Page 44 of Queen of Anarchy (Dirty Broken Savages 2)

He shoves me back hard, and I go crashing into the sinks, hitting my head on the mirror over the row of them and splintering it.

The gun falls from my grip, clattering across the floor and clanging into the bathroom wall. For a second, my head spins from the force of the blow, but when I see Lorenzo coming for me again, I shake myself out of the daze and get back in the fight.

I won't fucking give up.

Lorenzo says something, but I’m barely paying attention to anything other than the driving need to end him. His words go over my head, so much static, blending in with the muffled beat of the music outside in the club.

He’s probably just spewing abuse anyway, and I don’t need more reasons to want him dead.

He takes a swing at me, and I manage to duck out of the way. Now it’s his turn to go crashing into the mirror, and that hit knocks several large shards of glass out of the frame, sending them crashing to the floor.

I can feel my heartbeat in my head, and I lunge forward and grab one of the shards, whirling around and lashing out fast. I catch Lorenzo right in the arm as he’s reaching for me, slashing him from elbow to wrist.

He howls in pain as the glass shard cuts through his suit jacket and deep into his skin. There’s blood everywhere, bright splashes that stand out starkly on the white tile under the florescent lights.

He clutches his arm, the blood seeping down between his fingers, and I take the chance to finish this. I rush in and stab him this time, cutting through his fancy shirt down to the meat of him beneath it.

The glass cuts into my hand, but I ignore that.

When Lorenzo stumbles, I kick him down to the floor, and he falls back, crashing through the door of one of the other stalls. His eyes are wild, and I don’t let up. I don’t give him a chance to recover himself.

I’m on him in a second, dropping the large chunk of glass and grabbing his shirt front. It’s sticky with blood and sweat, and I use the damp fabric to haul him up and then smash him back down. His head hits the rim of the toilet with a sickening crunching sound, and I let go of his shirt and grab his hair instead.

I’m running on pure adrenaline and emotion, and I lose count of how many times I slam his head into the unforgiving porcelain of the toilet. Over and over again until he’s just a bloody, battered mess.

By the time I finally stop, I can’t remember if he struggled while I did that, or if he just laid there and took it. But either way, he’s still as a corpse when I drop him for the last time.

My chest heaves as I fight to catch my breath, and I stand up, grabbing the gun that I dropped in the fight. I fire two shots, just to be sure. One into his chest and the other into the remnants of his face.

I’m covered in blood and sweat, but somehow I manage to make it out of the bathroom without being seen. I walk down the long hallway toward the rear of the building until I find a back door, and I slip out that way, into a dark, dank alley.

Then I run through the darkness, getting as far away from the scene as I can.

I run and run and run, blood covering my hands.

It’s so dark that I can’t see anything. I can’t see two feet in front of me, and even though I keep running, my arms and legs pumping frantically, eventually the blackness around me swallows me up.

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