Page 13 of When Sinners Fall
Black hoodie. Black jeans. Black everything.
I keep scanning and looking around for her to get her ass home safely. Nothing. Not her anyway. Some guy running. Another guy and his girl walking slowly. Another couple of guys hanging out as if they might just be thinking the same kinda thing as me for a night’s entertainment.
An hour of waiting around and I start heading back the way I came. Head down, eyes still taking in everything in case she does try making this walk this late. She doesn’t, and I’m back in the mill of people and their lives without a glance of her. Whole damn scenario makes me frown, pissed that I’ve missed her tonight. Guess she could be out somewhere, though, and I’ve got other stuff to be getting on with.
And there’s always tomorrow.
Seven blocks pass by and I end up where I need to be. The doors open, and I slide into a room full of guys gambling their money away. They look up and me, and two start backing up from the table to try running their asses out the back door. Running. We could do that. No need, though, because the rest of this table knows if they don’t help, they’ll be on the wrong side of me for the foreseeable.
Four of them are up and closing off the exits before there’s a chance to escape what’s coming. I drop my hood and stare, then pick up someone’s drink and down it, before lighting a smoke and sitting. Both guys try moving around, shuffling themselves in the hope of finding a way out.
There isn’t one.
“Any last requests?”
Not that I’ll honour them if there are some.
They both pale and back up a few steps.
“Dragon, no. I’ll get the money,” one of them pleads.
Dragon. Fits me well. I pull in a lungful of smoke and blow it back out. The whispers of that name started way back. Buildings I torched up. Or faces I burnt to make my point felt. My need for carnage and revenge, I guess. I even got the artwork embedded on my own skin. “Please. I will. Tell Poe it’s coming.”
The other one starts up then. He whines about problems he's been having with suppliers. Something about money in transit from the South. I don’t hear any more of it. Too late for that now. I just drop what's left of my smoke and get on with what needs doing while the others keep the damn doors closed.
Limbs get broken. Bodies battered. One of them manages to get a couple of hits in to my jaw, which is fucking stupid because that just makes it worse for him. Makes it last longer – makesmelast longer to make sure the rest of them get the point. Nothing survives me. Never has. Especially when they don’t listen to the threat of me coming for them.
I score my hand over my face when it's done, probably wiping the blood into my hair, and lift my hood back up. “Get this cleaned up,” I mutter at the ones left standing.
Another drink gets thrown down my throat, and I watch the other men in the room nod at me. They’ll make it like I was never here, and by doing that, they know they’re safe from me for a while longer.
CHAPTER SIX
WREN
“You knew your mother would do this,” Kerry says, flatly.
“I know. I know. It’s just, does she have to do it in a way that makes me feel like a failure? I mean, planning weddings doesn’t mean I automatically want one,” I protest to Kerry, even though she’s on my side.
“You’re her only daughter.”
“And she had Robin’s wedding. Can’t she be happy with one offspring settling down?”
“She’s your mother. What do you think?”
“Fine, I know. And Robin’s over the other side of the country, so he’s no real help here.” I huff and take a sip of the neat Maker’s Mark whisky.
“So, Elliot stopped in at the dealership. Paul’s there. Wanted to know why he was snooping, but it looks like he’s stayed put.”
“Thanks,” I muse.
“Want to tell me what’s spinning your wheels?”
“Just a feeling. I’m going to put it down to a new neighbourhood.” If I tell her I think I might be being followed, she’ll be worried, and rightly so.
“Do I need to side with your mother on staying with her rather than living on your own?”
“Hey, the apartment is perfectly safe, and there are loads of worse places I could live in the city. This place has character and room. Give me some credit.” As I say it, a little voice pipes up inside my head, and I know that it’s not strictly true. I could be safer, but then I should be able to walk home from work without a problem.
