Page 69 of Play Dirty
The further we drive, the more the streetlights start to flicker. The palm trees disappear, and the cleaner parts of the city are left far behind. The neons turn into muted colors, empty lots with tagged walls. I swallow the lump in my throat.
My pulse spikes as I read the sign welcoming me into Bajo Bay.
I’ve only ever heard the name at parties, when you’re looking for drugs or to make someone disappear, or when Daddy is scouting for talent. Bile rushes up my throat at the thought. How many students has he sponsored and fed his cock to?
Does mom know?
Maybe she does, and that’s why she’s always drunk and distant, spending her time traveling. Never home.
My hand tightens around the wheel, and my knuckles turn white from the pressure.
The thought has my eyes burning from the tears.
I snap back to the reality of Bajo Bay, to the decay in the streets. The people hustling, women standing on the corner smoking cigarettes, watching as my car closes in. I’m sure it sticks out like a sore fucking thumb. No one actually comes here unless you’re from here, and even the residents want out.
Nico parks near a boarded-up corner store, and a small yellow and weathered house sits beside it. A little boy, no older than twelve, plays outside, kicking a soccer ball. He drops it the moment his gaze lands on Nico. Pulling out my phone, I zoom in and take a very blurry picture of the moment.
I cut my engine two blocks away, hoping he doesn’t recognize the Mercedes and focuses on the little boy instead of me. My breath fogs the windshield, and my hands won’t stop shaking.
Still, I get out.
He dismisses the young boy and heads down an empty street. I trail behind him on foot, slow and quiet with my heart in my throat. The street smells like wet concrete and motor oil mixed with sewage. There’s a pulsing bass in the distance, music from a rundown bar or club tucked beneath the Bay’s edge.
I focus on Nico when I hear shouting and then a bottle shattering. During the commotion, I lose sight of him. I quickly turn into the alley only to realize it leads to nowhere.
Suddenly, a sound comes from behind me, making the hair on my arms rise.
Footsteps closing in.
Fast and hard.
My heart ricochets in my chest, and I scan the alley looking for anything I can use as a weapon, and opt for a discarded beer bottle. Picking it up from the ground, I try to hide as a rough hand grabs my hair, yanking me towards him. The smell of liquor and cigarettes invades my system. Vomit rises up my throat, my heart beats so fast I’m afraid I’ll go into cardiac arrest.
I scream and then swing, but my hand is smacked into a brick wall, and the bottle falls from my hand. When another hand claps over my mouth, I use the body as something to press against, lifting myself off the ground and using the wall to kick my feet off. “Pretty little feisty thing, you shouldn’t be out here alone.” A deep voice slurs near my ear, causing my stomach to sour. I thrash like a wild animal evading capture, my sneakers scrape the pavement, but he’s stronger.
He slams me into the wall.
I twist my head to try to scream again– but the pressure of his hand on my mouth is crushing. I hear a sharp whistle and something like the click of a switchblade.
My stomach drops.
Then—
A sound.
Nico.
His fist smashes into the side of the man’s head, causing him to let me go, stumbling. I fall to my knees. Nico stands over him, eyes burning and the switchblade shifting between his long fingers. “Navajas,”the man slurs, as Nico kicks his face, causing him to fall over and cough up a mess of blood and spit.
“She’s yours?” He groans out.
Nico still doesn’t reply; he just grabs the guy by the back of the neck and slams him against the wall. “Don’t you ever touch her,” he growls. “I should cut off your filthy hands.”
Smashing the blade into the man's finger, a guttural scream fills the air. I’ve never seen so much violence. I’ve never seen him so angry.
Nico punches him again. Then another.
Blood splatters the brick wall before the guy collapses with a whimper. All I do is stare, stunned into silence, and yet warmth collects inside me at the same time. My lungs are barely working, my palms are scraped, and the adrenaline is pumping inside me at full speed, flooding every nerve ending.
