Breaking Hammer

  yelling about "fucking assholes" as she pushed her way through the crowd toward the other hookers.

  Blaze walked up beside me. "You okay, man? I didn't know about that."

  I could still feel my heart pounding in my chest, the adrenaline coursing through my body. I was ready to lose it on someone. Fuck no, I was not okay. What I needed was to get the hell out of this clubhouse and away from all this shit. The reminders of what was everything to me at once was too much. I couldn't take this.

  "I need to get the fuck out of - " I didn't even finish the sentence. I turned to leave, get the hell away from this place, and right in front of me stood that fucking prospect, the mouthy one from earlier who made the comment about me driving up here in a cage. Except he wasn't wearing his cut, he was dressed in athletic gear, prepping for a practice fight. His cocky smirk just sent me over the edge.

  I took one look at him, and rage took over. He saw it too and tried to dodge, but I punched him square in the jaw. He went straight to a knee, but stood up on wobbly legs, full of fight. "Cheap shot," he said, and in a blur, he was coming at me, swinging wildly, not controlling his delivery, and full of rage.

  I stepped back, clear of his swings, and then went forward with a jab to his nose and upper lip that resulted in a gush of blood. He was stunned momentarily, then turned back at me with a roar and lunged into me. We hit the floor hard and he got in a few good shots on me, but all he was doing was keying me up even more. It felt like child's play, brought me back to my high school days, all the brawling I did. Part of me was enjoying beating on this little punk. It was only when he hit my with an elbow to the side of the head that I started to lose control.

  Everything went blurry, and the only thing I was aware of was that feeling of all-consuming rage again, the same thing I'd felt before when I beat Tink. I didn't give a shit about anything, except what was happening right now. I didn't give a shit if I lived or died.

  I felt hands on my back, pulling me off of the prospect. "Hammer!" someone yelled. More hands.

  "Hammer!"

  I could see Blaze from the corner of my eye, his expression grim. "No more," he said. "You're going to kill him. I don't need a dead prospect to deal with."

  Kill him? I was confused. We'd barely been fighting for a few minutes, and he was talking about killing him. This prospect had to be a real sack of shit if he couldn't take a couple of punches. Shit, I was more torn up than he was, my knuckles raw. I could feel blood dripping from my nose, and my face throbbed.

  Then I looked down at the prospect lying on the floor, barely moving, his face a bloody mess. One of the brothers squatted down to pull him off the floor, and I watched, not quite understanding.

  I hadn't done that, had I?

  I looked at Blaze. "Shit," I said. "I didn't think I was going at him that hard."

  He nodded, and shrugged "It's all right," he said. "He's a shit stain of a prospect anyway. So fucked up he has a hard time doing wrong right. Was good for fighting, though. Maybe you need to get in the ring sometime."

  Fuck, I thought. That was the last thing I needed. On the other hand, a feeling of calm began to descend over me, and I hadn't felt calm like this in a long time. It was a relief to finally feel peace, even if it was temporary.

  "Mama?" Ben asked, his voice timid, hesitant.

  My heart nearly broke when I heard him speak, the way it always did when I was allowed to talk to him. The phone calls were dependent on Aston's moods, and sometimes I went a month without hearing Ben's voice. He was changing so much, I knew. Aston gave me photos of him - the first time, I couldn't help but be reminded of the photos a kidnapper provided for a ransom demand as proof of life. It was a bleak thing to think about, the fact that I needed ongoing proof of life for my son.

  In each picture, he was bigger, taller than the previous.

  He turned five last month.

  He would have spent the last two years in...I didn't know where he was, exactly. Hidden in southeast Asia. The photos were nondescript, but Ben was well-groomed, and well-cared for by a family hired for that purpose- a Thai family. So I assumed he was being held in Thailand, although I wouldn’t put it past Aston to be keeping him someplace else. I'd insisted on knowing that there was a family taking care of Ben- in some kind of delusional notion that I could bargain with my captor. But Aston had granted it, I suppose understanding that there was no way I'd comply without knowing my son was being cared for by a family.

  In that way, at least, he wasn't a monster. Just pragmatic.

  It didn't make it any less heartbreaking.

  Each time I spoke with Ben, I tried to listen for anything in his surroundings, to pay attention to anything he said that might give me some kind of indication of where Aston was keeping him. I knew better than to ask any questions that might lead him to give me any information. Aston would kill him in a heartbeat. I knew he killed without compunction.

  And if he grew tired of me...Ben's life would be extinguished.

  I was forced to stay in Aston's good graces, whatever it took.

  "How are you, baby?" I asked. "Are you being good?"

  "Yes, mama," he said. "I'm practicing my counting and my letters."

