Page 54 of Bullet

“I felt like shit when it happened. Did you ever have a pet?”

She smiled. “I won a goldfish at the carnival when I was six.” Almost instantly, her smile fell. “Ohgod, this is a terrible comparison. But I suppose he would have been a wet kisser too…if he’d lived.” She tried not to laugh but failed. “He died when my mom put him in the car. It was a warm day,” she said and laughed again, the vibration of her body making me laugh. “She cooked him like a fish boil. It’s not funny. I shouldn’t be laughing. I’m going to hell.”

“You’ll have me for company.”

“Have you ever wanted for a different life, one where you don’t carry a gun?”

“Nah.” I held up my left hand, showing her my rings. “I wear the skull on my middle finger as a fuck you to society and all her rules. I’m going to live, or I’m going to die, but it’s going to be on my fucking terms. Two wheels down, riding with my brothers.”

She twisted the ring. I splayed my fingers and weaved them with hers. A serpent wrapped my pinky.

“And the snake?” she asked.

“Revelation 12:9. The great dragon was cast out, that serpent of old, called the Devil and Satan, who deceives the whole world; he was cast to the earth, and his angels were cast out with him.”

She lifted her face, and those brown eyes filled with a questioning sadness.

“Are you a believer?” I asked her. I’d been raised in a religious home, shaped by the zealous teachings of a mentally ill mother and burdened with enough guilt to start my own religion.

“I think so. I want to believe there’s some bigger plan.”

I inhaled, flaring my nostrils. “So do I, brown eyes.” With her in my arms, this was the closest I’dever come to heaven. Keeping her safe was the only redemption I’d need.

“But I wouldn’t get into a philosophical debate with someone.” She relaxed into me. “You can’t argue someone’s beliefs. I guess, I hope I do enough good to outweigh the bad.” She angled her head to look at my face. “What about you?”

“I got a path to walk, and it doesn’t smell like vanilla and wildflowers. There’s a lot of blood on my hands.”

She interlocked our fingers and touched the ring on my index finger. “Were you in the Marines?”

“My old man was. The ring is the only thing I have left of his. Mom is gone, too.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. Life fucks with us all. My dad died when I was young. One night he drank himself stupid, then he ate his revolver. Mom was raised in church. I guess she felt like she had to pay for his sins, too. She wanted to instill the fear of God into me. Spare the rod. Spoil the child. She tried to beat the devil out of me. She only managed to make him come out to play.”

A soft chuckle slipped from her lips. We steeped in a comfortable silence, weaving our fingers together. The soft contours of her body fit perfectly against the hard slope of mine. “When did she die?”

“Two weeks before my twenty-first birthday. Breast cancer. She refused medical treatment. She tried to pray it out.” I slipped the fingers of my right hand through her silky hair.

“You were my age.” She burrowed closer, keeping our hands joined.

“Twenty-one, huh?” She was just a baby. I wasn’t old enough to be her daddy, but she was too fucking young to attach herself to someone like me. Not that it was going to stop me from wanting more with her.

“I feel a lot older.” She sighed. “How old are you?”

“Thirty-three. Too old for you.”

“Not too old to be friends,” she said.

“Friends don’t share a bed.”

She smashed her lips together and rolled them inward.

“What?” I asked.

“I know of two examples, both would work to prove my point that you share a bed with friends regularly. But I’m not saying anything because I’m enjoying this snuggle, and I don’t want to fight.”

“I don’t snuggle.” I growled and looked around for my cigarettes.

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