by Elena Monroe
Bad people get bad feelings too.
“You got the money?” I shot his way, trying to hurry this exchange up.
Turning his back to me, he pulled a phone out of the car. “We’re never that dramatic. It’s wired. Check your account.” He dramatically pressed a button proving otherwise and slipped the phone in his jacket pocket.
I believed him. No one is that confident without a reason.
Rounding the back, I left Justice there uncomfortable as Dante looked over the product. I didn’t bother explaining that we were both weapons experts. Explaining would be like telling a mathematician the answer to 2+2—a waste of breath.
After he popped every trunk, he twirled a finger in the air the way Zeus did for different demands.
Silent cues everyone knew how to read, except the Horsemen.
“Normally I don’t get much to look at,” he said, leering at her. “The frail, pale, fag doesn’t wanna see me today?” His tongue swiped his bottom lip slowly before biting his lip in her direction.
The boys were still loading Dante’s van when I stood by Justice again, feeling pretty vulnerable without a piece tucked into my pants. Twisting, I went into my car, quickly grabbing the Smith & Wesson M&P Shield 2.0 Compact under my seat.
No one knew, but my entire SUV was loaded with secret compartments with weapons hidden everywhere. I was sure if I ever got into a fender bender, it might be all this death trap needs to blow up.
Pushing the gun under my suit jacket and into the back of my pants I made sure my phone was in my hands as a ploy.
“Payments all here,” I tossed his direction when he closed the gap and was only a few inches from me.
“She’s for sale too? You know how much I love fragile items.” He was speaking to me, but looking Justice in the eyes.
“Not for sale.” I bit out the words with my jaw so tight it hurt.
Every muscle was tight and pissed off as I stood down, waiting. If I made a move now, it would be premature and show my position to her for sure. There’s no coming back from the things you say or do in heated moments, and I knew mine would be a confession that I wasn’t ready to admit to her yet.
I was blinded by anger that I could lean into when his fingers rode up the back of her leg and up her skirt. “No panties? All ready for me. Now tell me how wet you are. Whisper it to me.”
I knew I didn’t have to worry about her. She was every bit of independent that female singers belt about in their breakup anthems.
Justice’s knee lifted, and with a swift follow-through, she connected with his crotch making him flinch, but not fold. Pulling the gun out from behind my back, I shot her a look.
“What are you doing with a gun? I can handle it!” she shouted, panicked.
She was about to get a lot more than she bargained for when it came to knowing my darkness.
Dante grabbed her uptight frame, holding her ass against his crotch. “You like to play dirty, baby? I can play so dirty you’ll feel strained.” His finger twisted around a lock of her hair when he pushed his nose into her skin.
I wanted to kill him.
He was trying to bleach the gold from my trophy and steal my win.
My attention was already on Dante, while he laughed with a crooked smile and his hands grabbed at her thighs, still holding the squirming rebel to his chest.
“Remove your hands, or…” I couldn’t come up with anything quick enough that held any real weight. That was a first for me—a loss of what to do in my arena. Instead, my hands went to shove him backwards, and his arms loosened on Justice. She fled, but not before his teeth clamped down on her ear and his two fingers found her hard nipple through the thin worn fabric of my shirt.
Lines were crossed, and however I saw fit to destroy him was already justified in my mind.
“You think you can hurt me? I’m invincible. Zeus will have your head if I show up dead.”
“You think I’m afraid of Zeus? Some old guy with tattoos and a taste for corruption?” I made sure he was looking at me with Justice behind me, where I needed her to be. “I’m afraid of nothing. I’m one of the Four Horsemen of the fucking Apocalypse.”
“She’s just a slut. Look at her. I bet she liked it...” Now he was negotiating with me to agree with him.
Taking the gun and pushing the barrel to his shoulder, I spoke with such authority you would have thought I owned her. “You put your hands on my trophy.” Squeezing the trigger, I drove the gun into his shoulder, and the pop of the bullet leaving the chamber rang in my ears.