  I felt tears begin to well up in my eyes, thinking about the time I was missing with my son. I was supposed to be the one to sit with him, practicing counting and teaching him to read. I was the one who was supposed to be there when he fell off his bicycle for the first time, the one who would bandage his knee, who would kiss his forehead and tell him everything would be okay. I was the one who was supposed to read him stories, to hold him when he couldn't sleep.

  I wanted to ask if someone was doing those things for him now, if they hugged him. I wouldn't let my mind wander to the other possibilities, that he might not be well-treated, or even worse. I couldn't think about it. I knew it would destroy me if I thought that way.

  "That's great, baby," I said. "Keep practicing. I miss you so much."

  "Will you come for me soon?" he asked. I willed myself to finish the conversation, grateful for any time I had to talk to him, when I wanted to run sobbing from the room, to find Aston, the man who had taken Ben and destroyed me. I wanted to claw Aston's eyes out. I wanted to obliterate him.

  More than anything, I wanted my son back.

  I swallowed the lump in my throat, blinked back the tears in my eyes. "I'll see you soon, baby," I said. "You just keep being good, and I'll see you soon."

  I sat at the table in the bar, looking her up and down. She was gorgeous, model gorgeous, with green eyes and red hair that cascaded down her shoulders, tendrils curling at the ends. Shirt tight across her breasts, long legs. She looked like she had stepped off the pages of a porn magazine. She was every man's fantasy.

  In other words, she would be perfect for Aston.

  This was my job today. This was what Aston had me doing - screening potential lovers for him. It amused him.

  I felt a flash of guilt, a feeling of shame that burned through me, at the thought of recruiting her, of bringing her into Aston's bed. I should be telling her to run, far away. I should be telling her that she didn't want to be involved with a man like this, no matter how much money it meant, no matter how lavish the gifts and how free-flowing the alcohol. None of it was relevant. He would corrupt her. His darkness would settle into her. It would permeate her. He would eat her alive.

  My conscience overwhelmed me for a moment, and I leaned forward, my voice low. I should warn her about him, even if I knew he probably had me followed here. I didn't know who was in earshot. But I should say something. It was the right thing to do. "Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?" I asked.

  She leaned back in her chair, crossed her arms under her breasts, obvious fakes, and tossed her red hair over her shoulder. She smirked, then smiled at me with pity in her eyes. "What's the matter? Jealous that he's tired of you already?"

  She thought I was his wife. Or at least his mistress. Aston had probably told her I was. He though
t it was funny, sending me to interact with the girls he wanted to fuck, the women he wanted to debase, to turn into whores. He had plenty of girls he obtained through trafficking. But he liked doing this. He liked finding beautiful women, women he saw as a challenge, and seducing them. He wanted to break them, destroy them.

  He'd found this one at a party, probably convinced her he wanted her to model for his agency or something. The agency that didn't exist. He would use her up and throw her away when he was finished.

  If she made it out alive.

  I sighed. "Aston can be a difficult man to...work for," I said.

  She smirked again. "Well, it's a good thing I know how to please my man," she said.

  I felt sorry for her. It was easy to be blasé, sarcastic even, when you had no idea what you were getting into. It was easy to be casual, when you had no idea you were about to be in the bed of a killer.

  “Grandma made tostones with plantains, and we went swimming at the beach, and Sonia and Carmen and I went to the mall yesterday.” I could hear voices in the background, the noise of the family chattering and the clanging of dishes. I felt a pang of homesickness - not for April’s mom’s place, even though I missed it, but for all that I missed now, all that had been ripped away from me when April was taken from me. It was good for MacKenzie to be there with her grandmother, good for her to experience that sense of family, of belonging. I sure as shit wasn’t good at giving that to her, no matter how hard I tried.

  How the hell was I ever going to replace her mother? She had been light, sunshine, love to that little girl. And me? I was a fucking murderer.

  “It sounds like you’re having so much fun, Mac,” I said.

  “I am, dad,” she said. “We’re going to ride horses tomorrow, too. On the beach. Can you believe it?”

  “I can’t even believe it at all,” I said.

  “How are you doing?” she asked.

  “I’m good, MacKenzie. I want to hear more about you.”

  “What have you been doing?” Her tone had changed, from one of joy and light to that of a scolding teacher. It sounded accusatory. The shitty thing is that she had every right to be suspicious. I wasn’t doing well without her here, not by a long shot. She had been the only thing I was getting up for in the morning, and without her, I could feel myself beginning to spiral downward.

  “I’m doing all the same stuff I did when you were here- going to work, working out, all that,” I said. “I want to hear more about what you’ve been doing, sweetie.”

  “Dad,” MacKenzie said, her voice exasperated. “Don’t try to change the subject. Are you okay?”

  Christ, she was sounding more and more grown-up every day. She reminded me of April.

