Chapter 15
DAISY
Gimme a K! An I! An L! L! E! R! What’s that spell?…
Fucked-up. So totally fucked-up.
I straighten and pull my hand away from my purse, leveling a dark look on the man as he takes another step back and frowns at me. “Let her go.” I say the words casually, but there’s no mistaking the command in my flat tone.
“You don’t get to make demands, bitch,” the man spits before licking his lips. “You come toward me—that’s right, all slow like.”
I take a step forward and then another and another before stopping with an order from him. “Not with your purse,” he says. “Drop it!”
I do as he says, not giving a shit anyway. The closer I am to him, the better. Mugger or just plain sadist, it doesn’t matter; he’s going to die here. It’s an inevitability.
I toss my purse against the wall and march forward.
Michelle’s eyes are wild, jerking from me to the space behind me as if she’s hoping someone will stop at the mouth of the dead-end street and see us.
I can’t help but pity her. Unlike me, Michelle was raised on a farm.
She’s used to people being helpful and offering assistance when they see someone in trouble.
I know that even if someone spies us like this, they’re more likely to hightail their asses away and save their own necks.
I can’t blame them, and though I’d give anything right now to have someone else sweep in and save my best friend, I also can’t deny that I’m going to enjoy what I’m about to do.
“Put your hands up!” Mr. Ball Cap growls. He swivels to the side and points toward the dead-end curve around the side of the building to the left. “Walk in there.”
I consider the distance between the man with the gun and me. He’s still got Michelle pinned up against his chest, and as soon as he’s done pointing, he jerks the barrel of his gun back to her temple. The anger inside of me frosts over with ice. I need to be very careful with how I approach this.
Even as I think that, I recognize that this situation isn’t right. The long barrel thing attached to the end of the gun’s muzzle is a silencer. Yeah, this dude is so not a regular mugger. He ordered me to toss my purse but didn’t even look at it. My gaze flicks to the alcove.
I’m pretty sure he’s planning to shoot me the second I’m in there, but it’s not like I have a choice.
He’s still holding Michelle. My heart rate picks up as I lift my arms toward the sky and walk slowly, each step drawing me closer and closer to the two of them.
My heart thunders against the inside of my chest.
The man smiles as if he’s enjoying this, and when he does, he reveals a mouthful of blackened and chipped teeth.
An addict? He could be, but is he an addict just looking to mug someone so he can buy drugs?
Or is he a something else? I wouldn’t expect a junkie to have a gun as well-kept as his.
A paid killer, though? Maybe. It’s cool, black precision with nary a scratch on the surface.
Not a pawn shop pistol. His clothes, too, are far too well-kept, not ratty or unclean.
My mind takes in all of this information as I inch closer.
My chest constricts with each breath I draw.
Michelle’s wide, brown eyes seek mine out with desperation, and as soon as I lock onto her, I know she’s going to do something stupid.
I jerk my chin to the side, trying to give her a silent warning not to press her luck, but her gaze hardens and I know she won’t listen.
Shit.
Michelle’s nails dig into the guy’s arm where it curls around her chest, and as she ducks her head away from the end of the barrel, she lowers her mouth to his forearm and latches on, biting down so sharply and quickly that the man’s knee-jerk reaction works in my favor.
He hollers in pain and immediately shoves Michelle away.
No time like the present. I take off at a dead run. Feet separate us, feet that disappear under my legs in an instant as I leap upon the two of them, taking both Michelle and the mugger down to the ground in one move.
Concrete digs into my knees, breaking through the fabric of my leggings and then into skin, but I ignore the grinding pain as Michelle rolls out of the way and I fight for possession of the gun.
The guy recovers from Michelle’s attack faster than I would’ve hoped.
Knuckles sail and slam into the side of my head.
Stars—black and white stars—dance in front of me.
Somehow, I manage to hold on to the arm that’s trying to turn the gun my way.
Fuck. No. My inner psycho comes roaring to the surface and takes hold of my body like she’s a goddamn body snatcher.
That’s exactly what she is, I recognize several seconds later, as my mind takes a step back and I watch as if from a distance how I lower my entire body down on the struggling man.
Sitting on him, twisting his thumb back until he’s forced to release his weapon and it falls into my palm.
Even though I don’t feel fully in my body, I do sense the heaviness of the gun, and… I find that I like it.