Dante didn’t even seem affected, when he dipped his fingers into his shirt and his thumb was covered in blood that looked gold. Squinting my eyes at him, he brought his thumb to his lips and sucked it all off in a menacing way.
“We created this world; you just live in it. It’ll be better for you if you adopt that as a mantra.” He stood neck to neck with me, making it hard to look away if I wanted to win.
Justice tugged at my suit jacket, crumpling it, trying to pull me away. “Vic, come on. I want to leave.”
Ignoring her, I held his gaze, wondering what kind of trauma made him so hard that he laughed at pain. Looking right into his menacing eyes, I felt like I was drowning and for a split second, and I wondered if this was looking into some kind of mirror if I kept hating myself.
Hate was a powerful drug.
Hate could do more damage than a gun.
Hate was a warning label: Don’t become like this guy, asshole.
Finally pulling away, I let my hand hover on her lower back, guiding her to the other side of the car, opening the door. Some habits die hard. Even angry, I couldn’t deny the traditionalist that I am. Once she was safely inside, I rounded the car, yanking on the door handle, just before I heard Donte’s raspy laugh echo against my eardrums, forcing me to turn around.
Leaving him there with no real punishment was the same as agreeing to some kind of tie for first place. Looking down at the gun still in my hand, I raised my arm, aiming and firing without a second thought.
He needed to be put down, and I couldn’t find a better reason than him touching what’s mine. It would be enough for anyone needing a reason, and if it wasn’t, they too could be on the end of my anger—my gun.
Watching his body use the van for stability, I emptied my clip into him and didn’t even wait to see him bleed out before I stepped up into my SUV. Justice wasn’t stoic the way I expected; she was practically animated compared to the last time bad news unfolded in front of her.
We traded positions and didn’t even mean to. I was stoic and silent, while she couldn’t stop talking.
“What did you do? Why is your gun out still? Shouldn’t we call the cops? Rodriguez let us go last time...” She was rambling, and I wasn’t truly listening.
I stayed silent, kicking the SUV into drive, heading for the beach. Underwater was the only place I could breath. I needed to take a deep inhale to make my lungs stop burning.
“Vic, you can’t just shoot someone and run. What the fuck is going on? I had it handled!”
She kept talking, rambling, circling back to the same questions over and over, until I was stopped at a red light. That’s when my silence broke, and my hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly I expected it to snap off. “Just. Shut up! Okay?! I need to think, and I can’t do that when you’re never quiet. It’s always a fight with you.”
Slamming my hand against the wheel, I stopped at my favorite milkshake parlor stationed right across from the clear beach. No one went here unless it was blazing hot, and they were desperate. I was both right now—on fire in a way that was uncomfortable and desperate for a sanctuary.
I would go back to my place, but I wanted to stay in public a little longer to be safe. I was ten steps ahead instead of in this moment the way she wanted me to be.
Pulling up to the curb, I handed her my card. “Warhead milkshake and whatever you want.”
“Warhead milkshake?” Her eyebrows wrinkled in a disbelieving look
.
“Yes, Justice, can you just go inside and get my damn milkshake while I think? I’m a regular, and they make it special for me.”
Finally listening, she slipped out of the car and headed inside, while I made sure we weren’t being followed. My mind was racing; I knew I had to text the guys. Same book or not, they needed the page ripped from my binding. We were connected, chained together, for better or worse.
JUSTICE
Vic needing a milkshake after shooting someone in front of me must have been the cigarette after sex.
I’ve never even heard of candies being at the bottom of a milkshake, but I learned pretty quickly when I saw the guy at the counter shovel them into the metal mixer. The same young kid wearing a striped apron and matching sailor hat gave me a look, like if I wanted to order more, I needed to tell him now.
“Um… anything dairy free?” I tossed out the idea, and now I got it. A milkshake sounded better than before.
