Page 5 of Trig

Day 3: I’m dehydrated and weak. Two men drag me naked to another room, push me in, and close the door. A gun rests on one table and a knife on another. In the corner, another dirty, naked, older man with a beard stands shaking, wide-eyed. He’s clearly been beaten for days on end as well. I side-eye him quickly and then I stumble to the door, attempting to open it, but it’s locked. I think we both know why we’re here and only one of us is leaving this room. Bright lights flash above us and a loud bell sounds. Both of us are weak, and adrenaline takes over, giving us the strength to do this. The man goes for the knife, and I rush for the gun. He comes plunging toward me, causing me to drop the gun. I grab his forearm as the knife almost hits my face. He slams me up against the wall and then we wrestle back and forth. The man is like a rabid dog. He’s growling and air-biting at me. His saliva hits my face as I fight through the chaos. I plunge my finger into his eye to alleviate the hold he has on me. He lets up just long enough and I gain control. It doesn’t take long to get the knife from him and then within seconds I’ve stabbed him, not once, but multiple times until he no longer moves. There is blood everywhere, and I’m breathing hard.

“Nothing like a little family trouble to get a party started, right?” The voice rang through the speakers in the ceiling.

At first, I didn’t understand what that meant. I looked closer at the man lying on the floor. There were similarities that I couldn’t quite grasp, or maybe I just wasn’t mentally prepared to accept what I was seeing. My brain refused.

“Meet your father, Trig.”

I crouch down and with shaky hands quickly wipe the blood from the man’s face. My brain revs up and every feature on his face downloads like fucking software and I can see it now. He looks exactly like Hunter. From his strong jawline to his lips to his nose. It sinks in that I have indeed just killed my father. I immediately start to justify my actions. I hadn’t seen this man since I was little. It was dim in this room. He came after me. All of these thoughts run through my head as I look at him. I’m shaking profusely, and just when I feel like my knees may buckle, I feel something jabbed into my neck and then it’s lights out again for me.

Day 4: Today they’ve tied me to a chair and forced me to watch what happened yesterday on a monitor. It replays constantly. It doesn’t matter if I close my eyes; it runs through my head nonstop. Natasha comes in and delivers her punishment every few hours. She hates that I don’t bow down to her, so she increases the pain level each time. She slaps me, hits me with pipes, and chokes me. She pokes me with sharp objects. She asks me how killing my father feels. I continue to ignore her, which just makes her more pissed. I’m now numb to her, and oddly, the abuse as well. Today they’ve given me a little water, but no food. At this point, I’m praying it’s poison. I’m ready to die anyway. Lord, take me already. Take me the fuck out of here.

Day 5: Their behavior is different today. I’m finally fed a decent meal and given clothes to wear like a human being. They’ve untied me and are walking me back to what looks like a familiar room. Once inside, my chest feels heavy. It’s where I killed my father. The setup is a little different this time. I’m asked to sit at a table. In front of me, there are two wine glasses.

“One of these glasses has poison in it and one does not. Choose wisely,” a voice rings through the speakers.

It’s almost like he read my mind on the whole poison moment I had yesterday in a state of weakness, but today I’m not the same person I was then. I look at both glasses and then groan in disbelief. I lift one cup and smell it, and then the other. I can’t tell the difference, nor does the color of one look off. I’m exhausted and I refuse to play their games. I take both cups and push them off the table. Two men rush in and beat the hell out of me. They are wailing on my ass. I’m burning with rage and even though everything hurts, I decide that if I’m going to die, I’m taking these two big fuckers with me. Maybe it’s the extra energy from finally getting some food in me, but I fight back. I’m giving it my all. I break one man’s neck and then I turn to the other guy and smash his skull against the wall.

“You wanted a monster. Here I am, bitch. Fuck you, and fuck your crazy-ass daughter and fuck these dead motherfuckers right here. Fuck this whole place. Imma burn it all down. You better kill me! Kill me!” I scream at the glass. At this point, I have lost my shit. “Is this what you want? You like this? Look at me, covered in the blood of your men. They ain’t shit. Send in more. Send in the whole fucking squad.” I laugh like a madman, smearing my bloody hands down my face and then licking my thumb. I’m now pounding on the glass like a pissed-off gorilla decorating that bitch with the blood of my enemies.

“Congratulations, Trig. You can leave now,” the voice says.

The sound of the door unlocks and then it automatically opens, and I’m forced to slow my adrenaline down, but I can’t fully. I have no idea what waits for me outside. I cautiously move through the room and then into a weird main hall that splits into different directions. The house is dead quiet except for the sound of my bloody shoes squeaking against the clean glossy white floor. I spot what looks like an entry door down one hall and decide to make a run for it. With all the strength and hope I have left, I run as hard as I can. I fling it open, and there I’m greeted by The Savior. I groan at the sight of him. Through the sunlight, I see the end of a gun pointed at me. I fall exhausted at his feet, broken and stripped of all fear.

