A Flame Divine ♕

XII. F O R T H E W I C K E D

c a r m e n

"Ow," Carmen whispered as she inspected her face in the mirror, wincing as she ran her fingers over the black ring that had formed around her right eye. She reached for her concealer, but then thought better of it. After he'd hit her last night, Frank had squeezed out the remainder of her expensive Clinique concealer. Now all she had was a $5 tube from Walgreens, and she knew it wasn't going to be good enough to cover it. It wasn't even worth trying.

She glanced at her watch and jumped. 10:47 pm. "Shit," she murmured, running into the office, her wet curls flying behind her. She had let the time get away from her. She spent thirty minutes in the shower, standing under the hot water, soothing her aching muscles. She had to prepare the money for the seller, and he would be there in less than an hour.

Frank made her prepare the money for every deal that went down; at first, she'd refused, but he'd made her–of course he did. He said she had to be a part of the business, because that way, she could never rat him out as she would be an accomplice.

She squatted down in front of the safe in the office and twirled the combination lock until it clicked open. Pulling out a leather bag, she drew out a huge stack of cash–$15,000. She separated it into fifteen equal stacks of hundreds and placed it in a small black duffel bag.

Carmen walked into the living room and slid it under the coffee table, then returned to their room to get dressed. She slid on a pair of black yoga pants and a white v-neck t-shirt, shoving her feet into her old pair of Converse. She plugged in her straightening iron and while it warmed up, she looked at herself in the mirror in disgust. When are you going to do something about your life, Carmen? she thought.

She picked up the straightener to begin to tame her hair when she heard Frank yelling her name.

She rolled her eyes and set the flat iron down on the bathroom countertop, pushing her mane of red curls over her shoulder. It was still wild–she knew Frank preferred her hair straight, but she didn't have time now. She jogged into the living room, though, like the obedient girlfriend she was, and offered Frank a smile "Yes, babe?"

He scowled at her. "What the fuck is wrong with your hair?"

Her face reddened. "I didn't have time to straighten it–I'm sorry," she mumbled, tucking a curl behind her ear self-consciously.

"Well it's too late now–the seller is on his way over with the guns. Do you have the money counted and ready?" he barked, puffing on a cigarette.

She nodded and gestured to a duffel bag under the coffee table. "It's right there," she said, and before she knew it, he was up and in her face, grabbing her by her collar.

"Are you getting smart with me, bitch?" he snarled, the whiskey on his breath sour and overbearing.

"N–No, Frank. I was just telling you where–"

Smack.

A heavy hand popped her across the cheek, and tears stung her eyes. She whimpered, and he shoved her away from him. "Watch your mouth next time and maybe you won't get hurt," he said with a curl of his lip.

She opened her mouth to respond, but just then, a knock sounded at the door.

Quickly, she hightailed it to the door. Frank hated waiting, and she'd suffered many times for being too slow. Carmen put her hand on the doorknob and took a breath. Don't speak, and stay out of the way, she rehearsed.

"What are you waiting for, you cow?" Frank barked. Carmen blinked and opened the door, revealing a man in black. He carried a duffel bag over his shoulder.