“Coconut almond is dairy free.”
“Perfect!” Slapping Vic’s card down on the countertop, the kid rang it up before starting on mine, and his eyes widened at the name.
“For Vic?”
I was curious as I watched his face look surprised. Maybe this was a safe zone for the moving pieces in his life—no Clave, no girls, no murder.
I nodded silently, and he rushed to the milkshake mixer, dumping more Warheads inside, like it would cost him his life if he didn’t. Honestly? The state Vic was in, he would probably shoot up the whole ice cream shop without blinking.
Karma was a sour bitch, making me taste my own medicine.
Tasted like Warheads.
Once they were made, I headed back to the car with his card between my teeth, trying to balance two shakes, a door handle, and a lifted SUV with one of those steps to help ease the transition. Safely inside, he ripped the shake from my hand and put his lips around the straw, finally relaxing, when he noticed my teeth around his card.
“Always sinking your teeth into shit...”
Holding the shake and turning the wheel, he pulled into a small parking lot of a beach I didn’t know at all. It seemed like a secret and was empty of anyone besides a few lingering people.
Before I could ask him what the next step was, he slipped out of the car, leaving me behind, not bothering to pull open my door this time. Slanting my eyes, I slipped out after him and tried to catch up, while pulling off my shoes before hitting the sand.
Dropping his milkshake in the sand, he let his suit jacket fall down his toned arms. His fingers working the buttons quickly so he could take his shirt off. His back muscles toned, but like a swimmer, lean and sharp. His shirt fell to the sand as I watched him undo his belt and let his tailored, expensive ass pants touch the hot sand too.
His skin glowed under the sunlight, and I couldn’t help marveling at how much he resembled the kind of guys that had pretty faces and dangerous bodies.
I wanted to drag my tongue up his back and cling onto him until the feeling of Dante’s hands on me faded. Stilling myself, I sat on the warm surface and was content watching him.
How could a guy like Vic hate himself?
How could a guy like him murder someone so easily?
How could I be so okay with all of that?
Vic didn’t even test the water temperature before diving into the ocean. Searching the water for his body to pop up above the surface, I felt my chest tighten when I didn’t see him. Sitting up straighter and ditching the milkshake, I heard my breath speed up.
Whispering to myself, “Damnit, Vic. Come on…”
Finally, his head appeared above the water before a small wave crashed into the sand behind him. He was much further out than I expected, and now the swim shirt made sense.
Laying back onto the sand, I tried to relax, but I was in too deep this time. Rodriguez can let me slide on small stuff, but this was accessory to murder. Taking out my phone, I pulled up his contact. This seemed like the time to need someone’s help, if it kept Vic out of trouble.
Texting the number for the first time since he programmed it into my phone, I wrote a short and sweet message: It’s Justice. I’m in deep shit.
Not expecting an immediate response, I turned my ringer on silent and shoved it into my shoe, where I wouldn’t look at the lock screen every minute hoping for a response.
Vic swam for what felt like hours, while the sun tried to burn my iridescent flesh, too pale to be kissed by the sun without being set on fire. I must have fallen asleep to the sound of the waves when I felt the refreshing water droplets hit my legs and arms, rushing me back to awareness.
“We should probably talk. Come on. I’ll cook.” Offering his hand to help me up, I shook off the help. He had helped me enough for my bruised ego.
“Don’t you want to give a statement? I get it. The boy band is powerful, but you can’t escape murder.”
“I’m not doing this here. Get in the car.” Picking up all the fabric he shed, I headed for the car, already annoyed with his diplomacy. He was right, and even drenched in feelings, he could think straight.
The car ride was quiet, only music filling the air, until my fingers rolled against the knob, turning it down. I couldn’t wait the extra few minutes for answers. I deserved to know now, and if Rodriguez texted me back I needed to know what to say.
“I’m pretty sure your car isn’t bugged.” I wasn’t wearing a seatbelt, and his gun was in the cup holder like a 7-11 Big Gulp.