“Would you like to go back in there, Trig?” he asks.

I shake my head, place my bloody hands up in a surrendering way, and with the next ten words, I give up my free will.

“Just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

I soon after became The Savior’s favorite hitman. To my surprise, I was comfortable and good at killing. I was cold, hard, concrete inside now. The blood no longer bothered me. The thrashing and screams no longer affected me. I was a killing machine, taking out all the people who stood in my boss’s way. I was ruthless. I knew in the back of my mind that there was only one contract I needed to close that would make things better. Victor’s. I’d make his death the worst. I’d make him suffer for what he did to Hunter. A slow, painful death. I’d bathe in his blood and then one day I’d kill The Savior and Carmen, but until then, I’d do what was expected of me.

Then, like magic, life handed me Victor on a platter, but life did it with a twist. I had a good lead on my brother’s killer. He was meeting up with some hooker at a hotel. He was going in by himself, and that was all I needed. I planned how I would kill him, from the house to the hotel, and just when I stepped into the elevator, I saw her. The hooker from the surveillance pictures I found at one of Victor’s homes. I didn’t let her beauty mess with my head. I ignored her when she spoke to me. I was on a mission, and chances were that she would die along with him.

It wasn’t until I was in the room with them both that I felt her pain. I heard her muffled screams. He said the words I own you to her, and it reminded me of how I felt. Fucking owned. It took everything I had to try to push back my thoughts and focus on completing this kill. I didn’t know this broad, but I couldn’t stop the words “I own you” that kept playing in my head. The crying became louder, and just as I turned the corner, I watched as he jammed a knife into her side. I didn’t think at all. I just reacted by delivering one shot to the back of his head.

I had his death planned differently, with a touch of more suffering, and for a split second, I regretted doing it until I saw her bleeding out. It was then that I convinced myself that I had only saved her to get information. I pulled her up from the bed, and even in her state of confusion with her mumbling words, the sadness in her eyes told me she was in more pain than I was. With her arms barely holding on to me, she asked if she was going to die, and just as I responded, she collapsed. She doesn’t know how fast I worked to stop her bleeding. How I held her in my arms and waited for my boy Bones to get there. “Just kill me, take away the pain,” she mumbled, eyes closed.

I felt her words down to my core, and she’d repeat those same words all night, and me, I’d feel them each time as if it was the first time she said them. She was the prettiest dying creature I had ever seen. I connected to the pain. My heart felt something it hadn’t felt in a while. She was mine and she didn’t even know it. Hell, I didn’t even know it, but I felt it.

It was from that day forward that this complete stranger named Nine would give me a new purpose in life. I’d protect her at all costs.

Chapter 2. Entertain The Devil

As I watch Mya sleep, I question myself about my ability to be a good father, and nothing makes me doubt it more than right before a long flight and a brutal string of all-night killings. I’m a hitman, once again caught in the spiderweb of good old Las Vegas, but I’m also a hardworking father raising an innocent daughter. I somehow, despite everything, expect her to grow into a decent person. To be good. To do good. I clearly am no shining example of that, but rather, a walking hypocrite. An imposter. I never want her to know anything about what I do, but I’m worried that soon it will become an issue. She’s growing older by the second and becoming more aware and that concerns me. There are way too many questions coming from her and I’m lying my way through them all. In my head, I can’t be a hero to her if I’m also a villain. The internal struggle weighs on me. I gently sit down on the bed next to her, being careful not to wake her.

“Baby girl, if you only knew the things I do. If you saw me do them, you’d scream. You’d run. You’d fear me. I just want you to know that in the end, everything I do or have done is for you and Momma. I hope one day, you both will forgive me for these lies.”

I brush my thumb over Mya’s tiny hand, and then I lean in and kiss her forehead. I never know if this will be the last time I see her, and that pains me. Mya, still deep asleep, slightly moves and kicks her stuffed animal off of the bed. I pick it up and place it next to her chest. I decide to leave quickly before she wakes and sees me, or she won’t let me leave at all. She’ll do how she always does. She’ll cling to my leg and beg me not to go. A few tears will drop, and that face… that face that looks so much like her mother will pull all the air out of my lungs. I exhale my frustrations out and stand up gently, being careful not to move the bed too much.

“May the Gods protect you until I return,” I whisper.

I quietly close Mya’s door and then I make my way down toward our bedroom where Nine lies asleep. I enter and stand beside the bed. Her blonde hair lies spread out across the black pillowcase. A white sheet covers part of her body, revealing just enough skin to make me want to climb back into bed with her. I’d rather stay here and feel the warmth of her skin against mine instead of mentally running down the list in my head of men whose blood is soon to run cold. I stare down at her, contemplating it just a little while longer. I decide against it, and instead, I turn to leave. I take but two steps when I hear her raspy voice.

“Where’re you going?” she mumbles, half asleep.

“I have an appointment,” I lie, as I turn back toward her while adjusting my black tie.

“With?” she pushes.

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