Page 29 of Wicked Things
MASON
The gym’s deserted. Cold. The place isn’t exactly sealed against the elements, so every time a gust of wind blasts the place, the breeze finds its way through the many cracks and gaps, setting a chill to the air. I prefer it this way. At least now, while I’m training, I won’t overheat. I haven’t worked out properly in what feels like months. My body is tired, strained, exhausted from all the toxic shit I’ve been pouring into it, followed by the street fights I’ve been seeking out night after night. No more, though. This morning with Kaya… I wasn’t expecting her to set my head straight. I thought her presence in my apartment was going to make things even worse for me, but I feel…I don’t really know how I feel. All I know is that I’m not consumed by the urgent need for a drink as I hammer my fists rhythmically into the speed bag hanging over my head. And I know, later on, when darkness falls, I’m not going to be roaming the streets of Seattle looking for someone who’ll beat my ass unconscious.
My shoulders buzz with pain as I pivot from side to side, landing my hits with precision. My back thrums. My arms are on fire. It’s good, though. This is good. The air feels fresh and crisp in my lungs. My head feels like it’s in a good place. I was irritated when Zeth told me he wanted me to come in and clean this place every morning, but halfway through my list of tasks, I suddenly realized why the bastard gave me the job. Cleaning is a rote, mechanical thing. It requires very little mental focus. So when I was running a cloth over the mirrors in the changing rooms, when I was scrubbing the sinks, when I was pushing a broom around the vast gym floor, all I had was time to think. I wouldn’t have bothered fucking showing up if I’d been wise to his plan from the get-go, but right now… I needed that time to have a chat with myself. Figure things out. Get to know myself a little better after all of this hurt and pain.
Normally people don’t start showing up at the gym until mid-afternoon when their shifts at work end, so I’m surprised when the roller shutter rises and two guys…in suits…saunter in off the street. What the fuck? These boys do not look like they’re here to work out. They look like they’re here to rob the place or something. I mop my face with a towel, tossing it over my shoulder as I head over to meet them.
“Can I help you?”
The taller of the two—longer hair, high forehead—releases a bark of laughter when he sets his eyes on me. “Jesus. What the fuck happened to you? You look like you just got lynched.” That’s a fair comment. I’m not wearing a shirt, after all, and my chest, ribs, and back are dotted with an array of ugly fading bruises, cuts and scrapes.
“Your momma still thinks I’m pretty,” I say. Low, stooping to a “your momma” comment, but this guy has pissed me off already. His face is annoying. The way he’s looking at me is annoying. His accent is faint, but it’s obvious he’s not from Seattle. He’s west coast, through and through. Running his tongue over his teeth, he shoots a look at the guy standing next to him. Neither one of them look particularly happy.
“We kinda share the same mother,” the tall guy says, jerking a thumb at the other guy, apparently his brother. “And she died a while back. We’re not overly fond of people implying they’ve been fucking her, because…well, that’s just gross. And hurtful.”
The other guy nods slowly. His hands are in his pockets, his chin raised, his eyes spearing straight through me. “It makes us sad.”
Uhhh… I honestly have no clue how I’m meant to react to these two. I can’t tell if they’re fucking with me or if they’re being serious. “If you’re looking for Zee, he’s not here,” I say.
The shorter of the two finally blinks. “We were just with him actually. He sent us over here to wait for him.”
Well, that’s weird. “Why?”
“Because his girlfriend’s been kidnapped, and her mangled dead body has potentially been left to decompose in a dumpster somewhere,” Tall Guy says.
Closing his eyes, the other guy turns his head slowly to face his brother. He doesn’t open his eyes again until he’s halfway through his sentence. “I don’t think…you’re meant to just…blurt that out like that to strangers.”
“Fuck you, man. This guy obviously knows Zeth. He’s not a stranger.”
They bicker between themselves, while I try and process what Tall Guy just said. “I’m sorry? Sloane’s beenkidnapped? And who the hellareyou?”
“Theo,” the shorter of the two says. He jerks his head at his brother. “And this is Sal.”
Holy fucking shit. The Barbieris? Zeth was on his way to deal with their father. He never mentioned anything about bringing back these two. I marshal my facial features into what I hope passes as neutrality. “Who’s taken Sloane?”
“Well, it wasn’t us,” Sal says. “Not that we wouldn’t have probably tried to kidnap her eventually. Someone beat us to it, though.”
Theo glares at him. “Can youplease…just…”
“I will knock you the fuck out if you look at me like that again,” Sal warns.
“Excuse me. I need to make a phone call.” I probably shouldn’t leave the brothers alone, but I’m not getting a lick of sense out of them, and I really need to know what the fuck is going on right now. I dial Zeth first, but he doesn’t pick up. Michael answers just as I’m about to quit the call and try Sloane, herself.
“Two guys have just shown up here claiming to be the Barbieri brothers, and they’re saying Sloane’s been kidnapped.”
Michael’s pained sigh is enough of a confirmation. “She was taken yesterday,” he says, his voice hard-edged and tired. “We’re on our way over there now. We’ll explain once we arrive. Don’t let Theo and Sal leave. We’re going to need them. And you.”
******
The Barbieri boys have been sparring for twenty minutes, knocking the shit out of each other inside the cage, when Zee and Michael eventually show up. They have a woman in tow—a very sick woman, who, by the looks of things, needs to lie down desperately. Theo stops and turns from what he’s doing when the roller shutter flies up, and Sal takes the opportunity to punch his brother in the back of the head.
“You only just arrived?” Zeth asks, his tone full of fire. “I sent you over here three hours ago.”
“We went for some clam chowder,” Theo informs him, rubbing the back of his head. “Sue us.”
“I’ll do worse than that,” Zeth growls. He’s practically vibrating as he stalks across the gym. Looking to me, he assesses me from head to toe. “You’re sober.” It’s a statement, not a question.
“Yes.”
