Page 6 of Queen of Vice

“I would like to get cleaned up.”

He guffawed, preparing to say something condescending no doubt, but my grandmother spoke before he could. “Of course,diosa.We can talk later.” She gave me a smile that wasn’t entirely genuine.

I gave one back that was just as fake and walked away.

I felt their eyes on me the entire way up the sweeping staircase. Once I was inside my room, I locked the door and began stripping out of my clothes. I headed directly to the adjoining bathroom and stepped into the shower, resolute in my intent to cleanse myself of the day's filth and gather my thoughts. It was then, amidst the heated cascading water, that the fragile barrier holding everything back finally shattered.

“Goddamnit, Eva,” I cursed my sister’s name, excessively scrubbing my skin with a purple loofah.

The grey and white mosaic tiled wall blurred through a curtain of tears. I’d told her countless times not to come back to this place, but she wouldn’t listen. Glamour and wealth were powerful addictions to girls who felt they had nothing but poverty and squalor. She soaked up this lavish lifestyle and all the attention people gave her like a sponge.

She immersed herself further and further past the point of no return, overly indulging ineverything our father had tried to distance us from. Even when he promised our new living arrangements were temporary, it was obvious when he came to get us it wouldn’t be to return here. I never got the chance to ask what led him to that decision. We hadn’t received one phone call, letter, or e-mail since the day we said goodbye to him and our mother.

Eva thought they were happy to shove us out of his life. She swore Dad had a mistress and didn’t want his family anymore. It was a regular argument between us no matter how much I pointed out our mother would sooner castrate him than ever let that slide. A lot of women considered their husbands straying to be something they needed to accept. Many were more than happy for another woman to take up the gauntlet, or when their husbands paid for pleasure because they’d married for power and not love.

Some had no choice at all.

Mom had been one of the brides who barely knew her husband, our father, but they’d fallen head over heels for one another. Dad would’ve leveled the earth for her. It was tragically poetic that they had died together. Yet still, my sister refused to believe the truth. She grew even more irrational after they were killed. Instead of feeling broken and mourning them like I had, she was pissed that our father didn’t leave us any of his assets.

I assumed our grandmother now controlled what remained of his estate. I saw it as him further ensuring we never returned. My father was seen as cold-hearted and ruthless to almost everyone, but I remembered a man who loved us so much he broke his own heart trying to set us free. Whatever caused him to do the things he did must have been warranted. As soon as she was able, Eva went against his wishes with a dramatic flair. Maybe it was then everything derailed.

The day I lost them I began losing my sister. How many times had I screamed at her for the shitty choices she had started to make again and again? She always screamed back before storming out of the house. I couldn’t, wouldn’t, go after her. I either had zero desire to do so, or nine times out of ten, had to work. We lived on a strict allowance where every penny had a designation long before it hit my now pitifully overdrawn account.

Aunt Molly was always the poster of guilt when I handed her the money from my paychecks to help keep a roof over our heads and food in our stomachs. That was another source of contention—money. I understood why we weren’t given anything to live off. Large deposits to a bank in the ghetto would be a little too obvious if someone were looking for us, something Dad was notorious for being paranoid about.

Arguing was my and Eva’s thing, though, and that night was no different.

We did it weekly.

I thought she was a fool for coming here pretending to be someone and something she wasn’t. She thought I was pathetic and weak for being complacent. One of us always removed ourselves from the situation and before the night was over, either she or I would text to apologize and say I love you. This last time, she never read the text.

I hadn’t seen her or heard from her since she’d left the house. I think I struggled with that the most. I couldn’t be without my sister. She was half of my whole. It didn’t matter how angry she made me or how badly her words could cut. I loved her more than the rage and hurt. The only reason I’d come back to was for her.

While vengeance for Aunt Molly consumed all the thoughts my sister didn’t, the agony of her loss raw, this wasn't a fictional tale of retribution. This was my reality.

To bring down her killer meant unraveling the mastermind behind it all. I wasn’t powerful enough to be a threat or make any. My only means of finding my sister and the truth involved immersing myself in a world I abhorred.

Stepping out of the shower, I wrapped a plushy towel around my body and twisted my hair up, locking it in place with a clip. Everything around me was blindingly white with a gray marble accent. This bathroom was the same one that had been attached to my childhood bedroom. They’d redone where I slept, swapping the princess theme with these tones, but nothing else had changed. It brought back a painful nostalgia of a childhood long gone. It was going to be hard to get used to. I’d grown accustomed to living a lower-class lifestyle. Every time I looked around at my surroundings, I felt as if I’d tripped and fallen into an alternate reality.

In a way, I guess I had. I’d trade it all for what I lost in a heartbeat if I could. Poverty was better than this cold, glamorized emptiness. Maybe that wouldn’t make sense to a lot of people. In a way, I guess I had. I’d trade it all for what I lost in a heartbeat if I could. Poverty was better than this cold, glamorized emptiness. Maybe that wouldn’t make sense to a lot of people. To most, the glittering facade of wealth and privilege was all they ever desired. I knew the truth that lurked beneath the surface, concealed behind designer clothes and lavish parties.

There was a darkness in this world of opulence, a shadow that clung to every corner, whispering secrets of corruption and deceit. Even then, I could feel it creeping closer, a malevolent presence that hungered for more than just material wealth. It yearned for souls to claim, for hearts to break, for lives to destroy. That’s how it dragged me back here.

I let out a deep breath and tried to hold back the wave of tears threatening to spill over, but I couldn't fight them any longer. Crying was a necessary release before I could gather myself and move forward. It was part of our family's ethos: when life knocks you down, you get back up and come back even stronger. As my tears fell silently, I held onto the hope that I would feel it if my sister was truly gone. I repeated to myself that she couldn't be, refusing to accept anything else.

Deep down, I knew I needed to prepare for the worst. Accepting it was an entirely different battle. When the truth came out, I wasn't sure what I would do or how I would cope, but no matter what the case was, I was determined to find my sister and bring her back home.

CHAPTER FIVE

MATEO

My mother told me that all a whore really wants is to be loved. My father taught me that no sane man would give a whore what they desired most. Both agreed that after a certain point, the whore was better off dead.

It's like buying a car fresh off the lot. The value plummets the second you take it for yourself, but you’re fine with this. You’re a level-headed individual who understands there’s no point in developing sentimental feelings for a machine. You wisely take full advantage of all it has to offer until it’s time to replace it with a new model. Dealing with expendable women was more or less the same.

I scrutinized the two before me, seated with my brother Elias and cousin Sergio at the outdoor table indulging in a light lunch. Both women were stunning, but I never settled for anything less and only the most exquisite made the cut in our line of business.

Some may judge them as too beautiful to surrender their bodies to any man who paid for their services, but that didn’t stop them from being used. It was a cycle of life. Each encounter ended in the same way--with gaping orifices filled with cum and a throbbing ache that lingered between their legs or ass.

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