“It’s Clave property, just like me,” he retorted, while pulling into the garage of his building. The ominous dark tones reminded me of a horror movie, but I guess he was comfortable with it, considering the darkness he was so fond of.
“You-” Cutting myself off, I whispered, realizing my voice was shouting still, “…killed someone. That’s not normal behavior!”
He put his gun back under his seat, twisting towards me with a look in his eye that was telling me to shut up.
Not waiting for him to open my door, I got out of the car almost chasing after him. “We can’t sweep this under the damn rug.”
Pushing his fingers back into his hair, I saw the mask slip ever so slightly when his face silently screamed. It was torturously beautiful and halted me in my mission to squeeze the information from him in any way I had to.
“He’s dead, Justice. I killed him. It’s just another fucked up day in the Clave.” His glass eyes were holding an entire ocean as his mask settled back onto his face.
“You didn’t have to do that. I can handle some creep.”
His hand grabbed my hip as he stepped into my space, forcing me backwards into the cold surface of the car door. I could feel his anger oozing onto me, and it made me stiffen under his touch. He barked into my space with his eyebrows angry enough without the words, “You want some credit for the kill? Is that what this is? No one can fight, if it’s not you holding the victory, huh?”
I felt my body turning in on itself, not as tall anymore, still facing the fire. I didn’t expect him to continue, but his lips touched my ear. “He’s dead, because he touched you... Is that enough to share the guts and glory? Do you feel like the winner now?”
Vic didn’t move, but his fist clashed with the window of the back seat with the other hand still gripping my hip, holding me still. He was forcing us to hate this win, and I realized he wasn’t wearing a mask at all. He was openly hating himself, and I was witnessing it.
Without thinking, I wrapped my arms around his neck, holding myself against him, I whispered, “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”
I didn’t know what else to say while I held onto him, until I felt his arms wrap around me too. I don’t even know how long we held on, until the silence broke with the glass shattering somehow still echoing.
Pulling away, he looked at the ground. “You believe that don’t you? That shit will somehow be okay? Even for people like me?”
Taking his hand in mine, I looked for an exit, escape hatch, anywhere to go, other than h
aving Vic finally ditch his armor in a parking garage. “Yes, even for people like us.”
People like us. We were both independent to fault, hellbent on winning, and feelings came dead last on our scoreboard.
“What are you looking for?” His voice was less demanding, and the authority had been drowned out. All that remained was mutual respect and a scary realization that we were more alike than we ever wanted to admit.
“The elevators or exit,” I said facing him, our fingers still laced between us.
Walking fast enough for me to be dragged behind him, I saw the black doors of the elevators blending in with the accent wall painted black. When you’re up this high, weird things start appearing, like painted concrete just to make it seem prettier.
In the elevator, Vic fished his phone out, making a call, when I heard him say: I need my window fixed. The SUV. It’s in the garage.
With a few head nods he hung up and squeezed my fingers in his when the elevator opened up into his place. I didn’t understand the mechanics of his complex, but none of it mattered when I was savoring the warmth of his palm.
“You can let go now. I’m not gonna break anything else.”
Holding tighter, I ignored his request, and he didn’t make any moves to get out of our hand holding. I only let go when we ended up in his bedroom, and I knew he wanted to change into something more comfortable. It was clear how much his suits and button-downs weren’t him at all.
I was constantly looking at the rewards when I saw Vic, instead of the hard work it took to be this guy. The guy who never loses, the guy who never makes a move without it being thought through first, the guy no one actually sees. I was even one of those people.
He didn’t want to be that guy. I saw that now.
Letting go of his hand, I let myself take in his room in a way I didn’t before. There was hardly anything anywhere, just modern furniture and trophies. It was like he couldn’t even have space outside of himself; even his safe space was some kind of cage.
For someone with commitment issues, this was as method as it gets.
