Page 42 of Brutal Knight

“With that address, you can get enough information from Benny to take down the Kings.”

“Yeah, but,” Antonio shook his head, “Knight has a standing deal with myJefe. We don’t mess with him, and he doesn’t mess with us. No way a guy like me is going to fuck that shit up. My boss would scoop out my balls.”

"It's worth something," I gritted out.

His grip on my wrist tightened but he reached up, caressing my cheek with the back of his other hand. "Not as much as having you in my bed. Your tight, wet cunt wrapped around my dick."

Shit.He wasn’t going to do it.I should’ve known.

Plastering a smile on, I leaned up to kiss him on the cheek, trying to lessen the tension between us. "You know as well as I do that Alejandra would cut your dick off."

“True that.” He laughed, the sound cold, but he shook his head. “Look, if your information is good, theJefewill consider your offer. In the meantime, I'm sorry to have to do this.”

“Wha—“ I managed to get out before I felt a pinprick in my neck, Carlos’ breath moving over my shoulder.

“Be still,Princessa. You’ll be fine. It’s just a short nap, then you’re in for a good time.”

I went for the knife sewn into my dress but I couldn’t move. All my senses were muted, shocked into stillness from whatever was in that needle, and I fell into nothingness.

NINE

age13

Worry wormed through my insides as I made my way up the street, the words of my parents and my own thoughts slithering through my mind like inky, black sludge.He won’t do it.

I stepped over a mud puddle, chewing on the freckle on my upper lip.Do you really think you mean that much to him?

It had been two years since my papa had started working for Abuelo, close associate to the head of the Cuban secret police and also Knight's grandfather. And, even though it had taken a while to gain Abuelo’s trust, it was the opportunity of a lifetime for my parents.

My papa had brought us to Cuba with the hopes of living in a great communist country, having been instilled with the ideas his own parents had taught him:from each according to his ability, to each according to his needs.

And my parents had plenty of needs - my papa working with Abuelo had revealed that to me.

Every payday was the fulfilling of those needs. Up their noses or in the veins of their arms, while the small refrigerator remained empty. I'd grown used to it, the hope that we would actually have food and clothing that fit dying quickly, replaced withtheirdesire for more things for themselves.

They were now hanging out with people who drove brand new cars, secretly imported from Europe; drank whiskey like it flowed from every faucet; and, wore clothing bought with secret passports on trips to Paris and New York.

And even though Papa worked hard, using both his charm and his wits on his jobs, he didn’t earn as much as the other, more seasoned men.

And now, things were changing, I could feel it.

Their expectation to live as those around them put pressure on himself and mama, and the whispered conversations between them grew until I could feel the focal point of their attention shift from his jobs coming in…to me.

Then, this morning, their conversation behind closed doors confirmed my suspicions.

I was thirteen, and a 'late bloomer', my mother said. But as soon as puberty hit, I would be expected to help provide for the family.

My mama hadn’t clarified what that meant, but my stomach twisted with mistrust. Whatever 'providing' meant, it wouldn't bode well for me. I’d never lived up to their expectations, and I doubted that would change any time soon.

And now, my only hope was Knight. I'd heard that he'd arrived a week ago, and I'd waited with bated breath for him to come around looking for me, like he always did.

The suffocation in my chest only grew tighter and tighter each night he didn't come, like a balloon expanding so large, I could barely breathe. Finally, I'd given in, and decided to go to him.

I put on my best outfit, a white lace dress that was already growing too tight, and tied my long black hair in a French braid down my back, with a red ribbon tied on the ends. I'd long ago given up on braids, but tonight I wanted to remind him of our past.

Because he was my future, my only hope out of my situation.

Abuelo lived in the middle of the old city, where fifteenth-century mansions lined the road, grand houses with big, light-filled eyes, their sweeping porches fat, round bellies, like laughing royalty. And Abuelo’s house was in the center. It was the largest on the block, a freshly painted cream color, with vine covered balconies, mature palm trees lining the garden, and large, sweeping doorways. It was dignified and stately, secured by guards and great, iron fencing. Royalty among the Havana people: a bright beacon of rich abundance in contrast to the dirty, poverty stricken streets.

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