Pushed Page 5

  I had to ask myself the question. What choices could I make if I didn't have my eyes? It wasn't the right decision to stay in the blackness, it only prevented what I wanted. An escape.

  “Then why am I here?” Slowly, I cracked my lids, blinking rapidly as the light crept in. “I just want to go home.” Holding in my tears, I rubbed my eyes. “Please, take me home.”

  “I can't do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you've seen too much, my guys have seen too much. I can't just send you on your way, not the way you want me to.”

  Resting my hands on my forehead, I looked up at the ceiling. It was more yellow than white, with thick crown molding that appeared to have been gorgeous when it was young.

  But that beauty was gone, it was forgotten and left to rot. Pieces of the molding were hanging off, secured in place by rusty nails. Huge chunks of bare wood were visible between old strokes of paint, while spiderwebs and dust took the place of shine and mystique.

  Water stains marked the ceiling like a disease, sprawling out like mold on a damp piece of bread. The bed I was on had the feel of a prison bunk, the shaky metal frame was corroded and flaking. A plain green sheet covered the mattress and a folded up gray blanket rested on the end.

  There was one large window, boarded up and sealed shut, keeping any sign of the outside world away. The paper that dressed the walls was pealing off in all directions, flopping over as the glue was no longer strong enough to hold it in place.

  It was dark, dirty and disgusting, making my skin crawl as I sat idling, gushing with the need to be free of everything that had to do with a place like that.

  The room was meant for a movie, a gore flick, a scene where a masked killer had trapped unsuspecting victims.

  Looking up, I stared at my killer. He was completely opposite of what you'd expect. He was clean cut, put together in such a way that he dripped dreamy sex god; not kidnapper, life taker.

  “What's going to happen to me?”

  Machi reached for my hands, pulling them away from my face and examining the swollen, raw skin around my wrists. “Shit, you really did a number on yourself, these need to be cleaned.”

  The touch of his fingers was surprisingly gentle, they swept lightly over the open skin as his face softened in concern. The way he caressed my wrists sent my body up in flames for all the wrong reasons.

  My stomach swarmed like a cloud of locusts as my skin buzzed from head to toe, storming my heart like the hard crash of a lightening bolt.

  I tried to hate it, I tried to ignore it, but his touch was unexpectedly kind. It was hard to believe that the same hands I had seen squeeze the air out of another were still capable of that much tenderness.

  No. He's a killer, he's a monster.

  Nothing he could do can make you forget that.

  “Like you care.” Rolling my eyes, I yanked my hands away. “You think I'm really going to believe this nice guy act you got going on right now?” Tucking my hands under my ribs, I hugged myself tight. “Fuck you.”

  “Things aren't always how they appear.” His lips thinned into a tight smile as he tilted his chin up. “You've got a little fire you in, that's good. . .” Strumming his lower lip with his thumb, his brows arched high. “You're going to need it here.” Standing up, he hovered over me, scrubbing his jaw. “It won't save you, nothing can save you from what you're about to see.”

  Pursing my lips, I rolled back to my side, away from his all-consuming glare. “Then I'll just close my eyes again.”

  “That won't work, not here. Come on, sit up.”

  “No.”

  His massive hand scooped under my jaw, forcing my face to his. My eyes opened wide at the sheer strength and demand of his touch. “Sit up.” Pressing his thumb into the center of my chin, he lifted my head off the bed. “You can either work with me here or I won't be able to protect you. You might think I'm the bad guy, but you've got a lot to learn.” Dropping my face, he stepped back.

  Watching him, I studied his expression, his eyes, the way his hands stroked through his hair and pulled it off his forehead. He didn't seem to hold the same evil I thought I had seen.

  The man I had seen that night was riddled in anger and rage. He was bleeding fierce, raw hate from every pore. But maybe I had read him wrong?

