23. Coyote
TWENTY-THREE
COYOTE
Standing outside this run-down apartment while our new master grabbed her things was not the highlight of my day. She’d been in a pissy mood with me ever since I insisted she wear one of my jackets to ride in. But realistically, she couldn’t ride in what she was wearing. For one, it was freezing outside. And it got even colder when the wind blew as you sped past at upwards of thirty-plus miles an hour.
As I’d expected, she asked Dingo and I to watch the outside and dragged Jackal in with her, likely to serve as a pack mule. It seemed like anything he reacted negatively to was just more fodder for her cannon, and she relished the irritation on his face every time she dug her claws in deeper.
Though, truthfully, I think so did he.
She hadn’t even been with us long enough for him to be this entrenched in his attitude. I hoped things would shift a little when they found out why I’d offered our lives up as hers. Instead, it seemed like Jackal didn’t give two fucks, though at least he wasn’t actively trying to kill her or escape this prison sentence. Dingo was . . . an anomaly. I couldn’t figure out what was going on in that head of his, and frankly, I wasn’t sure I wanted to. He seemed to take it all in stride, though, and had locked all our previous contract files in a new safe in the back of his closet.
She wouldn’t be getting into that any time soon.
Our secrets, and hers, were going to stay buried where they belonged: in the past. I had no intention of breaking her twice in one lifetime. She’d learn one way or another that not everything was as it seemed, and even though it made me a coward, at least if she came to the realization on her own, she couldn’t hate us for shattering his image in her heart.
I turned to Dingo, who flanked her door on the other side, picking disinterestedly at his fingernails as if there were dirt beneath them. His face didn’t give away anything, but he spotted me out of the corner of his eyes, and huffed in annoyance.
“I didn’t think we’d be her literal dogs, man. This is just dehumanizing. An embarrassment. Three hardened killers, wandering around like lost puppies, following this bitch like she’s got us all on leashes, and we’re happy to be here.”
I fought hard not to laugh, but the smile cracked on the edge of my lips, a fact that didn’t go unnoticed.
“You sure seem to be enjoying this shit.” His eyes dragged slowly over me, and he turned away suddenly, a blush on his face. “You into this dominatrix shit she’s pulling?”
My lips twisted into something unreadable. I wasn’t sure how much I did or did not like the attitude she had. She seemed to thrive on our subservience, our willingness to bend to her will. And when we fought her, she seemed to enjoy it all the more. Not for the first time, I wondered what she’d been like before we killed her father. Before her whole life was turned on its head, and she was forced into this mental break she seemed to still be working through.
Were we responsible for what she’d become, to an extent? And did that mean we had to take responsibility for how she’d turned out? Should we spend the rest of our lives playing the role of pets?
Would it be a kindness to just kill her and take away her pain?
In the wild, when one of the pack caught rabies and went batshit insane, nature took care of things. Or the pack culled them. Eventually, they’d die as the parasite, the bacteria, the virus, whatever it was, took over their mind and infected them until there was no coming back.
In life, we often threw the refuse of our failed mental health institution to the streets, hoping it would either disappear or die out. That was how the Southies in South End became a thing. That was why even the worst of us didn’t often dare to venture behind the back walls of the asylum, why St. Clair kept an extra couple of guards there at night .
Would she have been in the same boat, if she’d broken a little earlier in life? If she hadn’t grown up in the lap of luxury with affluent parents and money to burn, would she have been amongst the Southies, wandering, broken, a shattered mind barely holding itself together?
The thought bothered me more than I cared to admit.
“Hey, earth to Coyote.”
I blinked away from the inner thought spiral I was trapped in, glancing over to the doorway. Jackal peeked out of the frame, his knuckles turning white from the force he was using on the poor wood.
“Maybe you could clean your ears and listen sometime? I’ve been yelling for you for a while now.”
“Sorry,” I muttered, ducking my head. I waited to see what he needed me for, but he didn’t continue, instead looking at Dingo. “If I have to spend one more minute alone with her, I’m gonna lose my mind. Come be a buffer. I’m sure her little lap dog can handle the door on his own.”
