Chapter 4
Shit, someone is following me.
Who the fuck is following me?
Before I make it to my street, I do my best to obscure my path by taking side streets that I know on the way to my apartment, which here isn't actually a place that I use for sleeping more than just storage and occasionally clean up.
I much prefer to be in Blue’s estate. This apartment was once Racquelle’s before she moved in. It’s very stale and empty here. I’m not going to add to the decor because I have zero intentions of making this my permanent residence.
I’ve just come back from getting rid of a man who absolutely deserved what came to him.
Look, I'm twenty-three—not underage by any means—but I know his type. Not only do I know his type, but I've seen him try to prey on younger girls, especially at the club I was just at.
That little tip off led me right to his secret activities with the young girls he prefers.
Yea, that’s all I needed to go after him.
Now, Clayton Terrace doesn't have many things, but what it does have is somewhat of a night scene. Is it bustling and vast, and you could literally go to a different club every single day of the month and still not run out of places to go, like it is in Atlanta?
No.
But there is one club that allows kids, and I'm talking sixteen to eighteen, to come in because they show a lot of small bands there, live music, and it's a very, very safe place for kids to go.
Usually.
I went because they don't serve liquor in the establishment, which I prefer.
Liquor is gross, so I like going there because I'm not at risk of anyone offering to buy me something I'm never gonna drink, and it's fine.
Plus, the music's okay, and most of the people there are not at all opposed to how brightly I dress.
It’s not a conversation starter, which I think is the lamest way to start a conversation with somebody you're trying to hit on.
My god, yes, I know my clothes are bright and fun. I picked them to look this way. I didn't just, like, trip and fall into this wardrobe.
It was carefully curated.
My god, men actually suck.
But that's not the point.
The point is that I saw him this night. After seeing him approach these girls there that very clearly had on minor bracelets, I made up my mind.
There are people like me who get the minor bracelet just because I don't want anyone to try to give me any alcohol—you know, traumatic past and all that—but when she was appropriately weirded out, I decided I would step in.
What a creep?
You came here specifically looking for underage women, young women. It's just fucking gross, and it's not the first time I've seen him there.
What's his name?
Fisher was his name.
Was. Right.
Because he is gone now.
Never to be seen again.
It didn't take much to lure him out of the club.
I keep my little razor blade behind my teeth, so that no one will notice that it's there.
It's a little difficult to talk and smile sometimes, especially if my tongue piercing gets caught in the sides or the middle of the razor.
Then I've got to do some very careful maneuvering, which I'm used to at this point.
The little wax paper sleeve has come in handy more times than I can count.
The first slice is always so, so good.
The breaking of flesh underneath my blade—satisfying. I don't know if it's more satisfying when they're shocked or when they realize that they've been hurt.
Sometimes they don't, which I think is fascinating.
Fisher, here, didn't realize that I had already cut him, and all it took was one kiss. I had easily gotten the blade out under the guise of removing my lipgloss, so it wouldn't get all over him.
Oh, Fisher, you piece of shit.
Anyways, thankfully, there's already a system in place to get rid of unwanted bodies, especially when the crime family is doing things that they are trying to keep under wraps.
I can't really go into details on that, but I will say it's a rather quick process.
Now I'm ready to go home and get clean because, oh my god, I can still feel his clammy middle-aged pervert man-hands on me.
This is expensive merchandise—cost him his life.
I can't believe he thought that I was ever going to give him any play.
I mean, look at me, look at him.
I feel like I'm being underutilized in Louisiana anyways.
We had so much fun back then. I was taking down like two or three guys per week when Racquelle was really in the mood to start creating damage to make her name.
That's where I really got a chance to shine, because it's no easier than blinking to lure men out to hear what they have to say.
They spill everything to women that they think will make them happy, especially when they feel like they've gotten lucky by even being with you.
Which they are, and there's no lie there.
However, since she actually claimed her role, I haven't been able to do anything important besides this, but that's neither here nor there.
I've got a tail.
The tail is the important part, and I need to focus on the fact that someone is still following me. Even after taking an extremely roundabout way, and you know what, gas is not cheap.
