Page 45 of Beautifully Savage Butterfly

“Let me grab my stuff and you can tell me about it in the car.” I’m already moving towards the locker room to grab my bag, but I turn around mid-stride to smirk at him. “By the way, this counts as a second week. Make sure payroll knows.”

Elio scoffs. “You work one day a week and expect to get paid like that?”

“Supply and demand.” I wink, then spin back around just in time to push through the swinging door.

It only takes me a minute to grab my bag and tie my hair up. I have no clue where we’re headed, but I’m not optimistic enough to think I’ll get off as easily as I did the other night. If all Elio needed was someone to stand behind him and scowl, I’m sure he has plenty of goons for that. The luxury of cleaning up later in that jungle waterfall he calls a shower is at least something to look forward to.

Elio’s waiting for me right where I left him, and as far as I can tell, everyone’s gotten bored with staring at him and returned to their training. When I reach him, I throw an arm around his shoulders. He leans into me in a way that feels completely casual, completely natural. We could be a couple of guys headed out for a nice date at a fancy restaurant for all anyone else would know. Maybe I’ll get him to order us some expensive takeout after we maim whichever criminal is on our list this afternoon.

Is that romance? It kind of feels like it is.

“We’re going to talk to Jimmy Lee,” Elio tells me once we’re in the thick of the city traffic, headed towards the west side of the city.

“And who exactly is Jimmy Lee?” More importantly, does Elio have some kind of spreadsheet on hand that he can reference as needed? Or does he just remember the name of every petty dealer and pimp in Wildcliff off the top of his head?

“He’s got his fingers in a bit of everything. Drugs, girls, gambling. Xaviaro’s had to rough him up a few times to remind him of his place, but for the most part, he’s a mid-level conman willing to do just about anything for a quick buck or some street cred,” he explains.

Just the name ‘Xaviaro’ sends a chill down my spine. You don’t have to be a criminal in this city to know not to cross the infamous trigger man.

“So, he’ll know what Casimir is up to. What are the chances he’ll give it up easily?” I keep my voice steady, hoping Elio can’t hear the slight quiver of nerves underneath.

“Depends how much of a cut he’s taking on the whole thing.” He shrugs one shoulder and turns down the next street, taking us through a neighborhood that’s a step above mine. The buildings are older, but a lot of them have been renovated in the past few years, bringing up the prices on the entire block.

“I guess that’s where I come in.” I test out the cocky threat, surprised by how natural it feels.

Elio’s description of Jimmy hits closer to home than I would like too. He’s willing to do anything for cash and a boost to his reputation. I could’ve said the same thing about Jack. I could say the same thing about myself. It’s not like I got into MMA for fun. I did it because throwing my fists around was the only way I knew how to survive. I did it for money. And right now, I’m in the passenger seat of Elio’s car for the exact same reason.

Maybe the only difference between a criminal and a law-abiding person is desperation. Elio might not be desperate like Jimmy or like me, but he’s desperate in his own ways. He’s backed into corners just like I am, they’re just different corners.

He pulls into a spot in front of one of the nicer buildings on the street and parks.

“Ready to do this?”

“As I’ll ever be,” I say, pushing my door open and getting out.

No one on the sidewalk spares us so much as a glance. You’d think Elio’s expensive suit and flashy car would draw some looks, but I guess most people in this city know better than to stare. You mind your business and you keep your head down, that’s the only way to survive. Unless you want to rely on fists and bullets. I guess I chose my lot a long damn time ago, I just didn’t realize it.

I’m about to ask him how he plans to get inside the building when someone steps out and Elio hurries forward to catch the door with a polite smile. The man nods, either assuming we live in the building or not giving a damn one way or the other. Elio pulls the door open wider and waves me through.

The hallway smells like fresh paint, all the walls a pristine white that makes my eyes ache as I follow Elio up the stairs.

“You know the home address of every criminal in this city by heart?” I ask.

He chuckles. “Not all of them. Just the ones who cause enough trouble to warrant a visit from time to time. It’s Xav’s department, but what kind of upper management would I be if I didn’t know how the sausage is made?”

I wrinkle my nose, imagining a faceless mob hitman in an Armani suit stuffing some greasy dude into a meat grinder and making sausage with him. Now there’s a morbid thought. Although, it might make for an interesting cooking show.

“Welcome back to Hitman Kitchen. This afternoon we have a nicely marbled pimp that I’m going to show you how to properly grill. Now, if you don’t have your own fresh corpse on hand, store bought is fine. But I do highly recommend a fresh kill if you have the time. It makes all the difference.”

A manic laugh bubbles up in my throat, and I shake off the gruesome daydream.

“Here we are,” Elio says, stopping in front of apartment 3C. He raises his fist and pounds hard. It’s the kind of knock that would set anyone’s heart racing on the other side of the door.

We wait. I strain my ears, listening for any sign of movement inside the apartment, my face fixed into a hard, threatening mask. The minutes tick by without an answer.

“Open the fuck up, Jimmy. We need to talk.” Elio raps his knuckles on the door again. He barely waits this time before reaching for the doorknob. It twists easily in his hand, and the door creaks open. “Jimmy Lee,” he shouts into the apartment. “You’re trying my patience, asshole.”

Still no answer, but the unmistakable metallic smell of blood fills my nose.

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