Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
BELLATRIX
“Do you think fish know they’re being watched?
Or is it one of those things where they’re so used to it they don’t even notice it anymore?
” I tapped the glass tank with a finger, and flashes of color darted in every direction.
A kaleidoscope of gills and fins and tails.
“They definitely know.” I nodded to myself.
“They just don’t have anywhere else to run off to. ”
I did that a lot. Talked to Allie even though I knew there was zero chance of her talking back. Not unless I went off the deep end and started seeing ghosts.
I rubbed the little piece of bone I’d turned into a keychain with the pad of my thumb and stuffed it into my pocket again.
Some people carried around a rabbit’s foot.
I had this. There wasn’t much left of my sister after she sucked on that barrel but I still had this.
The top part of her skull that had blown off and embedded in the wall behind her.
I dug it out myself, cleaned it off and shined it up, then drilled a hole into the center. Gabby thought it was grim. I thought it was a good reminder that people couldn’t take more from you than you were willing to give. And Allie gave the wrong prick everything.
I wasn’t victim blaming. My big sister didn’t know any better. None of us did at that age. She was just a dreamer, and I wasn’t. I was a realist. I saw a pile of shit for what it was. A pile of shit. Whereas Allie’s vision always got blurred by the potential of what that pile of shit could be.
The reality was it didn’t matter what you molded it into. At the end of the day, it still stunk.
Almost as badly as the dried piss that was currently sticking to the bottom of my shoes as I stepped around the fish tank and creeped inside the men’s bathroom. There was no point trying to be quiet when the music was vibrating the stall doors and causing the pipes to groan.
I shoved at one door at a time. They were all empty. Fuck.
I wasn’t expecting to actually find him in here. But I was hoping…
That was a lie. Hoping was about as useful as dreaming. But hey, every once in a while, a girl got lucky. About as lucky as Allie felt when she traded her virginity for a sparkly necklace she never got the chance to wear outside the house.
It was okay, though. I’d hocked it for my first Ruger. Upgraded that to a Berretta and finally settled on my SIG. Thanks, Alls.
I patted my holster and spun around, catching my reflection in the mirror before pushing my way outside the bathroom. I looked like ass. My weird sleep schedule made it impossible to wake up as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as Gabby appeared in the mornings.
I stomped down the narrow hallway and the fish scattered again when I walked past. Though I wasn’t sure why. The bass shaking their tank was worse than anything I could do to ?em.
I made it three steps out the side door of the nightclub when I spotted my target smoking a cigarette by one of the dumpsters.
I grinned, drew my weapon, and popped the fucker between the eyes.
The silencer muffling a gunshot no one could hear anyway because of the goddamn music.
His head jerked back, bounced off the metal, and slowly slid to the ground with the rest of him.
Leaving a streak of red against the rusty green paint.
A few hours and that red would turn a brown color, the blood would continue to pool on the concrete, and the rats and insects would do the rest of the work until the cops arrived.
I quickly rushed up to the body and dug around in the guy’s pockets till I found his wallet.
Confirmation for the girl he’d knocked around in that motel six years ago.
It wasn’t the girl who’d hired us. She didn’t know her own name anymore.
It was the mother, who was stuck changing adult diapers for the rest of her life.
Guy had turned the girl’s insides into mush when he’d shoved a lamp inside her without even bothering to unplug it.
Now his brains were mush.
My opinion? He deserved a lot worse. But real revenge—real justice—was messy. And messy crime scenes were the quickest way to get yourself caught.
But this? This was clean. And either way, the guy and his pencil dick were worm food. Cockroach food? I saw one of them scurry under the dumpster. Probably waiting for me to leave before scurrying back out again.
“Not bad. But your aim was about two centimeters too far to the left,” a voice said from behind me.
I spun around, my barrel bouncing from one corner to another and finally settling on a dark silhouette walking towards me.
“If the guy woulda turned his head, you woulda missed him completely.”
First, I saw his 90s slasher movie mask, glowing like a jack-o’-lantern.
Then his shoulders. Then the rest of him.
“Trick is to shoot before they turn their heads,” I grunted as I leveled my gun with his forehead.
He knocked my arm to the side, causing me to shoot out one of the streetlamps instead.
The glass shattered and rained down on the concrete before the lights next to it flickered off. “Fuck.”
Then he was gone and so was the music.
“Double fuck.”
I shoved the dead guy’s wallet into my front jacket pocket.
Tucked my weapon back into its holster, and slowly strolled my way down the sidewalk.
I’d go back for my bike once the scene cleared.
Speeding away on a motorcycle or running down a busy street was the equivalent of painting a red sign on your forehead with the words I did it written across.
I could hear the sirens blaring in front of me. And now I felt like one of those fish as a barrage of cop cars flashed by. The hookers and johns and drug dealers scattered, and I scattered with them.