Page 39 of Dead Bled Ringer
But I shouldn’t know. I shouldn’t encourage him. What future could we have together?
Through the windows I could see Henry looked like hell, chain-smoking cigarettes inside, with huge bags under his eyes. He was bleating away on the phone to one of his stupid fixers.
“All the computers have been fucking wiped,” he was moaning, then, “I don’t know who! Fix it!”
He threw his phone in the corner and grabbed for the bottle of whiskey.
“Is that really what I look like?” Hunter asked as we waited in the shadows of the backyard. “Ugly bastard.”
“No,” I said, the hair on my neck standing up at the feel of his breath across my skin. “That’s not what you look like.”
Hunter moved to the fuse box and cut power.
“Let’s go.”
I could hear Henry’s panicked shout as we opened the French doors and stepped inside, and he was already stumbling down the stairs when Hunter shone a bright flashlight into his eyes.
“A-angelise! Are you ok? Hunter? What thefuck?”
“Did you hire a hitman to kill me?” I asked.
God, he was soweak. Why hadn’t I seen it before? He was good at performing strength. But the second the power balance shifted, and he didn’t have his goons as backup, he crumbled.
“Nooo, Angelise, noo, I didn’t mean it—I wasn’t really going to?—”
“Oh, it’s Angelise now? Whatever happened to ‘bitch’ or ‘fat bitch’?”
“I didn’t mean it,” he begged.
“You out here whining because you can’t find the little wank videos you made of me?” I snarled. “You pathetic bastard.”
Henry’s face crumpled, and suddenly he looked 10 years older than Hunter—like a hollow shell of himself. But it wasn’t true repentance, because I still saw a bitter angry energy in his eyes. He was a cornered rat—he’d attack us if he thought he could get away with it.
Henry sunk to his knees, piss leaking from his dick until there was a big wet patch on the front of his sweatpants.
“Please—please, forgive me!” he begged, hands reaching out for me. “I was so scared of losing you.”
Hunter slammed the hard butt of the flashlight into his brother’s collar bone.
“Stay away from her.”
“I’ve come for myshit,” I said.
“Take it, take it all,” Henry wept. “Just go away and leave me alone.”
The living room smelled like piss and booze and stale smoke as my eyes roamed around all my expensive possessions. All the things Henry had bought me. All the things that fit into a life with him.
A life I didn’t want anymore.
“You know what,” I said suddenly. “I don’t even want any of this shit.”
I started pulling things from the walls, ripping his art down, breaking apart the fancy electronics. I yanked at the massive flat screen TV until it tore from the wall with a splintering crunch. Then I let go and it fell on the ground with a terrifically loud and satisfying smash.
I heard a softflickand Hunter handed me his knife with a twisted grin.
“For the couches,” he said. “And anything else you want to gut.”
“Please—please no,” Henry begged.
