6. 6 – Enzo
Ed Sanderson is perfect.
I watch him through hooded eyes from my perch on the fire escape. The alleyway is dark, broken only by the odd amber patch of streetlight. One of them is shining directly over his face.
I watch as it twists and contorts, almost demonic in its action as he pins his trembling victim to the wall by her throat, leaning in and snarling something in her face that makes her blanch. Her twisting movements double in effort, nails scrabbling for purchase in the skin of his wrist.
She can see death, this girl. I can tell by her eyes, by the frantic sounds coming from deep inside her chest, torn directly from that reservoir of strength you find when your oxygen is running out and your limbs begin to numb and you can feel the grim reaper hovering over you, ready and waiting.
It’s a delicious sound, from the right throat.
But as my feet land soundlessly on the concrete and I stroll towards them, Abby Millers locks her gaze with mine. Her eyes widen even as her skin flushes with red from the vessels popping.
Sanderson is too far gone to notice if a truck came barrelling down the alley, too lost in bloodlust, a cocktail of drugs and the possibility of violence to notice me until I’m literally pressing against his back, my breath heated on his neck.
He freezes, his hand releasing the girl as he tries to turn, but my hand is already curled around his throat, the faintest line of the blade in my other hand drawing a sharp scarlet edge of blood from his skin.
Sanderson jerks, a curse flying from his mouth. “The fuck—,”
“Ed Sanderson,” I whisper into his ear. It’s almost a caress, if you remove the danger. But the threat is there, enough for Sanderson to start shaking against me as I lock eyes with Abby Millers.
“Go home, Abigail. Your father is waiting for you.”
The burn on her collarbone stands out against the frailty of her body as she pushes herself against the wall, sliding out from our little gathering with rasping breaths.
I’m a little impressed when she turns to face me instead of running. “Will you kill him?”
“Look, man—,”
I cut Ed off with a little nudge of the knife against his trachea. “That depends,” I tell her casually. “You think he deserves it?”
Her hands are on her throat, her fingers fitting into the bruising left behind by his hands as she stares at him. I wait. A serious question deserves serious consideration.
“Yes,” she whispers finally. “He’s done it to others.”
There’s something in her voice that tastes like shame, and I pull our boy a little closer to me, scenting the fear permeating his skin as he gasps. A fish in the shallows. He’s completely out of his depth, and he knows it.
“Have you now, Eddy?” I murmur.
Looks like we might be bringing more than just Abby Millers home tonight. She pulls herself up even as she hesitates. “Look at the graves in the cemetery. They’re recent enough so nobody notices the earth.”
“Fucking skank,” Eddy spits out, even as he trembles. “Talking to the cops.”
“Oh,” I breathe in delight, wiggling the blade a little until his chin is tilted high in the air as he works to avoid it. “I’m not a cop, Eddy boy.”
I feel the jolt as he jerks against the needle I slide into the soft flesh of his stomach, a high-pitched grunt leaving his throat. “Who the hell are you, then?”
I love this part. Leaning in, I press my lips right against his ear.
“I’m Batman. Welcome to Gotham City, bitch.”
He hits the ground with a thump, and I glance at Abby. She’s shaking and pale, but she meets my gaze defiantly as her voice shakes. “You gonna kill me next?”
“Oh, he’s not dead.” I prod him with my boot, rolling him over until she can see his chest rising and falling. “Looks like he’s got a little more to confess to the devil first.”
She doesn’t say anything, and I tilt my head, searching for a reason as to why she’s still here and not running as far as possible from the stranger with the sharp knife. “Time to go home now, girl.”
Her eyes slide to the side, and her fingers curl loosely at her throat again. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Something about her tone rubs me the wrong way. Crossing my arms, I stare at her. “Why not?”
She shrugs.
Testing a thought, I throw it into the air between us. “Seems like your dad is really missing you.”
Bingo.
She locks up, her muscles tightening.
Fucks’ sake. I’m not here to solve the world’s problems. But I dig into my pocket anyway, yanking out the wedge of cash I carry around in case of… emergencies.
Like bribery. Or, as it currently seems, setting someone up to get away from their abusive father.
She watches me warily, but her arm shoots out quick enough, grabbing the stash when I toss it over and glancing down. Her eyes widen.
“There’s enough there to get you settled somewhere cheap with a down payment and tide you over until you can get work. Got your ID?”
“I can get it,” she whispers, touching the money before she flicks her eyes up at me. “I don’t have to go back?”
I shrug. “No skin off my nose what you do. Go back, don’t go back. Or you could grab your shit, head to the bus station and get yourself somewhere where people don’t think they own you.”
She touches the edge of the cash warily. “I don’t know what to—,”
But I’ve already turned away. Leaning down, I grab Eddy and haul him over my shoulder. He’ll be out for a while, so I turn away from her with a salute.
“Later, Abby Millers. Take care of yourself.”
I’m whistling as I walk away.
Because I just added another name to my list.