  I still didn't know what was going on in that moment, I didn't know the history between the two men or what caused it to explode with such violence. The reason behind it was as much a mystery as the man who had decided to execute on site.

  Machi implied he wasn't the bad guy. . . Was he right?

  Or was he just blowing smoke up my ass?

  Was what I actually saw just him ridding the world of another piece of shit? Could that other guy have been the real monster?

  Stop! Look where you are!

  He still took you!

  Good guys don't claim the innocent as theirs.

  Machi hovered over me, his black wavy hair glistened in blue highlights under the small light in the center of the ceiling. A tight green t-shirt hugged his shoulders, framing his large biceps and firm chest.

  Staring down at me, his almond-shaped green eyes sparked in thought. It was like he was focusing on me, but I wasn't the center of his troubled mind.

  Light lines stretched out from the corners of his eyelids as his mouth turned down in a frown and his hands opened and closed by his sides, balling up tight and releasing.

  His face was weathered, tired, sick of it all. He didn't look like he wanted to be there anymore than I did.

  There was something about the way his eyes bore into me, the way his gaze flared in frustration and crashed in apology. I wasn't sure if he meant to show me what he was feeling or if it was just something he couldn't hold in anymore.

  But I saw it.

  “What do you want from me?” I asked, pushing myself up and curling my fingers into the edge of the mattress. “How can you expect me to just give in? I can't, I won't.”

  “You need to. The sooner you just give in and do what I'm asking you to do, the easier it will be on both of us.”

  Shaking my head, I looked up at him under hooded lids. “You took me—remember? Or did you forget that?” Crossing my legs, my fingers slinked under my thighs. “You're acting like I have control over this fucking shit storm. I don't—you're the one running the show.”

  Machi stood taller, rocking his jaw back and forth. I could hear his teeth grinding against each other as his mouth worked them together. His eyes stayed still, glowering behind heavy lids. “You're wrong.”

  “Am I?” I waited for him to answer, to tell me that this was nothing more than a trick, a sick way to teach me a lesson.

  I wanted him to tell me we were in a shitty hotel at the edge of town, that he was trying to prove a point that I shouldn't be snooping in windows because what goes on behind closed doors is none of my business.

  Only he didn't; he didn't say anything like that.

  “Look, I have a job to do.” Raking his fingers through his hair, Machi sighed. “And right now, you're part of that job. If I don't follow orders, I'll end up just like that asshole. I don't want that and trust me—you don't want that either.”

  His words sent goosebumps over my skin. Machi said it like a threat, but his eyes seemed to tell me something different. They glazed over, falling out of anger and into sadness.

  “What the hell does that mean? I'm already dead aren't I?”

  “That's not what I meant.” Dropping to his knees, he braided his fingers together.

  “Then what do you mean?”

  Pointing up at me, Machi squinted. “I'm the only thing here that can protect you, without me. . .” Pausing, he pressed his palms together, slowly rubbing them back and forth. “Without me, you don't stand a chance. Those men I was with, the other men that are here, they'll make you wish you were dead, and no one will stop them.”

  There are more here?

  More men like him? How could that be?


  “But aren't you in charge? I mean the way you spoke to those other guys, I thought you were the boss.”

  Shaking his head, a small twitch teased the corner of his lip. “We all have to report to someone.” Standing up, Machi let his arms fall still, hanging with precision at his sides. “What's your name?”

  He's one of many. . .

  Fuck.

  Letting my head fall into my chest, I kicked my feet nervously. “Why does that matter? I'm no one, remember?”

  “Tell me your name.” His hands splayed open, fingers dancing against his thighs. “I'm starting small here, I'm giving you a chance to prove you can listen. That's the key in a place like this, that's what I need you to do.”

  “What kind of place is this?” I asked, sitting with tears in my eyes as my future slowly disintegrated before me. “I need more, please, just tell me what the fuck you really want from me. Don't I deserve that at least? Give me some sort of reason for all this.” My eyes pleaded with him for an answer.

