small bedside table shines in the dim room, the red digits casting an eerie glow against the wood, showing me how long I’ll have to wait.

One hundred and eighty minutes.

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