  “You don’t need to worry about me, Mac,” I said. “I’m the adult. I should be worrying about you.”

  I heard noise in the background and then MacKenzie turned from the phone. “No, wait for me!” she shouted. “Dad, I got to go. You want to talk to grandma?”

  “I -”

  Then more muffled talking. “Grandma says she has her hands in dough right now. She’s baking. Can I call you later?”

  She didn’t wait for me to say anything before she said, “I love you. Bye.”

  Hearing her dismiss me was like a punch to the gut. It broke my fucking heart. A small part of me, the selfish part, also felt hurt that she sounded so great in Puerto Rico. She sounded better, happy, and I should be thrilled she was doing so well. And I was, really.

  But she hadn't done well here, with me, her father.

  That had to say something about me, something about the kind of father I was.

  A really fucking shitty one.

  I paused for a minute and stood there beside the weight bench, wiping sweat from my forehead as I inhaled a few times, waiting for my heart rate to come down. Two hours of heavy lifting and I still felt like I was going to crawl up the walls.

  My eyes drifted toward the bike, sitting there, covered, in the garage.

  Unridden.

  It had been over two years since I’d been on a bike.

  I still kept it around, did the maintenance on it. I would put the key in the ignition, start it, listen to the rumble of the engine. I’d feel my heart race every time I started that bike up. And every time I came out here, and opened the car door to get inside, I looked at the bike, and thought about just getting back on it. It seemed like such a simple thing. But every time, I would do the same thing I did now - turn away, open the car door, and settle back into the driver's seat in my buttoned-down shirt and slacks to head to my regular job.

  I was a bitch civilian now, like it or not.

  I just couldn’t bring myself to get back on the bike and ride. If I did, I knew exactly where it would take me, right back to the life I was living before. I told myself I should sell the goddamn thing, but I knew I wouldn't.

  So many memories of me and April involved that pile of metal and chrome.

  I wiped the sweat off my forehead and headed out of the garage and straight for the refrigerator, grabbing a longneck, the sweat beading down the sides of the bottle no sooner than I pulled it out. I popped the top and drank, too aware of how ridiculous it was to be drinking beer right after the kind of weightlifting session I'd just done for the past two hours, the heavy kind, old school shit with barbells. A prison workout.

  The shit I'd hoped would let me clear my head.

  It wasn't working like I'd hoped.

  A beer chaser was probably the wrong fucking idea.

  At this point, though, I was willing to try anything. The house was too quiet without MacKenzie here, and hearing her ask me on the phone if I was okay...hell, it had thrown me into a tailspin. A kid her age shouldn't have to worry like that, about whether her father was going to be okay. It wasn't right. A kid her age should be carefree, full of light and laughter.

  Of course, a kid her age shouldn't have lost her mom the way she did, either.

  I'd never forgive myself for that. And no amount of working out, no amount of beer, no amount of overtime at work would ever distract me from the fact that April's death was all my fault. And what MacKenzie went through with me, watching me sink into my own pit of despair- it wasn't right.

  On the phone with her earlier today, she was happy. April's mother, Marie, said she was having the time of her life, going to the beach every day, swimming with her cousins.

  Maybe I was just a dead weight that was holding her down out here in Las Vegas.

  Maybe she would be better off without me around permanently. It was a nagging thought, one that kept replaying in my mind over and over.

  Later, I laid awake in bed, my thoughts churning. You could hear a pin drop in the house, and the darkness felt suffocating, threatening to envelop me and eat me alive. The nights were always the worst; they had been since April died. It was the time I hated the most, lying awake, my mind filled with thoughts that shouldn’t be there, dangerous thoughts that weren’t good for me.

  Those times, I had to picture April telling me why I was still alive. It was just getting harder and harder to think of the reasons anymore.

  I painted myself up, made myself presentable in the way that I knew Aston would like. I would see him again tonight, the second time in a week. It was a special kind of torture.

  When I walked into the penthouse suite, I had no idea what waited for me on the other side. Aston was too unpredictable to know anymore. He had summoned me, like he always did. But his emotions were erratic, and the thought was always in the back of my head that he might be calling me to my death. If it weren't for Ben, I wouldn't care. The thought of death would be something to be invited, not feared.

  Inside, he offered me a drink. "What are you drinking, doll?"

  Doll. He was in a good mood. Probably chemically induced.

  He handed me a glass without waiting for my answer, and smiled, seemingly pleased with me. That was unsettling. Then his hand was at the small of my back. "Are you ready?"

 
"Ready for what?" I asked.

  "You're my date for the evening," he said.

  I felt a chill run up the length of my body. Aston and I did not date. Whatever he had in mind, it wouldn't be pleasant. I swallowed a gulp of the liquor he had handed me, grateful for it,