Page 11 of Stabby Little

I pull the cash out of my backpack. I hand one third to Finn and one third to Sparrow.

Finn's jaw drops. “Holy shit.”

“Gordon was loaded. This should last us until next month.”

Sparrow turns to me with a serious expression on his face. “Can we take out the Diavolo brothers now?”

“No.” My voice is fierce. Deep. Unwavering.

“Why not?”

“We haven't built up our skills yet. We need to perfect our killing method so we can strike the second we're ready.”

* * *

When we finish talking, I walk toward the river. Our apartment is a shithole but it's close to the Hudson. The one saving grace is that I can walk along the bank to clear my mind.

Lately, my mind has been spinning out of control.

Rage pulses behind my temples when I wake up, fueling my desire to do terrible things.

I picture being back in the warehouse, fucking Jack, the guard I manipulated to get special privileges, and forcing myself to accept his abuse.

After exiting my street, I approach the river.

It's flowing fast and furious today. Leafs twist through the stream, dipping beneath the surface. The current pulls small twigs underneath and shoots them to faraway places. At the bank, the stream claws dirt and detritus into its depths, combing through everything it can. The river doesn't care that it's quickening the natural process of erosion or destroying the banks that keep it contained. It only cares about one thing—endless destruction.

Tugging everything into its orbit.

Sucking its surroundings deep like a twisted black hole.

That's how the fucking warehouse treated me.

I pull out my burner phone.

Me:Can you meet by the Hudson

Roy:In the spot from last time

Me:Yes

Roy:I'll be there in fifteen minutes

Roy is an underworld contact I connected with last week. I was buying a new pair of steel-toed boots at a thrift store when he walked up to me. He asked if I wanted to buy drugs and I declined. But I was in the market for something else. Something more nefarious.

A gun.

Roy took me to the Hudson and handed me my new weapon. I pawned a Rolex watch and diamond ring I nicked from a wealthy woman on Fifth Avenue the previous week to pay for it. Now when the Diavolo brothers surprise me, I won't be unprepared.

Like last time.

The sound of approaching footsteps distracts me. I glance up to see Roy.

“Hey.”

Roy's dressed in a red hoodie with dark jeans. His Converse sneakers are scuffed and worn, covered in dirt. His beady eyes scan our surroundings, no doubt searching for cops or other assholes who might bust him.

I discovered Roy's criminal record when I looked him up this past weekend. He was busted for drug-related offenses as a juvenile and spent six months on Rikers Island. No doubt he wants to lay low so he doesn't end up back in that place.

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