The Great Below

The Sucker Punch

Alex waited in his sedan, thinking only that he was betraying her. In an idle attempt to stifle the guilt, he tried instead to focus on the parking garage: the buzz of overhead lights, the rush of traffic from the distant street above and the sting of cold air crawling through his half-open window. The security door buzzed and Alex jumped out of the car, snuffing his cigarette with the toe of his shoe.

Victor approached with a small weapon case. He waited while Alex opened the trunk and peeled back a coarse layer of black felt. He deposited the case into the pocket where a spare tire should have been. While leaning over, an odd necklace tumbled out the front of Victor's dress shirt and dangled, catching the overhead light and Alex's attention.

"Is that a ring?" he asked, and Victor's meaty fist closed over it, tucking it back into his shirt. In the moment it had swung, Alex thought he'd seen a woman's wedding band strung on a mismatched silver chain. There was no use pursuing it further. Victor's mood went chilly.

They climbed into the car in silence. Alex started the engine and was easing the gearshift into drive when Victor intercepted it, slamming it back to park.

"Something wrong?" Alex asked.

Victor turned, focusing all of his predatory gaze on him. The tight confines of the car might have been the wrong place for this chat. Everything about Victor was pronounced up close: the sheen of his slicked-back hair, the stubble on his angular jaw. The dark eyes watching Alex were the color of freshly-turned earth. "I warned you once about touching Octavia," Victor said. His accent made her name exotic.

Victor's jealousy was no big surprise. He would have spoken with the same conviction if he'd imagined Alex touching Octavia in his dreams, his possessive nature was so absolute. "I was sort of hoping this would have to do with work."

"You people treat it all the same way, life, work. You shit where you eat. Give her back, and I might forget that your uncle betrayed me."

Alex sighed. "She shouldn't be down there. It isn't safe. When I interact with her, it's to help her stay alive." With Victor's reluctant permission, Alex put the car in gear once more, leading them up the exit ramp. He had to remind himself which of them was the trainer. "I could use your help. She has a test coming up and the less Dominic notices her, the safer she'll be."

Victor clicked his tongue. He shook his head while looking out the windshield, where his reflection mimicked him. "She's the only woman down there," he replied. "It's a little fucking late."

#

It had been another long day in her room alone, and the entertainment Nick had provided was worksheets on assembling and firing a small variety of guns: a sniper rifle and two semi-automatic pistols. Octavia studied – as she had always done in school – but had little enthusiasm for the assignment. Her studies would have to culminate in some sort of proof that she wasn't, in fact, a fraud. No matter how much she studied, she wasn't sure she'd pass. While shuffling the Remington M24 behind the Ruger Mark II, she got a tiny paper cut that looked non-existent, then let a small bead of blood escape.

"Damn," she said under her breath. She stuffed the papers on the nightstand and went to the bathroom to run her finger under the sink.

She'd been ignoring that mirror for a while. It was difficult; it took up almost half the wall. The cut closed itself under the cold water, and as she wiped her hands with a threadbare towel, she met the stare of her reflection. Dark pools under her eyes, like damp tea bags, and shadowy freckles. Being bare-faced amplified each imperfection; what Octavia would have given for a bottle of foundation, a compact of powder or a fat, black eyeliner pen. It would have been a welcome distraction to feel pretty.