Buttons and Lace (Buttons 1)

He turned his head my way, intrigued by the confession. “Taking someone’s life is the greatest sign of power.”

“One of the men tried to rape me. So I punched him in the dick, and I’m pretty sure I broke it. I doubt he’ll ever be able to take a piss again without being in pain.”

He laughed quietly, and his hand moved to my thigh. “That’s why I like you so much. You’re strong. You aren’t weak like all those other pathetic women.”

Just because they were scared didn’t mean they were pathetic. It infuriated me that he spoke of my own kind that way. Women had not been treated as equals for as long as time. But I held back my anger and pretended his words meant nothing to me. I had to focus on what was important. Escape was the priority. I could get my justice later. “What do you do for a living?”

“How do I make money?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“I’m an arms dealer.”

I wasn’t sure what that meant. Did that refer to weapons? It wouldn’t surprise me.

Even though he stared out the window, he understood my confusion. “I create weapons and sell them to the highest bidder. Each weapon is exclusive, so whoever buys it is the only one who has one like it in the world.”

That was a morbid twist of morality.

“People pay me more for the exclusivity.”

I truly was in the presence of a maniac. He was a solicitor of drug warfare. He was the kind of man the United States was always hunting. He was right under my nose. He was the man thrusting inside me.

Disgusting.

“Impressive.” I kept up the façade. “I’m not even sure how to begin an empire like that.”

“It takes time,” he explained. “And money.”

I looked out the window and felt my longing increase. I hadn’t been outside in months. I wanted to feel the breeze in my hair as I moved down the sidewalk. The sunshine needed to touch my skin. I wanted to smell coffee right when I walked into a café. I placed my hand against the glass just to feel the coolness of winter. The mansion I occupied was warm with central heating. But I longed for the frostiness. I longed for the snow.

After twenty minutes of driving, we pulled into a sea of warehouses. They were gated off and inaccessible unless you checked in with the guard up front and provided a code. The guard practically bowed to Bones when he provided his clearance information.

How did a twisted freak like him accumulate so much power? Did money really provide anything you wanted? Would people look the other way for the right price? Is that what the world came down to? Money?

We drove into the complex then arrived at one of the warehouses. It was deep blue and unmarked. There wasn’t a sign or a single address located anywhere. Each building looked identical to the next. How did he tell them apart?

“Come with me.” He extended the crook of his arm.

I eyed it, unsure what to do.

He extended it farther, watching me with disapproval. “Disobey me, and I’ll beat you right here.”

I slipped my arm through his, keeping my eyes averted in a gesture of submission. My hesitance didn’t stem from defiance. I simply didn’t understand what he wanted. He never gestured to me like that. The only times he wanted me to touch him was when I sucked him off.

We entered the building and saw the factory hard at work. A conveyor belt brought in bits of metal before it was forged and painted under a heavy fire. It went to the next stage where workers assembled pieces together. Like ants within a hill, they worked silently.

I tried to hide my shock, but my face wouldn’t cooperate. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. There was no way this was legal. How did the Italian authorities not understand what was going on? How did they not catch him? The only explanation I could come up with was a bribe. He must have paid them off.

Bones walked me farther into the factory, not acknowledging his employees as he moved. They didn’t look at him either, even though they knew exactly who he was. We passed different assembly areas, weaving through several sections. The heat from the factory was uncomfortable. My coat felt too heavy as the humidity stuck to me. Ash was in the air, and it burned my lungs with every breath I took. The workers were in the poorest conditions I’d ever seen.

We rounded a corner and reached a room where men sat along a table. With small brushes, they painted every detail on the metal of the assembled guns, touching up imperfections and making them available for distribution. Masks covered their faces so they didn’t inhale paint fumes. Since there was so much filth in the air, what did it matter?