Page 15 of Slay Bells Ring

I finish wrapping her feet. I do it tight; the one isn’t as deep so the skin should heal itself quickly. The other… it’s going to take some time before she can comfortably put all of her weight on it. She’ll be able to walk—albeit not that well. Holly will simply have to be careful with how she puts her weight on her feet.

It’s only after I take care of her that I grab my recliner and pull it closer to the fire so it’s right beside her sofa bed. The wooden legs of the chair scrape along the floor, but I’m not concerned. I’m slow in sitting down, and I groan as I do so.

This isn’t turning out how I wanted it to, and unfortunately there’s nothing I can do about it now. Holly is here and she’s not going anywhere anytime soon.

We’re stuck together, because I sure as shit ain’t going anywhere, either.

I reach over my head and grab the neckline of my shirt. Up and over my head it goes, though I don’t drop it on the floor; I keep it on the armrest of the chair. It’s theonly damn shirt I brought. Didn’t think I’d get stabbed, obviously.

I inspect the shallow wound on my left pec. It stings a teeny bit, but it’s something I can easily ignore. That said, it is still bleeding some, so it’s best to take care of it now. I have the first-aid kit out, so might as well.

As I lean forward and pour some alcohol over my chest to sterilize the wound, I’m well aware Holly watches me with irritation and fake disinterest. It’s like she doesn’t want to watch me, but she can’t help it. She’s also probably still pissed I have her knife on me; I slid it into my pants’ pocket while I carried her out here.

She’s not getting it back. If she wants it, she’ll have to take it from me—and we both know how her last attempt on my life turned out.

It’s only after my injury is bandaged up that I lean back and take a drink from what’s left in the bottle. It’s never too early to start drinking, and shit, after the morning I had, I’m not concerned.

Holly breaks her silence by informing me, “I hate you.”

“Yeah? Get in line.” I stare at the fire, but my peripherals can tell she can’t take her eyes off me. Whether she’s glaring at my face or the patch on my chest wishing she would’ve hit the mark better, I can’t quite tell.

“You deserve to die for what you did.”

“Are you the judge, jury, and executioner now?” Sitting by the fire, I’m not too cold, even with my shirt off. I’d like the fabric to dry before I put it back on. Plus, I tend to run hot. “Didn’t know it was official and they named you for all three.”

The way she rolls her eyes and scoffs at me tells me she finds me irritating. “You’re not funny.”

“Good. I’m not trying to be.” Even though it might be a mistake, I draw my gaze away from the fire and land it on her. The little girl in the closet, all grown up and full of hatred because of me. If comeuppance had a face, it’d be Holly’s.

“You have my knife,” she points out.

I nod. “I do, and unless you think you can take it from me, I’d drop the subject if I were you. You’ve already made it clear you don’t have what it takes to kill me.”

She folds her arms over her chest and puffs up a bit.

I grin at her and say, “What? Did I strike a nerve? Please. You might’ve thought you were ready to take me on, but no amount of planning or training in the world could truly prepare you to take on someone like me. I’ve spent my whole life training, becoming who and what I am—a weapon. You’re just a girl playing pretend.”

Holly shakes her head once. “This isn’t pretend for me. This is real. I hate you and everything you stand for, everything you’ve done. Do you even think about all of the families you’ve destroyed? How many people you’ve killed? Do you even know?”

The reason I’m in this fucking cabin is because I couldn’t stop thinking about it, but I don’t tell her that. Instead I say, “One of the first things you learn when you’re in my line of work is that you don’t think. You just do. You act. I’m hired to kill, so that’s what I do.”

My stomach gurgles. I didn’t bring any food with me, so I supposed it’s a good thing she came prepared, ready for multiple days of torture. I set the bottle on the ground and stand. No way my shirt is dry yet, but I put it onanyways. I wander to the kitchen and grab two granola bars, one of which I hand to Holly when I return.

She must be hungry too, because she doesn’t say a word. She simply snatches the bar from my outstretched hand and pretty much shovels the entire thing in her mouth at once.

I don’t pack it in like her. I take my time in eating it as I recline in the chair.

“I still don’t get what you were doing here,” Holly mutters once she’s swallowed everything. “You didn’t come with any food. You just packed a shit ton of booze. Were you really going to survive on alcohol alone?”

I rub the side of my face. My mouth is full with a good-sized bite of the bar, and I chew it slowly as I try to think of a way to respond to her without making it obvious what I planned on doing during this little vacation of mine. In the end, I just say, “That was the plan.”

Holly groans. “I can’t believeyou’rethe assassin that killed my parents.” The way she says it, like she’s insulted on her dead parents’ behalf that I’m the one who did it and not someone more impressive really ticks me off.

Narrowing my stare at her, I ask, “What the fuck is wrong with me?”

“You’re a drunk.”

“A drunk you still couldn’t kill, so what does that say about you?”

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