Dingo shrugged and followed him into the apartment, leaving me on my own out here in the hallway. I decided to count the tiles on the floor to keep myself occupied, thoughts scattered to the wind.
One. Two. Three—fuck, the pattern was atrocious. Who picked this shit? Was it on sale?
Four, five. Six, seven, eight—did the cracked one count as a whole tile?
Time crept by as I paced the length of the hallway, studying the flooring choice like my life depended on it. Jackal, Dingo, and Ivy still hadn’t emerged from the apartment when another person emerged from the nearby stairwell and headed in my direction. I froze, hoping they kept going or went into an apartment between them and us.
Of course, life rarely did things to the benefit of killers and liars, so of course the girl kept walking, only stopping when she came to the door I stood in front of.
Her eyes traveled up my body from my feet to my head, and she let out a low whistle. “Uh, hi. Are you lost or something?”
I shook my head, jerking my thumb toward the apartment. I tried to speak, but my sudden social anxiety kicked into high gear, stealing all the language I possessed, making me all kinds of irate and unapproachable, none of which seemed to deter the woman in front of me.
“That’s my apartment,” she said finally, pointing over my shoulder. “So, uh, it’d be real nice if you could maybe get out of the way so I could go inside?”
I shrugged, stepping to the side. Who was I to determine who did and didn’t live here? Ivy hadn’t mentioned a roommate might show up, and besides, Jackal and Dingo were in there with her. Nothing would happen to her while they were there?—
“Fuck.”
I turned and followed the roommate into the apartment, feeling disoriented as I struggled to get the lay of the place. There were doors everywhere, not a hallway to be seen. Everything was open floor plan style, two doors on opposite sides of the living room, a third door at the far end, possibly a bathroom.
So this was how normal people lived.
Clothes were strewn over the back of the couch: jackets and pants and a flannel shirt that looked well-worn, along with a blanket and a knit afghan. On the floor were discarded shoes, strewn everywhere from the front door to the windows, not a single one a matching set. Cups and plates stacked on the coffee table, pizza boxes on the floor by the garbage can, even a stack of dishes in the sink that looked like they might be attracting flies.
Who lived in this kind of squalor?
“I’m gone for like three days, and you already trashed this place in my absence. Really, Hilary, it’s like you never learned how to be an adult, I swear!”
Ivy came marching out the door to the left, hands tugging at her hair in exasperation. Behind her trailed the woman from the corridor, hands on her hips, a scowl on her lips as she plunked herself down on the couch amongst the chaos.
Her hands ran through her messy blonde hair, and she rolled her eyes and sighed as Ivy marched back across the room, clearly fuming.
“Listen, don’t come in here after being gone a week and act like you own the place. I thought you were jumping rent. Hell, I was three days from renting out your room.”
Ivy stopped pacing in front of her, the look in her eyes one of pure rage and implied threat of murder. “If you set foot in my room while I was gone, you’d have woken up in the city dump, missing a limb or two.”
“Good god, you fucking psycho, it was a joke.” Another eye roll, accompanied by an exaggerated sigh. “And what’s with the entourage? Aren’t we supposed to let each other know when we’re bringing someone home with us?”
Ivy’s face twisted as she laughed, tossing her head back to mask the red flush creeping into her cheeks. “Oh yeah, like you call me up every time you bring that sleazeball boyfriend of yours over.”
Dingo peeked his head out from the open doorway they’d all come from and held up a duffel bag with a questioning grin. “Uh, do you want all your shoes in this? Cause I hate to break it to you, but there’s no way in hell they’ll fit.”
She crossed her arms and stormed back into what must be her room, grumbling about men and incompetence and shoe Tetris or something like that. Jackal’s laughter echoed from inside that room, and I wondered if he found the whole situation amusing or if he’d stumbled across something he shouldn’t have.
“Oh, hey, look, I knew I didn’t fucking lose this thing!”
“Hey, give that back, you asshole!” Ivy shouted, and a loud crash emerged from the room as Dingo came stumbling out with a stuffed duffel bag in his arm and a purse slung over his shoulder.
