Page 19 of Ruin My Life
“They’re wearingmasks,” he sputters, eyes wide, head shaking like a broken toy. “How do you even know it’s one of us?”
I zoom in on the lean one’s chest—just enough to expose the edge of the winged tattoo.
“Doesn’t this look familiar?” I ask, tilting the phone for effect before pointing the gun at the matching songbird inked on Eddie’s left pec.
He stares at it, frozen, then swallows hard. “A lot of guys have those. There’s too many to name.”
I sigh, straddling him again.
The gun settles against his tattoo, pressing into his sternum.
“You won’t believe how much time I have, Eddie.”
He tugs at the bindings, panic setting in. “All I do is rough people up! I swear—I don’t know anyone whokillsfor them!”
My eyes drift, unimpressed.
I trace the barrel lazily along his collarbone. “Rough people upis such a docile way to describetorture and assault,” I murmur, my voice detached. “I know everything about you. I know you joined the Songbirds for money—to get your mom out of your dad’s house.”
Eddie’s breath hitches.
“I know they offered you something better than running.”
His whimper is pathetic. It curls the corners of my mouth.
“I don’t blame you for killing your dad,” I continue, tapping the gun firmly against his chest. “He was a bastard to you and your mother. But…”
Tap. Tap. Tap.
“It’s what you did for them after that that matters. All the fingers you cut off people who couldn’t pay. All the innocence you sold for fear and profit.”
Tears break free from his eyes, trailing down his temples and soaking into the pillow.
“I’m sorry,” he chokes. “Please—I canchange. I can turn it around.”
“I’ve heard that before,” I reply, tilting my head as my voice goes cold. “Once a Songbird, always a Songbird.”
I press the other pillow against his face, then bury the muzzle of the gun deep into the fabric until I can feel the shape of his skull beneath it.
He screams, like anyone might hear him.
BANG!
His body jerks once, then goes limp beneath me.
I lift the pillow slowly.
Red blooms across the cotton.
His eyes are open but empty.
I press two fingers to his throat.
Nothing.
Just to be sure, I hold the pulse point for five long seconds.
Then I climb off him.