Ahh, and the last thing I need is to have to stop and refill my tank, so I take myself home because whoever this is, I am going to deal with it.
I finally just take the route to my house and park my car. Getting out, I wait to see if they're getting out. I look and see who's there, and I honestly can't tell. They end up stopping a full street down.
If I weren't looking for them, I probably would not have found them.
But I am, and I have.
Going around the backside of my apartment complex, I sneak up on the vehicle to see exactly who's here, and I shouldn't be shocked by whose annoying, grumpy face is sitting in the driver's seat.
I creep up to the driver side and bang on the window. "What do you think you're doing?" I yell.
It's pretty late at night, but I'm not worried about anyone coming out to find me at this point.
This fucking creeper.
Why is he creeping up on me?
Didn’t I tell him to back off?
"What do you want?" I make sure to mouth clearly since he hasn’t rolled the window down or anything.
He opens the door, which forces me to step back out of the way so that he can get out of the car. He has about a foot in height over me, which I could care less about.
Everybody has kneecaps, and I'm closer to his if I wanted to take him out.
"What you doin’?” He gruffs.
"Oh now, that's a good question,” I snark, gesturing obnoxiously at my apartment building.
“Can you think of any reason why I'd be here?"
"Nope,” I pop the P. “You weren't invited, so I don't know why you're here."
He narrows his eyes on my face. “Nina, what have you been doin’?”
"What do you mean?" I blink owlishly. “I was clubbing.”
"And went clubbing in that?" he asks, looking at my sweatsuit from head to toe. It is designer and the most delish shade of pink. It could easily be street wear if I weren’t bundled as tightly as I need to.
"Yes," I say flippantly, not hearing that it's one) a lie, and two) not something I would ever wear out clubbing.
"Uh-huh," he says, equally unconvinced.
Crossing my arms over my chest, “What do you want?"
“Want to know what you did with the body.” His tone leaves no room for jokes, but I don’t have time for this. I need a hot shower and a couple scoops of ice cream.
"The what?" I act offended, my smile growing. The tip of my razor blade catching on my cheek. That little nick of pain brings back the memory of the act. "I couldn't begin to know what you're talking about."
"Well, it's a good thing I know."
I don’t allow my smile to fall, delivering the next words with cheerful inflection. “Even if that were true, which I am not saying it is, what's it matter to you? Is he a friend of yours? You seem like a fucking creep."
"No creep, just the head of security. Did you forget that?"
"Didn't forget, just didn't care,” I giggle, enjoying the tick in his jaw with my response.
“Hmm, you probably should."
He steps closer to me and I don’t back down. Instead, I crane my head back to maintain our eye contact. "And why is that?"
"Because I'm the one who caught you in the act."
Blinking twice, “What act?"
"Murder."
Tapping my chin, I insist, “I’m fairly certain you weren't in that alley."
"So you admit that you were in an alley doin’ somethin with that man."
"A man?” I laugh, long and hard. “Oh, I don't talk to men.
I find that they don't have anything interesting to say.
It kind of sounds more like a distant roar, you know?
Like when you hold your ear up to a seashell, and like the wind rolls through, and it's, like, kind of like a low murmur. A hiss, if you will.” I nod, happy with my word choice. “Very easy to tune out."
His eyes narrow on me. "What you're doin’ could really fuck over this family. A family I swore I’d protect from ignorant playthings like you.”
Ouch. "I thought you were supposed to be the quiet one. Everyone says that you're like a vampire or something, like brooding in dark corners, never saying a word, and yet I seem to hear you really often."
He leans down, getting close to my face and ignoring all that I’ve said. ”Is that blood?"
"No… it's makeup. I'm into this sort of SFX style. Very in right now. Do you get on social media?" I tap my chin and tilt my head. "Do you even know what social media is? How old are you even?"
He curses under his breath. "Don't play dumb, doll."
"Playing? I would never. I mean, I'm just a girl. I don't know about the stuff you're talking about. And also, it's really late for me, and I've got to be up early tomorrow. I've had a really long day."
He scoffs, “Yea, a long day murderin’.”