Blood to Dust

“I fought back.

“I didn’t even have a butter knife at the apartment, but I did have plastic cups. I stole a lighter from one of my guards and prepared a weapon in the bathroom. Burned the plastic of the cup, molded it into a spear. . .”

Storming out of the bathroom, I slide into my boots with every intention of getting out of here.

“Camden arrived and forced himself on me. Only this time, I was prepared. When he closed his eyes and moaned my name, I took the spear out of the linen and shoved it into his chest. He rolled off of me, and it was only when I watched him bleeding on the floor, that I realized I stabbed his right side and not the left. I wanted the left, Beat. I wanted the left,” she says, crying loudly.

Don’t go down.

Don’t care.

Don’t. Fucking. Care.

“I plucked the gun he always kept in his holster when he came to see me and threatened the guards behind the door with it when I broke free. They let me run away. Somehow, I was out of that place. Somehow, I was free.

“I hid under a bridge for two days. No money. No food. No friends. I couldn’t contact my dad for obvious reasons. On day three, I arrived at Preston’s preppy school during his lunch break and told him I needed help. He was in Blackhawk all along. Dad sold him out so I’d come and see him. Preston agreed to help. The same afternoon he came back with five grand in cash. It was more than enough to see me through the next month. I told Preston he could never talk to me again, at least until I sorted this out. I hid at Motel 6. The minute I walked in the room and turned on the TV, I saw what was left of my life hitting the five o’clock news. A story about how my dad was suspected of drug trafficking and was forced to step out of his position as mayor of Manor Hill. By then, he’d already filed for bankruptcy after Godfrey forced him to hand over all the money I stole from Camden. Dad paid my debt.”

I breathe quietly, standing in my boots in the middle of the murky hallway, not making a move. Such a fighter. Such a goddamned fighter.

“Why didn’t you go to the police?”

“We both know the police are on Godfrey’s payroll,” she huffs. “I was going to take them down myself. I’d spent that month planning. I knew when Camden was going to be in California, because I’d listened to them talking about their plans when they were at the apartment they locked me in. While I was sitting in the bedroom, flipping channels, they were in the living room, planning their next drug-trafficking escapade. With a little help from a local motorcycle club called Cutthroat Bandits, who had beef with Godfrey and his wiseguys, I not only had the when, but also the where. A warehouse in Stockton. The Cutthroat Bandits wanted nothing more than to kill the three villains in my life, get them out of the way. And me? I paid them every single penny I managed to put my claws back on from that British Virgin Islands’ account to help me.”

Fuck my life. She really was planning a bloodbath.

“Camden, Sebastian and Godfrey came to the warehouse where they were selling drugs to a local Latino gang. I showed up with the Cutthroat Bandits. We waited behind bushes and trees until the Latinos left, and the minute the loud rumble of their Harleys drove out of earshot, we climbed out of the bushes with semi-automatic weapons pointing at them. We walked in a straight line, cornering them back in the warehouse. You should’ve seen the look on their faces when they saw me pointing a barrel straight at Godfrey’s balls.

“The Bandits did the talking. They said that the streets of NorCal don’t belong to some British dude. They belonged to them. But all that time. . .all three men stared at me. Fire broke between the two gangs—Godfrey’s soldiers and the Bandits—but when I saw the three cowards running up to the roof to hide from the bullets, I charged after them.

“I got to Godfrey first. He was the slowest of the three. Caught him pacing back like a cornered animal. I had a loaded gun in my hand, and that’s how I found out, Beat, that I’m a switcher. I inched closer. My smile was manic. ‘Time,’ I repeated his own words. ‘Moves differently according to circumstances.’ I took a few more steps in his direction, and he couldn’t do a thing. He was weaponless. Weak.

“‘But sometimes, all the time in the world can end with just…a little…push.’ I pushed him from the rooftop, and he landed inside a trash container. Next in line was Seb, who charged up to the roof to try and save his boss. I pushed Seb down and he landed on Godfrey. I didn’t hear a sound from Godfrey, so I presumed him dead, but just in case, I shot in their general direction. I had shit aim, and it was dark.” She hisses a breath.