He eyed the roommate, whose name I assumed was Hilary, and then winked, shooting her a playful grin. “She’s crazy. How did you ever put up with her as a roommate?”
Hilary grinned back, her lashes fluttering in that flirtatious way girls at the bar used when they planned to go home with a guy. “Oh, she works opposite shifts from me, so I didn’t see her much. But she really is insufferable.” Her eyes scanned the living room’s disorganized chaos, and she shrugged, kicking her feet up on the coffee table next to a plate of half-eaten pastries. “So what if it’s a little messy? It’s not like she was here to live in it. I clean up when I’m off work. She’s got no right to complain if I loosened up while she was gone.”
Dingo set the baggage next to the door and nodded sagely, taking a seat next to Hilary. “Tell me about it. She’s got us jumping when she snaps her fingers. Thinks we’re her personal slaves, treats us like dogs.”
“Oh, you poor things!” She reached a hand out and covered one of Dingo’s with her palm, thumb rubbing along the side of his wrist. “I can’t imagine what it must be like to work for her. I hope you don’t let her work you to death.”
“Oh, she’s a slave driver,” he murmured, pretending it was some sort of colossal secret he’d get skinned for if someone overheard him telling it. “But the worst part of it is, she’s violent. So mean—she even tied Jackal up when he didn’t listen to her, once.”
Hilary looked like she didn’t know whether he was being serious or toying with her, but she smiled hesitantly nonetheless, scooting a little closer, her skirt hiking up her tanned thighs. “That’s horrible. I always knew there was a reason she didn’t have a boyfriend. She doesn’t have any friends, either—it’s no wonder, with that attitude.”
“She could scare the paint off a surfboard just from looking at it too long,” he agreed, leaning back with a sigh. “It’s really a shame we’re stuck with her.”
I leaned forward, wishing she’d go back to the part about Ivy not having friends or a boyfriend. The sudden urge to know more about her had taken over me, and irrationally, I wanted to know how bad her life was, how empty the world around her had become.
“I bet she lost that job she just got at the bar, too. Usually, when she goes AWOL, she stops showing up for work, too.”
AWOL?
Dingo glanced in my direction, spotting the look of confusion. “Means she went off-grid, buddy.”
I nodded, sinking back into the background like another piece of the furniture. Hilary’s attention turned to me, and I suddenly felt like one of those insects they pinned to a board in high school and put under a spotlight and microscope.
“Your friend isn’t much for words, is he?”
Dingo’s laugh was almost offensive. “Nah, he’s not. Always been that way.”
“Well, Ivy and him should get along great. She’s an unsociable bitch, and she’s used to not having anyone to talk to.”
Did Ivy not have a single soul to communicate with? Not a solitary person in her life by choice instead of necessity?
“Family?” I said suddenly, wondering if there was someone out there who missed her, who felt her absence in some way, no matter how miniscule.
Hilary shrugged. “None that I know of. She mentioned a mom she doesn’t talk to anymore, but I’ve never heard her talk to anyone on the phone, and she and I aren’t exactly going home with each other for holiday dinners.” Her little huff of annoyance felt a bit harsh as she nearly put herself in Dingo’s lap, a nervous giggle leaving her lips when he didn’t push her away. “I couldn’t imagine living with a bitch like her, though. If I were her family, I’d probably drop her off at the orphanage and run in the other direction.”
My insides contorted in rage. How dare she be so callous toward another human, no matter how much she didn’t get along with her?
“You hate her,” I observed, watching Dingo’s hands creep toward his pockets as Hilary grew emboldened, trailing her fingers down his arm playfully.
“Hate, dislike, whatever. As long as she pays her portion of the rent, I couldn’t give two fucks what she does with her life.”
The utter dismissal of another human—it was horrible. Even I couldn’t imagine turning my shoulder on someone so easily, and I’d grown up with animals who’d just as soon rip each other’s throats out over a meal as help one another.
“Why do you care, if she’s treating you all so horribly?”
“It’s time to go, Dingo, if you’re done letting Hilary sit on your lap like the harlot she pretends she’s not,” Ivy spat, marching from her room with Jackal’s missing bat thrown over her shoulder.