  How could he expect me to just do what he said when I had no clue what the fuck was going on?

  I couldn't prepare myself, I couldn't accept what was coming or build a wall to protect whatever I had left; not without knowing the truth.

  “Name?” he asked, not giving me the answer I was seeking.

  Looking up, I tried to read him. But he was stoic, waiting for an answer. The glaze over his eyes was gone, the lines now filled as his face sat emotionless.

  The man I had caught a glimpse of, the tired and depleted face that cradled my heart for a tender second was gone.

  “Imperial.”

  “Imperial? Really?”

  “That's what I said.”

  “It's just, that's not a name you hear every day. Actually, I think you're the first Imperial to ever pass through here.”

  Looking down at the floor, I shrugged my shoulders. “That's my name, you asked, you got an answer. I don't really give a shit who else has come through here.”

  I was hoping Machi didn't register any concern in my voice. Because the truth was, I did care. I cared if those people who came also left. I cared if they walked out on their own or were carried unwillingly. . . Because knowing that could show me what was coming.

  Did they ever leave at all?

  “Alright,” he said, lifting a hand to cup his jaw as his eyes searched my face. “Pixie.”

  “What?”

  “That's your name—Pixie.”

  “What? Why—”

  Holding up his hand, he cut me off. “In here, your name is Pixie. Don't ask me why, just agree with me.”

  Nodding, I fiddled with my hair, tucking a loose strand behind my ear. “Okay.”

  I was trying to agree with him, I wanted to do what I had to do to get the answers I craved. If I had to play along, I would—for now.

  “Good, see you're learning already.” Holding out his hand, he flipped his fingers for me to take them. “Come on, I have something to show you.”

  “Show me what?”

  “Exactly what you want to see.” Bouncing his hand in my direction, he nudged it closer.

  I was hesitant, eyeing his hand like it would burn me if I touched it. “I can stand on my own.”

  “I don't doubt it, but I'm not giving you the option. Take my hand.”

  Reluctantly, I wrapped my fingers in his and stood. “Where are we going?”

  “You want answers, I can give them to you. But, there are a few things you need to know. . .” Pausing, he took a small step ahead of me, keeping our fingers locked together. “I need you to keep your head down and stay a little behind me, and you can't speak, not a word.”

  “Why?” I asked, my mouth hanging open and brows dipping in.

  “Do you want answers or not?” Looking up at him, I felt his fingers twine firmly around mine. “I'm trying to give you a chance, I need you to trust me, even if it's just a little.”

  I wanted to believe him. I wanted to think he was going to do the things he was saying, that he was giving me a chance to get my life back if I just listened to him now. That he was going to protect me even though he's the one who brought me here.

  But how? How do you trust the Devil? How do you put your faith into the same person who brought hell on you to begin with?

  There was no way for me to know if he was lying or not. But his eyes. . . They spoke truth.

  From the hands that brought death to another, I felt the weight of his words, I felt the honesty in his voice.

  And right then, all I had was his word to go on.

  I had to trust him.

  Chapter Six

  Imperial

  Machi looked over his shoulder at me as he held the doorknob in his hand. “Remember, no talking.” His brows arched up as his lips thinned. “Understand?”

  Nodding yes, I let my eyes settle on his before allowing them to drift to the floor. It felt like time had stopped, like everything around me went into slow motion as his hand twisted against the warn handle.

  I could feel the air filling my lungs as I took in long breaths, I could hear the hinges creak before the door even crossed the threshold. Every movement was that much more intense than the last.

  Things that weren't even visible seemed to scream against my eardrums; from the tension in Machi's muscles to the heat in his veins, to the dense air blanketing my skin and holding me down.

  Silent walls screamed at me, they pressed angrily on my chest, begging to be burned, to be freed from all the years of evolution that morphed it from plain wood into walls, from watching happy faces travel in and out, to what it was now. . . A place meant for destruction, bleeding with sins it could never speak out loud.

