Page 37 of Mayflower

Her eyes fall to my shirt and widen, then meet mine. “You are from Candy,” she whispers.

Fuck. How would she know?

Her eyes are on that embroidered neckline of my shirt. “My ex-s shirt. I left my stuff at Candy’s when they brought me here.”

She sniffles and raises her softening gaze to mine.

I press my forefinger to my mouth again to silence her. Then I leave the room.

I hear voices in other rooms. This mansion is like a fucked up fraternity of the worst scumbags in Port Mrei.

A guy walks out of one of the rooms and right into me. I stab him with the capsule and hold him to soften his fall so the motherfucker doesn’t wake up the entire house of snakes.

I pull another capsule out, ready for another guy rounding the corner.

Stab. Hold. Let go.

One more down.

I work my way from the back door to the front of the house. I’m good unless someone walks in through the back and sees the bodies. That is for another five minutes until the paralytic agent starts loosening the hold on the guys I left as a trail of bodies behind me. Bodies of different ages, as if everyone in this fucking town signed up for Butcher’s army.

The red curtains on my left hide another room. Cigarette smoke drifts from between the curtains. Music is blasting. Three guys are there. Booze, empty bottles, and overflowing ashtrays litter the table where they play cards. One guy does a fat line of blow from the table and looks over his shoulder.

“Hey, bitch!”

A woman seems to be sleeping on a mattress in the corner. Or not sleeping. No. Fuck. She’s cuddled in a fetal position, blood staining the dirty sheets.

“Get your ass over here!” that same thug barks.

She doesn’t get up, only raises her face, bloodied, lips busted.

Fuck.

I tuck the bullet-shot capsule away and take out my gun. I was trying to be quiet and avoided using my gun not to draw attention. I should keep walking. But I can’t. Because these fuckers will make that girl get up and… No. Not happening.

The second I step into the room—one, two, three shots—I put holes in their heads, and the thugs slump in their chairs, blood trickling down from their deadly wounds.

I came for Skiba. But this house is full of men like him. Using. Abusing. Killing.

Here’s the irony. I’d never done so much violence until I came to paradise. That goodness in my heart Maddy speaks of can fuck off right now. I’m out for revenge. It’s cold and calculated. I have to be careful. And I intend to hurt as many of those monsters as possible. This is called cleaning.

I don’t keep count as I go from room to room. Men in this house are a definition of dumb fucks getting rich and abusing their power. They rely on those outside to guard them. They rely on their guns. They think that guns can protect them. Not if they don’t have a chance to use them. They do too much drugs and booze to be sharp or quick. Violence—that’s what they are capable of. I can do violence and strategic calculations. And by the time I hear the familiar voice in the next room, I’ve cleared six rooms of scum and several guards in the hallways. Some are dead. Many will start waking up soon and attacking me like spiders.

The voice I hear in the next room down the hallway makes my blood boil. His. The traitor.

Skiba’s cackle is unmistakable. It used to amuse me. Now it makes me swallow the venom that gathers at the back of my throat.

The lampshade on the side of the hallway wall is too bright. I pull my sleeve over my fingers, reach out, and twist the lightbulb until it flickers off, sinking the hallway into darkness.

I stand behind a china cabinet, my back against the wall, my gun ready, and take a deep breath. I can’t let any emotion cloud my judgment.

Another breath in, then out.

I need to be calm. I need to stay cool. I can’t talk. No warnings. No insults. No meeting his eyes—I don’t want to have that urge to tell him how much I despise him.

I look from behind the china and scan the empty hall. I need to work fast. One warning from someone who walks into the mansion and sees the bodies and there will be an army here.

Quietly, I step toward the door and peek in through the crack.

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