The Book of Brooke

Chapter 11

I'm awoken in the middle of the night by a loud bang. Startled, I jolt upright in my bed and gasp, falling off and feeling around for the floor. It's too dark to see and the lights are all off so I don't know which side of the bed I'm on or what's near enough to me that I can grab and use to defend myself.

But then the light flicks on.

Two black shoes come up in front of me and I look up to see Blackjack standing in front of me. He crouches down and tilts my chin up with his long, slender index finger and smirks.

"Morning, Brooke."

"I-I-It's the middle of the night." I stutter.

He points a finger towards the clock on my bedside table. It reads "5:34 am".

"Not quite the middle of the night."

He pulls me up so that I'm standing face to face with him and before I know it, he's got a small but still very sharp hunting knife aimed right at my stomach and has pushed me against the wall so that I'm cornered in my own bedroom.

"How did you get in here?" I ask, breathing heavy.

"I have my methods." He tells me, his voice low and heavy.

"Y-you don't need that with me." I say, looking down at the knife. "I won't do anything.

"Oh, this." He says like he's just now noticing he's got a knife against me. "This is just an... insurance policy. Just in case. You know how it is."

"What do you want?" I ask firmly.

"I'm here to tell you," he starts as he leans in. "I've got a job for you."

"Already?"

"What can I say? I like efficiency." He smirks again, giving out a slight laugh.

"What do you want me to do?" I ask, suddenly hyper aware of how close we are to each other. I can feel the heat of his body or maybe it's the heat of my body, or maybe both of our bodies and their heat merging and combining. I'm scared that I'll start to sweat from the proximity, i'm scared that I'll make a wrong move and have that knife inside of my body before I've had a penis inside of my body. "Is it dangerous?"

"Darling of course it's dangerous." He laughs. "If it was safe, then I would be doing it myself."

I gulp hard.

"What is it?"

He finally backs off, sitting down on my bed as I stand and putting the knife away.

"I need you to do a pick up. One of my guys will take you to a house, just get in there, get the package, and then leave." He says nonchalantly. "That's all."

"What's in the package?" I ask.

"That's not important, sweetheart." He says. "Just get dressed and I'll take you out to the car."

"Right now?" I ask.

"You got somewhere to be?" He takes out the knife again and I stiffen, shaking my head profusely. I look at him, but he doesn't leave the room, instead just watching me from the edge of the bed with a bored expression on his face. "What are you waiting for? You wanna go get the package in your jammies?"

"No it's just..." I look at him and then the door, trying to give him the hint. "You're just going to stay there and watch me?"

"Oh, you're one of those girls." He says.

"What? What do you mean, 'one of those girls?"

"Shy. Ashamed of their bodies." He tells me.

"I am not ashamed of my body. I just don't want some stranger that I don't know watching me change."

"Listen, darling." He says. "I'm not enjoying this either. I got half a dozen supermodels back home that fill my needs and I have no intention of doing any 'funny business' with you. This is my job and newcomers are always a flight risk. So are you going to change or do you want me to do it for you?"

"I'll do it myself."

I strip off my shirt, and then my pants, wiggling them to my ankles and then kicking them off with my feet. Blackjack watches me with a look of boredom in his eyes, although I don't take my eyes off of him. I strip off everything else and feel the cool morning breeze from the cracked open window on my naked body, suddenly a lot more self conscious bare skinned like this in front of him. I reach over into my closet, pick out a cute outfit, and begin dressing back up.

Blackjack mockingly checks his watch and taps it, but I pay no attention to him.

"Okay. I'm done." I say when I'm fully clothed again.

"Let's go."

Blackjack leads me outside to the black SUV that has been surveilling my house, or maybe just one that looks the same as the one that has been watching me. One of his goons is in the driver's seat and another one is riding shotgun. Blackjack sits with me in the backseat and I hear the two goons in the front talking to each other in a quiet hushed voice so I can't understand them.

Suddenly, the volume on the radio turns up and "Party in the USA" by Miley Cyrus is playing. I love this song and always have, so I hum along to it in my seat.

Miley sings through the radio:

So I put my hands up

They're playing my song, the butterflies fly away

I'm noddin' my head like, 'yeah'

Movin' my hips like, 'yeah'

Got my hands up, they're playing my song

They know I'm gonna be okay

Yeah, it's a party in the U.S.A

Yeah, it's a party in the U.S.A.

After humming along to the radio, all of my nerves fade away. They're playing my song on the radio and I know that I'll be okay because it's a party in the USA.

After about 20 minutes of driving, Blackjack gives the goons some sort of signal and they bring down the window covers. For the first time since getting into the SUV, I can see outside of the window. Straight out in a dilapidated, old and really shady house with a single burning wall lamp lighting the front porch and the door.

I can see that the door has been painted over multiple times because the paint is cracking and chipping and warping in multiple places and there's dozens of empty beer cans, plastic bags and cups, and just general garbage littering the front yard. If someone lives in this place full time, they must be pretty messed up.

Blackjack opens the door, pushes me out of the car, closes the door behind me and the nerves come back as I realize that I might die here.