  I stood stoic, waiting for Machi to open the door. My heart began to race as I watched light break between the crack as he removed the only barrier between me and the truth.

  But inside I wanted to disappear, I wanted to click my ruby heels three times and wake up at home. I wanted to pinch myself and be rid of this horrible nightmare.

  I wasn't sure if it was a blessing or a curse to be so in tune with my surroundings, and right then, all I wanted was to hug the blackness, allowing it to keep me safe and whole.

  Slowly, Machi pulled the handle, stepping through the portal that had opened. The muscle in his bicep flexed as he pulled me behind him, the hard curves and dips in his back tensed up and fell smooth as he shifted his shoulders with each heel forward.

  I kept closing my eyes and opening them back up again as a war inside my head exploded. Fear and need were fighting, both wanting to protect me against what was coming. I was afraid to see outside the walls that had held me, I was afraid to know exactly what was going to happen me.

  You need to find a way out! Take it in, see whatever you can.

  Cheap perfume filled the hall, mixed with sweat and stagnant cologne. A cough tickled the back of my throat as the sheer stench that surrounded me crawled into my lungs. But I didn't let it out, I held it in, refusing to let one sound escape my lips.

  For the moment, I would keep my word. I would stay quiet and just observe, marking any weak spots that might show themselves. All the windows that we might pass, all the doors that could possibly lead to an escape, I wanted to make a mental map of it all.

  I wasn't staying in this dreaded shit-hole, I wasn't going to let him hold the key to my freedom. I was in charge of me—no one else. And when the time was right, I was gone.

  Keeping my eyes down, I noticed it was the same worn oak creating the floor that was in my room. Remnants of a rug skittered down the baseboards, its frayed and torn threads still scratched like talons out from under the wall. Large cracks opened up between the planks, splintering wide like trenches, threatening to suck me inside.

  If only I could turn into paper and slip away. . .

  My eyes followed the cracks, imagining what it would feel like to glide through them, to transform into a one dimensional being just to escape.

  Machi tugged me along, his pace sl
ightly ahead of mine. Keeping his back straight and firm, he walked with confidence, holding a stride that read importance. He might not be the man in charge, but he certainly didn't hold himself like he was below anyone else.

  I knew I wasn't supposed to look up, but the temptation to learn all I could drove me to explore with my eyes.

  Taking quick glances, I noticed the walls were dirty and bare, riddled with stains and smears of hands and fingers, streaking down like they wanted out just as much as I did.

  There were multiple different doors on either side, all with small labels sitting by the handles. Squinting to read the small letters, all the rooms were given a name of color; Blue, Yellow, Green. . . My room was White. Does that mean something?

  Reaching a set of elevator doors, Machi pressed the button, joggling his shoulders straight as he waited for them to open.

  I tried so hard to ignore the sounds around me and not question what they were, but there was no denying that they weren't playful. They weren't families enjoying a trip to the coast or college kids partying after finishing exams.

  Moans and muffled screams came in from every direction, melting with laughter in deep tones, yelps and quiet sobs.

  What the hell is this place?

  The elevator dinged and the doors opened wide. Machi started to step in, but I stood frozen, just listening. The tones were high and low, falling out with force. They came from someplace that was too dark to comprehend, floating through the air on sadness and despair.

  It wasn't right, there were no amount of words to help me process what was happening.

  Is that going to happen to me? Is that what I'm supposed to expect?

  My muscles began to shake, quivering with every scream and cry. My heart beat like a drum inside my chest, slamming into my ribs as whips cracked and slaps rained down behind closed doors labeled with words that weren't meant for such pain.

  Rainbows were bright, they were filled with luck and happy wishes, awestruck children and the sign of gold.

  If the colors meant something, if they were secret descriptions of what went on behind them. . . I wasn't sure if I'd ever see the same glow from above as anything other than evil now.