Page 23 of Creed

By the time I arrive home, I remember that I never went shopping.

I got too invested in being in my head to think about it.

Until now.

Will someone be waiting for me?

Did they return while I was at work?

Did they get the wrong apartment?

Does the X mean what I think it means?

I need answers and no clue where to begin searching for them.

Chapter Eight

I pull up outside of the Velvet Rooster, dreading walking through the door. One never knows who they may have a run in with. One rule here is that no one spills blood at Merc’s bar. Everyone here is in the business of killing or disappearing. It can be a competitive business at times. Not that there’s any shortage of people who want someone dead or fuckers who deserve to die or people seeking a new life. There’s been times in my life where I thought maybe that’s what I needed. That’s how I got into the killing game.

Found myself in a low place of chasing the high of the next fight and easy pussy. The purses I was winning weren’t anything to brag about. Merc saw something in me others didn’t. Hunger. Drive. He offered me something that was a high unlike anything I’d ever experienced. I tell myself that I could walk away anytime I want to, but I don’t know if I can give up the thrill.

One glance around the parking lot and I recognize a familiar motorcycle. Belongs to a former nomad for whatwas the Royal Bastards MC out of Charleston, West Virginia. Guy who goes by the name Static. His brother Holy is the club’s chaplain. The two of them are like daylight and dark. Two sides of the same coin. Like me, Static is a killer for hire. I was under the impression he got out when he hooked up with Rosie.

The tension I was experiencing rolls off my shoulders as they drop. As much as I love my life in Alabama, there’s a part of me that misses my time spent at Devil’s Playground in WV. There was a time I thought about patching over. The possibility of having Lottie back in my life solidifies that I made the right choice for me. I may have lost Ember to Smoke, but in the end, she wasn’t the one for me. She’s not Lottie.

Inside, I spot Static sitting at the bar nursing a beer and munching on the complimentary peanuts that I personally find stale. To each their own, though. He shoots me a chin lift and I drop onto the neighboring stool.

“Haven’t seen your ugly mug in a while.”

“Been busy. You know how it is. How’s everyone doing these days?”

“Dust is settling after all the shit that went down.”

“I hear that.”

One of Merc’s girls, Birdie, flips a coaster over in front of me on the bar and serves me a beer and moves back to the other end of the bar to pretend she’s not listening to our conversation. The old man trained her well.

“Thought you retired?”

“Me too, but I’ve got a teen daughter, a woman, a mortgage and car payments. So here I am. What about you? Still kicking ass and taking names?”

“You know it.” I take a hard pull from my beer and wait for my marching orders.

The road can be just as lonely as it is freeing. I pulled over for the night at what I refer to as a roachtel. And yes, it’s exactly what it sounds like. A hole in the wall place that still accepts cash and rents rooms by the hour. Not a place you spend any real time at. No use in wasting money for a full night when what I want most is somewhere to close my eyes for a couple of hours that doesn’t involve my ass worrying about getting arrested for trespassing or someone trying to rob me.

I don’t bother kicking my shoes off and spread a plastic tarp on the bed. No way in hell do I want to lay my ass on the filthy blanket. I read somewhere once that motels and hotels alike rarely wash their comforters and the real lazy fucks won’t even swap out the sheets unless they look gross.

I pull out my cell and lay my head at the foot of the bed away from the wall where the bedbugs are more likely to live. My skin crawls merely thinking about it. I fire off a text to the number Lottie gave me.

You awake, hellcat?

…

Typing dots move, then stop.

I’m awaiting a ‘you’ve got the wrong number’ response when nothing happens.

Don’t leave me hanging.

---