Page 45 of Chemistry: The Chemist

The center of his forehead split, making room for the bullet I’d just put there. His body jerked, emphasizing the end of his life cycle. I was certain his bowels had movement. I wasn’t going to stick around long to find out. He was in the right place to free them but at the wrong fucking time.

“Fucking animal.”

A grunt escaped me as I straightened the wrinkles in my shirt. The warmth of my weapon rested against my back as I concealed it. With a scattered conscience, I unlocked my phone and snapped a picture of the diabolical human stretched out on the bacteria-prone floor. A text to Rugger reminded me it wasn’t all for nothing.

Take him off your list. He’s done.

Dyson Walker. He’d crossed our radar, not for his wrongdoings within the Triad, but because of his fetish for girls who hadn’t quite reached puberty. He was at the bottom of the barrel, almost, hardly holding any ranking within the organization. We wouldn’t miss him or his contributions.

Freeing the world of his predatorial ways and making sure young girls around the world were safe was higher on our priority list than the tens of thousands he brought in a month. Another nigga was always ready for his spot and was working hard to prove it every day. He no longer mattered to us the minute we discovered his disappointing desires.

The second text was erased before I could send it. I decided to call Royce instead. She answered on the second ring.

“Hey.”

“Get Range. Clean up at Blanche.”

“Have you made a mess?” She sighed.

“Don’t ask questions you know the answer to, baby. Clear the camera feeds and erase any traces of our presence –including his date.”

If she continues fucking with me this way, there might not be any traces of her to erase.

“Oh God. He was on a date?”

“He won’t do that shit again.” I scoffed, ending the call.

Taking a good look in the mirror, I smoothed my hands over my head. Because my beard was steadily growing, it felt unkempt. As a habit, I ran my palms along the shape of it, making sure there wasn’t a hair out of place.

Not until I was satisfied with my appearance, did I exit. Thankfully, no one was waiting for the cleaning to end. It would be at least another twenty-five minutes.

The ambiance of Blanche was inviting. I floated through the steakhouse, easily finding the same bar that I watched Eden alert her date of her arrival. Blood filled my mouth, forcing me to let go of the flesh I’d bitten into. It wasn’t until I tasted the copper-like liquid that I realized I was bearing down.

“What can I get for you?” The bartender bounced toward me while asking.

“Cognac. Neat. Double shot.”

“Coming right up.”

I wasted little time angling my body in Eden’s direction. By the third time she’d tapped the screen on her phone to see what the time was and calculate the time her date had been gone, my drink was ready.

He’s not coming, Choc.

I slid a fifty-dollar bill across the bar and stepped away with the glass in my hand. My DNA wasn’t something I was willing to leave behind. I made my way through the restaurant, exiting with almost a full shot left.

Aden, I thought, taking a peek around the corner to see where the hell he’d gone. The sickening whip was mere feet from the entrance of the steakhouse and gave me something to focus on other than my missing driver and that fucking Eden.

Black on black. The BMW was a sight to see. It reminded me of the AMG GT I’d snatched off the ship four days ago.

Fuck. It was the vision of the matte ride that made me recall how I’d gotten to Blanche. It wasn’t by way of Aden. I drove. My feet reacted before I could completely grasp the madness of the night. I didn’t drive. Hadn’t in over ten years.

With flared nostrils and teeth that were slowly grinding down with every back and forward movement of my mouth, I turned the corner. My car was waiting under the tree that held the rain’s mist, loosely releasing droplets onto the black paint.

I finished my drink as I tapped the start button and unlocked the doors. The sleek midnight black whip was the only vehicle in the parking lot that chirped. Still aghast at my willingness to drive, I reached inside and sat the empty glass inside of the armrest.

The difference in this night and any other was becoming very clear. There was a common denominator in all the shit I’d been feeling, experiencing, and indulging in over the last week.

She hadn’t left me, though she’d left me. Thoughts of her stayed with me. Stuck with me. They were relentless. So was she.

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