Page 16 of Last Breath

Raising the blade, directing it at Noire, I saw the seething hatred that Salem had for him rising exponentially. Every mention of son or boys, and the reminders of Tress surfaced. “No job for us. Not for anyone. You’re not leaving this room alive, Noire.”

“The fuck you say? No. You two will leave here with a few pints less blood and a deadness in your eyes.” Stepping toward Salem with menace, Noire looked half-crazed. The issue; Salem was full-fledged crazy. “If you want to try me on with that knife, boy, you’re more than welcome to. Remember, though, it’s mine and I’ll be having it back. Either after I wipe your blood off or when you hand it over. Choice is yours.”

As the two stood off against each other, murderous and psychotic looking, I waited for the first move. I had no weapon, and the laid-out blades of Noire’s were on the table behind him. The best I could do was to try to hold him once Salem had his attention. Watching them square off, expecting the worst, I was ready. With swiftness, Salem swung for Noire’s chest. We only stood around five five verses his six plus feet, and even though Salem’s cut was fast, it wasn’t deep.

Lifting his shirt, looking at the blood as it trickled down, Noire’s face was slightly joyous. He smacked his hands in a thunderous clap. “I knew I wanted you for a reason! Look at that face, the need to punish me. Oh, how I wished I could have cultivated that hatred when you first got here. Show me the darkness, give me—”

“No!” Turning as I yelled out, I grabbed Noire’s attention.

“So close. I thought I could bring you into the fold. I would’ve made you kings.”

I was seething with a dark hatred for the man and what he would drag from Salem if given the chance. “We want nothing to do with you. We never did.”

Crossing the room from where he stood to where I was, Noire’s stance was rigid and cruel. Snarling, he gripped my chin. Raising his knife to my face, he laid it across my cheek. “I killed him, just like I can kill you.” Pushing the edge closer to my lip, not splitting skin, he whispered close, “You want to die, don’t you?”

I’d only ever been afraid of Salem’s darkness, but understanding it too. Noire’s madness, I didn’t grasp the extent of it. Hoping his blade didn’t slip, I stayed still. I didn’t answer in fear of it moving.

“I think of death as an adventure,” Salem crowed.

Turning to look, realizing he’d ignored Salem to approach me, Noire saw his mistake a moment too late. As the blade slipped between his ribs, I heard his sharp intake of air and the shocked look crest on his face.

“I didn’t expect that,” Noire spewed as blood formed on the edge of his lips. “I will not go quietly—” Not finishing his sentence, Noire held me still and slipped the blade across my cheek and toward my mouth before sliding it to the other side. I felt it cut cleanly, tearing the skin apart. With another motion, Noire jerked again. Sticking from his neck, inches from my eyes, the bone handled knife protruded. As quickly as it entered, it left.

Watching, the light in Noire’s eyes escaped and his body collapsed. Shock hadn’t quite set in, but as I saw the fear in Salem’s eyes, I started to worry.

Dropping the blade, Salem peeled off his shirt and stepped over the dead body of Noire and pressed it tightly to my face. “Try not to speak. The cuts look deep. I’m so sorry, Malachi.”

Feeling the sting as the shirt hit my cheeks, my body reacted. The initial shock of damage caused my heart to race and a lightness in my head. I fainted.

I didn’t expect what he did next, but I couldn’t ignore the need for punishment. Waking up on the ground beside the car, Salem was attempting to drag Bishop’s body.

“Salem?” I said groggily, even as it ached to speak.

“We’ll be leaving soon, Mal. Just sit tight and don’t talk. Your face is pretty banged up.” He hung his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t protect you.”

“I—”

“Don’t talk,” he said again, pulling at Bishop’s torso. “We’ll get you looked at soon.”

Doing as he suggested—mainly because it really hurt—I rose up off the floor. Taking in the sight that unfolded around me, I was disappointed. I couldn’t say that all of them deserved the end that came their way, but when he was done, my sweet broken Salem had changed. Looking at the blood that pooled on the floor around the laid-out bodies, a steady flow of droplets fell from the knife hilt. His shirt was coated in the blood of others, and the warehouse was now a morgue. Around us laid the dead, the maimed and uncaring who watched as Bishop died that day, all because they desired what he had, or decided to side with Noire.

In silence, we buried Bishop and washed Trixie before we left her at a shelter that swore she’d be found a home. Starting up the Impala, we left the den of death behind, Salem explaining our cargo. He’d grabbed two bags full of money from Noire’s and the knife set. The knife set that he still holds dear.

The money had long since been spent over the past ten years on the road, but we’d lived in comfort for those, hiding out in abandoned homes.

After that day, I could always direct him to the truly evil that no one would miss for his need to mete out punishment and death. I don’t deny him the need.

Like being washed in a heavy rainfall, at some point the blood leached into his soul, tainting him irreparably. Now that same taint has blended, morphed, and created the same in me, and I can’t change it, nor will I. My demon has hit the road with a fervor, and he’s happy.

Then there’s Joy. For some reason, I have the feeling she has the capability for doing truly evil things, and that she only needs a shove to bring it forth. She’d be a happy harpy of discord.

Maybe if she wanted, we could take her along with us.

The woman who’s trying to keep the peace with invaders has somehow struck a chord with me.

Chapter 9

Malachi

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