Page 82 of Slay Ride

She stands at the head of the last lane. As I step behind her, the Cattle at the end begins to stir. His legs shuffle back and forth, and he blinks to clear the fog my fist cast over his brain. He hasn’t noticed the Angel of Death with a crossbow aimed at his skull.

God, I am so fucking hard right now.

“You said five women, right?” she asks.

I place a kiss on top of her head. “That’s right, kitten. Five women.”

“Tell me their names.”

I say each woman’s name. Rhonda. Greta. Elizabeth. Jane. Marianne. They matter. The piece of shit with a crossbow aimed at his brain doesn’t.

Cat raises her chin and the crossbow in unison. Bracing her arm, she prepares to fire.

“This is for them,” I say. “This is for all of them, plus the women he would have continued to hurt had he not been caught. You aren’t killing a person. You’re destroying a monster.”

Cat adjusts her grip.

“You can do it. Just pull the trigger and end him.” I firm my hold on her shoulders and will my strength into her.

She takes a deep breath, adjusts her stance, cocks her head to the side, and fires.

The man’s head whips to the side, and a spray of vermillion streaks the hay bale behind him. His legs straighten and dance a jig in front of him, and he falls onto his side, where he squirms in the snow and paints it red.

Cat doesn’t celebrate. She doesn’t jump up and down and squeal or any of those things she normally does when she’s accomplished something big. The gravity of what she’s done and what she still has to do is enough to keep her grounded. With the air of a predator, she kneels in the snow, then loads another bolt into the crossbow.

“It wasn’t a good shot,” she says. “He’s suffering.”

“Then finish it, kitten. End his reign of terror by beginning yours.”

With the weapon in hand, she stands and takes aim. I don’t stand behind her this time. Like a proud teacher, I watch my pupil apply her lesson all on her own. I watch as calm settles over her face and the bloodlust overtakes her.

I watch as she pulls the trigger.

The bolt whizzes down the lane and lodges in his chest. The man gasps and thrashes his legs as Cat loads another death missile into her war machine. She’s no longer shaking, and though she remains silent, I doubt her voice would tremble if she chose to speak.

“Whoops, I went a little wide on that one,” she says as she stands.

Once more, she aims, takes a deep breath, and fires. This time, the bolt lands right between his legs and disappears. The glue rips as the man’s lips tear apart, and he screams.

“Naughty, naughty kitten,” I say. “You shouldn’t play with your prey.”

“Prop him up. Point his ass toward me.”

She doesn’t have to tell me twice. I rush to the end of the lane.

The man is in pretty bad shape, and I’m fairly certain he’s already dead by the time I pile enough snow beneath his burgeoning gut to angle his ass toward her. That chest shot flooded his abdomen with blood, and he’s a bit unwieldy.

Like a good girl, she waits until I’m back behind her before she raises the weapon and shoots again, sending the ammo right into his ass. He doesn’t even flinch, unfortunately, which further solidifies my belief that we’ve sent him straight to hell.

Realizing her work is done, Cat flops down on her ass and flings the crossbow away from her. The adrenaline must be wearing off.

“I did it,” she says. “I actually did it. I . . . I killed him.”

I sit next to her and pull her into me. “Damn right you did. You killed the other guy too, don’t forget.”

“Oh shit, I did, didn’t I?” Cat lowers her mask, licks her lips, and looks around. A slight giggle slips out of her, and she covers her mouth. “When he said his niece, I just snapped. And then thinking about those elderly women . . . It was too much. I just...acted.”

“You were a little blue-eyed demon, that’s what you were. How did the knife feel? Or did you prefer the crossbow?” I swipe the hair away from her face. I don’t want to miss a moment of the way she looks right now. I’m hungry for each response. The need to know how it feels for her drives me wild.

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