Page 24 of The Burnt Heart

I ran the open blade shaver over my little rat’s cheek, testing the sharpness. Cross gulped, eyes wide with alarm. I tightened my hold in his greasy hair, yanking his head back.

“D-don’t you need shaving cream or something—ah.” He winced as I drew the thin blade across the smooth patch on his cheek. The tiny line welled generously, the blood smearing over his cheeks like war paint.

“No need for cream when I have something else plentiful.” I let him see my teeth. He would be stupid to consider it a smile. The blood dripped a wonky line down his neck, pooling on his smudged collar. I didn’t want to be here today. I had plans with a bottle of sauvignon blanc, and some trashy reality.

Happy birthday to me.

Instead, I was holed up in the cramped kitchen of Post Pizza. One of the best deep dish pizza places in Greenich Bay, but it was empty today. The scent of dough lingered, permeating the walls. I rolled my eyes as Cross whimpered, trying in vain not to move.

“I-I swear. I don’t know anything.” His whine grated against my raw nerves. I clicked my tongue, wedging the blade under the curve of his chin. His pulse raced against the cold promise of the sharp edge.

“Now, now, Cross. You know that’s a lie, when my guys picked you up, you still had red spray paint on your fingers.” Cross blanched, and spluttered, but he didn’t feign ignorance again. I hummed, sliding the blade through the cooling blood and cleaning away the sharp bristles on his skin.

“How stupid do you think I am?” I brushed his greasy, tangled locks off his forehead. He shook his head, the whites of his eyes like a flag of surrender. But unluckily for Cross, I was in a terrible mood and he had given me the perfect outlet for my smoldering rage. It gnashed at my stomach, clawing into the tender skin.

“N-not s-stupid.” Cross stuttered, squeaking as I let the blade slip again. His chest heaved around a strangled moan, chapped lips jamming together. His cheeks were painted red, like the marks he’d drawn on the front of the pizza shop. Cross had been sloppy.

“But darling.” I nudged his head up, noting the dark bags under his eyes. “You must think I’m a complete idiot, if you thought you could get away with graffitiing a business under my protection. With a red and black wolf, no less. Now why would you do that, Cross?”

I needed answers. No one was going to get away with defacing my city with symbols of Crimson Claw. Cross trembled now, sensing the danger he was in, finally. This wasn’t the first time Ihad dealt with Cross, he had been involved in a string of crime in the lower east side six months ago, breaking into about five businesses. I had given him the choice to leave the city or pay. He’d chosen to leave, or so it had seemed. Now he was back. His handiwork being rapidly scrubbed off the window out front. I wasn’t feeling benevolent this time. I levered the blade, chewing on my lip with concentration. The scraping noise mollified the simmering rage. I had a flash of a memory, shaving Briar, and the rage flooded back in.

“Speak, goddammit.” I barked, nerves stinging with acid. I was wrung out, twisted, turned, and so tired. I missed my guys, especially on a day like today. My exes always made my birthday special and this was the first one we weren’t spending together. My mouth longed for Jesse’s French toast, extra whipped cream which he used to smear on my skin. Because I was the delicious treat. They didn’t buy me expensive gifts, opting to lavish me with comfort. Bubble baths, champagne, rose scented oil massages. My skin tingled with the memory of how my birthday’s usually ended. Debaucherous. I yanked at my collar, suffocating under the prickling heat. I flattened the blade under his jaw. His pulse fluttered like a baby bird. Weak and faltering under the claw of a hawk.

“I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. Please, just let me live.” His tendons taut with terror. I hummed, pleased with his capitulation. I nodded, shaving him with a tenderness I didn’t feel.

“Good boy. I promise you’ll be alive when I step out of that door.”

“I don’t know who it was, but they sent me a message direct. Asked me to draw the picture they sent on this place. I never spoke to them, or even got their name.”

The sound of the blade sliding against his skin was the only sound as I digested his information. I wiped the dark bristles on his shoulder.

“Check his phone.” I nodded at Jonah, who snatched up the black rectangle. He frowned, flashing the message chain at me with pursed lips.

“Checks out, if he’s telling the truth.” Jonah tucked the phone in his pocket. He moved to the other side of the room, catching the glint in my eye.

“You did promise me you wouldn’t come back to Greenich Bay Cross. But money was enough to change your mind. You’d say anything to get out of this room, wouldn’t you? It won’t stop the next time someone dangles a chunky stack of cash.”

Scrape, scrape, scrape.

Cross’s ragged beard disappeared under my nimble blade. His throat bobbed and his eyes filled with desperate tears. They glimmered with lies.

“No, I promise.” He gasped, the sound wet. “I was broke, I needed money. But I-I learned my lesson. I won’t—”

I tapped a finger on his lips, cutting off his oily protestations. His eyes shifted around the room, as if he might be able to garner support from someone else. But Jonah and the two other guards stared back at him, with unfettered disgust on their faces. His bottom lip trembled.

“I hope the money was worth your life,” I explained.

Two guards moved to pin him down as he attempted to flee. His head tossed in my hold, the shaver blade cutting deep in his panic. His eyes rolled back as his chest heaved.

“You said you’d let me live.” His voice was a squeak.

My stomach churned with violence and I latched onto it with practiced ease. The thought of death didn’t frighten me. It was an exchange, like anything. Cross should never have stepped back in my city, he’d bargained his life away the moment hedid. Our eyes met, and I let him see my intent. I made it quick, a mercy he didn’t deserve. Angling the blade and wrenching it through the artery in his neck. He made a feeble noise, wet with disbelief. I walked over to the door, wiping my soaked hands on my shirt. Cross’s fingers scrambled at his throat, the thick chokes he made were hideous. As I stepped out of the door, I looked back at him. It was incredible the amount of blood that could spill in the space of a few steps.

“I promised I’d keep you alive until I walked out this door. You shouldn’t have played with me Cross.”

Jonah smothered a laugh as we stalked out the back entrance.

“Clean the mess up.” I barked at the guards before we left. “Great. Now I’ve got to get blood out of my shirt on my birthday.” I made a noise of disgust.

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