“Fuck you, bitch,” Hilary spat as Ivy leaned down and gripped Dingo by the collar, yanking him off the couch in a smooth jerk of her wrist. His sudden movement deposited Hilary on the floor, and she stared up at her roommate like she wished that the pits of hell would open up and swallow her whole.
Ivy laughed as Dingo stumbled before regaining his balance, his eyes as wide as saucers when he looked in her direction. Hilary just looked stunned, her jaw hanging open like the goal was to catch flies with it.
“I wouldn’t fuck you if you paid me,” Ivy sneered, turning her back on her roommate. “I’ll be back for the rest of my shit when I feel like it. Maybe learn to use a garbage can while I’m gone. I’ll make sure I turn in my portion of rent for the month, so you don’t have to worry about that.”
“You’re not here to move out?” she whined, her hopeful demeanor changing in a heartbeat. “Well, fuck, suppose I couldn’t be that lucky, could I?” Those eyes of hers hardened, though, and in the next second, the sound of a pitiful meow echoed from the cracked window at the far side of the room.
All eyes traveled to the cat, who was obviously in search of food or attention.
It was Hilary who spoke first, clearing her throat as she rose from the floor, dusting herself off. “If you think I’m feeding him while you’re gone, you’re on drugs. Take your psycho cat with you wherever you’re going.”
Ivy’s face fell, showing a human emotion for the first time that wasn’t wrapped up in her rage and fury. Sadness. Disappointment. Regret.
She turned those pitiful eyes on Jackal, who howled with laughter. “Oh, hell no. I am not carrying a cat on my bike.”
Dingo threw his hands in the air and backed away from her, shaking his head. “I hate cats. Count me out.”
“It’s violent, too,” Hilary added, her lips curling in a smug smirk of satisfaction. She was enjoying the apparent distress this animal’s care caused Ivy. “Who knows—might have rabies.”
“He’s not infected, you bimbo,” Ivy spat, jerking her sleeves up to show old and new scratches along her forearms. “If he were, I’d already be dead.”
“Shame,” she muttered back, crossing her arms. “Either way, I’m not taking care of him for you. Not even if you paid me?—”
I shoved her aside as I made for the window, my body moving without my brain telling it to, confusion muddling my head even as I reached out to open the window further, my hand outstretched toward the beast in question. I didn’t say a thing to him, but he could recognize the wildness in me, perhaps, because he came in without any coaxing, climbing into my arms when I moved to pick him up. I tucked the cat into my coat and zipped him in, turning around to face the rest of the room with a perplexed glare .
“He just came to you, just like that?” Ivy asked, shock written across her face. “No protests, no bribing, no claws?”
I shrugged calmly, lacking the words to explain. Well, it wasn’t that I lacked them, per se, but saying it out loud was even more unimaginable to me than it would be to her.
Something compelled me to make her happy.
“Look, Dingo, Coyote’s a cat whisperer, now,” Jackal taunted, his lips spreading in a mocking smile. “Good luck riding with that thing in your jacket.”
“Good thing St. Clair likes cats,” Dingo grumbled, stomping behind Jackal as they picked up the few bags Ivy had filled with her most important belongings. “Just keep it the fuck out of my room.”
“Mine too,” Jackal agreed, staring pointedly at me. “I’ve got more than enough to deal with right now. And it’s got claws.” He shot a look over his shoulder at Ivy. “Just like its master,” he added, slipping out the door before she could throw something at him.
“I’ll be back,” she reminded Hilary, marching into the kitchen, where she tugged an envelope out of a box labeled scouring pads. At Hilary’s raised brows, she chuckled softly. “Figured the one place you’d never put your fingers was in a cleaning supply box. Looks like I was right.”
With that, she reached out, took my hand, and led me and the little furry passenger tucked in against my chest out the door, not even bothering to close it behind her.
Perhaps she was afraid of closing the door on her only escape plan.
“Let’s go, dog,” she mumbled, dragging me down the hall, her hand in mine the whole way to the front door.
I was almost sad when she let go before the other two could see.
And so it begins.