Page 57 of Chalk Outline
An old problem.
A parasite.
Unfortunately, I know a lot of those.
I can’t tell her who it is. All she needs to know is, “kill him no matter what.”
“I swear, if you sent someone to kill me, I’m gonna make your life a nightmare,” she says in a clipped tone.
My life is already a nightmare.
“I know I look small, maybe fragile, but I will break you. I will tear you limb from limb with every available weapon at my grasp.”
Goddammit.
“I didn’t,” I mirror her tone, my finger itching to pull the trigger again, and hearing the bullet lodge in his head. “I could’ve killed you myself dozens of times by now, and I haven’t.”
“Maybe it’s only a matter of time.”
I clear my throat. “You know what, don’t believe me, but we have a problem, and he needs to die. We need a plan. So, I will cross to your side and kill him. You stay inside.”
“If you come here, I’ll shoot you.”
Shoot me now.
“Really?”
“Yes, really. I don’t know you or him. For all I know, you work together,” she spews, and I can’t say I’m not proud of her for analyzing every detail from every angle.
I’ll take that bullet right now to save her.
I lick my dry lips asour problemcontinues to slam on the door and curse. “I did tell you things about myself, haven’t I earned just a little trust? I’m working with your grandma.” I know my Winona. She’s tough, a force all on her own.
“I don’t trust anyone.”
Of course.
Even though I don’t have a clear shot or her approval, I like that she doesn’t bend easily.
“You can cross to my tower,” I suggest.
“No, thank you,” she snorts, “I’m not falling for that.”
“Come on, you’ve never killed before,” I try to reason with her because taking a life, even one that belongs to the devil, changes a person. It brings guilt, pain, and regret. But if we turn that coin over, some people experience thrill, satisfaction, and enjoyment. We all play the same game; we’re just different players, playing for different reasons. And that motherfucker is here for the thrill.
“How do you know that?” she asks.
“An educated guess.”
“You’re so full of sh—”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” I shout.
“I’ll take care of the problem myself. If you have a clear shot, shoothim,“ she says, opening the door to the balcony enough to go through it. “Prove to me that I can trust you.”
My chest heaves quickly, a deep rumble resonating within.
Chapter nine
