Page 12 of Bleeding Outside the Lines

“I enjoy the pain I cause,” I answer. “But devils do not play God.” I use the blade of my knife to caress her cheek. “You are going to die, Ms. Whitelock, but I am curious why you did it?”

“To…to,” she stammers. “Fill the silence.”

I’m swift with my blade. It slices across the tender flesh of her throat. Blood sprays back at me while her heart continues to pump. Showered in her blood, Cassius plagues my thoughts like a virus that can’t be contained. Cassius knows what I do, he knows his death is imminent, and yet he called out my name. In the throes of his own pleasure, no less.

This game we’re playing. It’s not cat and mouse. It’s not predator vs. prey. I know this game, and I know that the queen is the most powerful. She does not live by rules. She hunts and kills without remorse. This is a game of strategy, and I have a lifetime of experience.

Chess is the first thing recruits are taught when they come to us. We use it to teach how to focus on more than one thing at once, and to think multiple steps ahead before we make our move. I bombed that lesson at first, but before I trained to be Ruby, Rowan and I were paired together on most tasks even though she was two years older than me. And Rowan, she was incredibly intelligent, even as a child she was smarter than most of the adult Reds, although they would never have admitted it. She helped me understand the game, and I helped her survive blade training. Together we were unstoppable, but like chess, time eventually runs out and when it does, someone has to lose. For a long time, I thought it was Rowan, but I’m starting to think it was me. That becoming Ruby wasn’t the prize I thought it was.

Blood and water blend together as they swirl down the drain at my feet. Scrubbing my skin, I finish washing away Ms. Whitelock. Her blood and her memory. When I leave this shower, I will not think of her again. We all do what we mustto forget, make amends and lock the memories away. In my shower, I wash away the sins of my legacy.

But her last words eat at me because I cannot make sense of them. To fill the silence? What the hell does that mean? Was it their screams? Their cries for help? Or did she mean the emptiness? The one that creeps up on me between jobs. Where my thoughts and feelings bounce around in a deep cavern with nothing to brace their impact because that’s what my training required. And when I kill, it feels as though the cavern is suddenly full of every thought and feeling, and they hold on to each other, leaving no space for air. Maybe it’s the same thing, silence and emptiness, and maybe me and Mrs. Whitelock are more alike than I thought.

I’m toweling off when a video call comes through on my tablet.

“What did you find?” I answer, not bothering with hello.

“Okay, so Mr. Cross,” Rowan starts. “He one hundred percent committed a hit-and-run on the girl’s brother. The teen is paralyzed from the waist down. Honestly, he’s lucky to be alive.”

“How do we know for sure?”

“Incoming video.”

I press play and watch as Cassius’ Impala slams into a teenage boy crossing the street. The driver climbs out—his build instantly recognizable as Cassius. He walks toward the boy, leans in to check his pulse, then climbs back in the car and speeds off.

“And the girl?”

“We have a transaction report from his credit card company. He purchased clothing from a women’s boutique downtown and heavy chains and locks from the hardware store. And Rubes?”

“What else Rowan?”

“Incoming video.”

Fucking Christ. I knew it was true. My sources are never wrong, but I really wanted…to be honest, I don’t know what I really wanted. For it to be lies? For him to be a better person than me?

I tap my finger on the play button and hold my breath.

Cassius walks down the street, dragging Isabella Diaz at his side until he pushes her into the trunk of the Impala. The video is not the best quality, but as someone who can taste fear, I feel like I have a cavity. The young girl is terrified. I freeze the frame. She looks a lot smaller than the photo we have.

My improper thoughts of Cassius should be forgotten after seeing this. He’s a monster. But so am I. And what is it that people say? Like attracts like? The realization hits like an earthquake to my cracked foundation. Bricks of the walls that hold me together, that make me who I am, begin to fall.

Forcing the queen to make her move.

seven

It’s taken a fewdays to find her, but there she is sitting at an outdoor table, her light purple hair glistening in the afternoon sun. It’s short, cropped at her chin with straight bangs and large sunglasses sit on her small nose. The disguise is impressive. And I’m thrown by how gorgeous she is. Even like this, even when she’s someone else. She’s deadly and captivating, and I hate her. I hate her for being the thing I crave most. The present I want to unwrap, layer by layer, until all I see is her. Who is she behind the disguises? Behind the blood and the violence? Is she full of demons too?

A waiter approaches her, but Ruby doesn’t turn to look at him. Her gaze appears to be focused elsewhere. With those large sunglasses, it’s hard to determine exactly what she’s looking at, but I’m willing to bet it’s a target. Her lips move, and she raises her hand, effectively dismissing the waiter.

She’s fascinating and the more I watch her, the more captivated I am. Everything she does is intentional; every slight movement is calculated. A routine. One she’s done over and overfor the last fifteen minutes. First, she looks at her phone and scrolls for a moment, then she pulls her lips to the left, always to the left as she turns her head in both directions. Looking for someone who isn’t coming, I’m sure. After she does that she crosses and then uncrosses her legs, flashing her red bottom heels and takes a sip of her drink. Then the routine starts again.

Cars pass in front of me, obscuring my view for seconds at a time. When traffic slows, she’s gliding her finger in circles around the rim of her water glass, like she’s bored. That’s new. She doesn’t get lost in her phone again either, but instead pulls a paperback out of her tote bag. To anyone else, it would appear that she’s reading, but she hasn’t turned a single page. Her focus lies elsewhere. Maybe on the couple a few tables away? The man is young, much younger than the woman he’s dining with. Is it her? Or Him?

They’re arguing, quiet enough that none of the other patrons pay attention, but her eyebrows narrow, and she speaks through gritted teeth like she’s doing that whisper yell thing I’ve seen moms do. Is she his mother? From here, she looks old enough for it to be possible. His lips move and then his head tilts. His cheeks lift in a smile…and nope. Not his mother. That’s not the kind of smile you give your mother. That’s the kind of smile you flash when you want to get laid.

The woman flushes and places a pile of cash on the table. The couple stands to leave, picking up the handful of shopping bags at their feet. Chanel and Tiffany’s for her. Gucci and Burberry for him. Is it her money or his?

It doesn’t matter because Ruby is stone faced now, a lioness preparing to pounce. She throws a handful of bills on the table but doesn’t move from her seat.

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