“Daisy!” Michelle’s scream is an echo in my head, one that I ignore as I bring the barrel of the gun toward the guy’s face. He looks at me. I look at him.
Beady eyes widen, pupils dilate, nostrils flare. Fear, thick and tangible, oozes out of him. The place between his legs darkens and the scent of urine wafts up to my nose. Ew. What a fucking pussy. “No, wait, don’t—”
I pull the trigger, silencing him.
The rebounding echo of the gunshot should be ringing in my ears, but it’s not. There’s a loud pop, but that’s it. It’s kind of anticlimactic.
“Holy… fuck…” Michelle’s whispered horror is background noise, but it does make me remember where we are.
On shaky legs, I clamber to my feet and stare down at the man sprawled beneath me on the ground.
Somehow, between the shock of what I just did and knowing my best friend just witnessed me kill a guy, the fingers curled around the hot metal of the gun come loose, and it clatters to the ground.
I gag slightly when the scent of shit joins the pee smell and slams into my face.
Covering my nose and mouth with my hand, I grimace.
A shadow appears at my side and I jerk, ready to grab the gun again when I realize it’s just Michelle. She doesn’t even notice my movement. Her eyes are locked on the man. “You killed him.” She sounds surprised.
“Yeah.” Somehow, I’m not. Is that weird? That should be weird, right? God, my head hurts. It’s a throbbing mess.
She turns, and despite the blood on her face and the pastiness of her skin, she reaches for me. “Are you okay?” My head is ringing again, louder than her voice so I have to read her lips to understand what she’s saying.
What should be an easy question to answer isn’t.
I’m totally fine. As I look down at the dead man at my feet, I feel about as much for him as I felt for the woman Giulio was supposed to marry or one of those cadavers from anatomy class.
As if I’m not the one who killed him. The anger is gone now.
Honestly, I feel a bit better now that he’s dead, but I know I shouldn’t say that. So, instead, I say, “I don’t know.”
Michelle nods as if that’s an acceptable answer. She’s not screaming anymore, at least. This has been one fucked-up, weird-ass day. The ringing is clearing away, but the headache remains.
Both of our heads turn, in unison, back to the body. “Well, fuck.” Michelle sighs. “I know I always promised to help you bury a body, but now that the opportunity is in front of me…”
I bite down on my lower lip, trying not to grin. “You don’t want to break a nail?” I guess.
The look she shoots me could set fire to a match. “Don’t make me sound like a pansy,” she snaps. “Breaking nails fucking hurts.”
Silence greets that comment, and then the two of us burst out laughing. We laugh so hard, my stomach begins to cramp, and I have to tighten and press my thighs together to keep from peeing myself.
“We’re so… fucked-up,” Michelle gasps, fresh tears leaking down her face. She, too, can’t seem to stop.
I nod in agreement. “Completely fucked-up.”
When we finally calm down, the body is still there. There’s no magic eraser to sweep this shit under the rug. I press my free palm to my forehead, feeling wetness there. My fingers come away red. That explains the pounding headache I now have, I think.
Michelle leans her arm against mine. “Thanks for saving my ass,” she murmurs.
I bump her back. “Always.”
We examine our would-be assassin in near silence.
His ball cap lies, discarded, across the alleyway as if it were knocked loose during our fight.
With it gone, I can see that he’s older than I originally thought.
The head of dark hair over his scalp is so thin, I can see through it to the age marks and wrinkles sunk into his greasy skin.
His eyes stare, empty and devoid of life, right past us.
The corpse on the ground lets out a wet, nasty sound.
The dark spot at the center of his crotch grows heavier and then something leaks down the inside of the denim against his thighs.
Michelle gags and then turns away, closing her arms around herself as she breathes in through her mouth and out through her nose.
“It’s okay, it’s okay. Just breathe. In and out. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four…” Michelle murmurs as she tries to talk herself down from the verge of a panic attack. I wait for one to hit me, but nothing ever comes. Huh. Guess I’m too thickheaded for that.
I don’t regret it. Killing. Some things are just worth killing for; I don’t make the rules.
“Chelle, we should probably go,” I say as I bend and retrieve the gun. I don’t know where I’m going to take it, but it can’t stay here. It’s got my fingerprints all over it.
Michelle whirls on me, her arms dropping. “Go?” She gapes at me before gesturing to Dead and Stupid on the ground. “What about him? What are we gonna do about him?”