“Brown bastard,” he moans at me, trying to kick me with what’s left of his strength.
I drop my head to my chest, letting out a bitter laugh. “One last chance? I might let you live if you decide to cooperate.” I don’t want to be responsible for an unnecessary death, but I’m not dumb enough to let him walk away without a payback, either.
He shakes his head and spits his words. “Do whatever you need to do, Nathaniel Vela. You’re already a dead man. We just haven’t killed you yet.”
I kneel on one knee, cradling his face in my palms. He has a blonde moustache, a shiny bald head and an Aryan Warrior tattoo on his cheek. He grins as I snap his neck in one sharp movement, breaking his spine.
His head is weirdly positioned on the grass, the stupid smile and wide eyes now staring back at me instead of the sky.
Dumping him in the van along with the rifle doesn’t take long. My engine is already revved up before I throw the match I lit into the open gas tank door through Stella’s window. My crime scene bursts into flames behind me, creating a rancid cloud of burnt flesh and gasoline as I speed away. My eyes prickle and my throat stings, but it’s not due to the whiff of fire making its way into my lungs. No. What strikes me the most on my ride home is the fact that I am officially contaminated by sin. I’m not a killer, I’m a murderer. Self-defense or not, I’ve taken three lives, and I’m barely twenty-seven.
I’ve killed three people, two of them deliberately, not just to stop them, but to end them. I didn’t hesitate. I didn’t bat an eyelash. Goddamn, I didn’t even flinch. I ventured straight into fucking serial killer territory, with neighbors like Ted Bundy and Jeffery Dahmer to accompany my new title.
Some people collect stamps. Some coins. Taxidermy. Fucking cards. I collect regrets. They don’t take up much space, not physically, anyway. But inside. . .they occupy. They eat away. They ruin.
Because that’s the thing about regrets. They’re mistakes that left scars. Vicious, sensitive, searing wounds.
I don’t feel remorse for killing those three bastards, but I feel bad about her.
Maybe that’s why I kick the basement’s door open the minute I get home.
“Vegetarian chipotle.” The foil-wrapped burrito knocks on her shoulder as I toss it against her body. She’s lying on the floor, her face against the tiles. I should be pissed at her for not talking to me yesterday. Correction: I am pissed at her for not talking to me yesterday.
I’m mad.
At her.
At me.
At everything.
Especially at everything. Yet again, life threw a knockout punch right in my face. Does Godfrey know about the AB seeking me out? And what fucking good is he to me if he can’t even keep the bad guys at bay?
Pea doesn’t move. Maybe she’s asleep. Doubt it. She’s too smart and alert, and she lives for her fifteen minutes of bathroom and food break. Glancing at the wall, I notice she hasn’t chalked a white stripe today.
Not counting the days anymore? Why?
I take two steps in her direction, my pulse thick and erratic in my throat, and nudge her leg with my leather boot. She doesn’t respond, her face and stomach against her blanket. I use my foot to roll her over on her back, and the stress ball she was holding rolls onto the floor. Her eyes are open, and she’s staring back at my mask.
The emptiness in her expression is more unsettling than watching a man’s last inhale as I snap his spine in two.
“Eat,” I command.
She doesn’t budge, her muscles slack. Squatting down, I drag her up to a sitting position, her back against the wall, trying to swallow my next question. It storms out of my mouth anyway.
“Has Ink fucked you?”
Irv better not have touched her. Godfrey would kill us both if he has. But that’s not why my chest is burning with uncontained fury.
Something I don’t recognize bubbles up inside me. It’s not hate, not anger, and I hope to God it’s not jealousy.
What the fuck am I doing? What the hell am I thinking? What’s happening to me?
Pea doesn’t answer.
“Pea!” I slam my fist against the wall behind her, expecting her to jump in fear. The wall shakes, but she just stares at a point behind my head. Apathy leaks from every pore in her face.
Fuck it all to hell.
I thought I had issues with the spunky, blabbering girl I took from Godfrey. I was wrong. That girl was semi-entertaining. This girl? She’s a goddamned graveyard.
“Tell me now, before I start breaking shit. What’s Ink done to you?” I take a sharp gulp of air, my body dangerously close to hers. When her mouth opens slightly, mine follows suit.