Blood to Dust

“Move away,” I order. He does as he’s told, still looking at me. I know he said guns are for pussies, but maybe I am a pussy. Seb took it too far. No. I didn’t tell Nate that I fell pregnant when one of these assholes—hell knows if it was Godfrey or his son—knocked me up. Because the way they aborted the baby. . .I shoved it so deep into the back of my head, sometimes I’m not even sure it happened at all.

The gun is swaying in my trembling hand, a dance of fire and hate.

“You didn’t know.” Seb licks his swollen lips on a smile. His whole face is disfigured and purple from Nate’s beatings. “Gutted like a fish, thrown in the shower like a whore. She actually wanted to keep that baby,” he says with a cackle. “The stupid little cunt.”

I shoot Sebastian James Goddard three times.

Three bullets.

One in the chest, one in the face and one ends up eating a hole in his sleek ex-white vinyl couch. I stand there for long seconds after, letting it sink in.

I killed a man.

I killed a man who abused me.

I killed a man who killed my baby.

I killed a man who doesn’t look human anymore.

Still rooted to the floor, my feet immobile, I can’t stop staring at Sebastian’s face. Or what’s left of it. There’s a hole where his nose used to be, and dark red blood, slimy clots and other inner waste is pouring from it. It kind of looks like the inside of a minced meat lasagna after you tripped and it spilled all over the floor. What have I done? What has he done?

My baby.

Sebastian’s blood against the contrasting white of everything else in the room is beautiful. Almost picturesque. A calm smile starts making its way to my mouth. But I’m not happy. I’m in shock. Nate’s hand finds mine. He’s dragging me out the door, taking the stairs, and when he realizes how out of it I really am, he yanks me up and tucks me under his armpit, like I’m an envelope he needs to deliver, and paces down hurriedly. When we get to the truck, he buckles me up but stays outside.

“We need to run,” I mouth urgently.

“Padded walls,” Nate grunts. “No one heard. Be back in a second.”

Then he disappears between the building’s doors once again.

I hate that he is not next to me, paranoid by the prospect of being taken by Godfrey’s men again, snatched in the middle of the night, nothing more than a daily newspaper your neighbor can grab from your front porch. My fears, however, don’t materialize. A few minutes later, Nate jumps into the driver’s seat and speeds away from the crime scene after tossing something into the trunk. The gun is still clutched in my hand. I release it slowly, without even realizing that it drops to the floor of the car, still deep in trauma.

He drives to an office block I don’t recognize, but the minute I see the name Royal Realty glittering in gold over a big sign next to the names of the other corporations, I throw up on my knees. The Archers’ company. Why’s he doing this?

“Shit,” Nate mutters, and I hurry to clean my mess with paper towels I grab from my backpack. “You okay, Baby-Cakes?”

I nod, but it’s only so I won’t have to utter a lie. I’m not okay. I killed a man, and I’m not Nate. I’m angrier and more vocal about my hatred—I’m madness driven by revenge—but I’m not like him. He’s a dark, quiet killer. A peace. His abnormally beautiful face was given to him, and not by accident. It’s to disguise all the ugly things he is capable of doing without batting a pretty eyelash.

He’s not a bad man, but he is fair. Even when justice means doing something terrible. He turns to look at me, and my heart swells before shattering in my chest. I’m not going to survive parting ways with this guy, but do I really have a choice? Can he accept and love something so broken?

“I don’t think you should see what happens next. But if you do, wear your mask. This place is wired like the fucking Pentagon.”

He kisses the corner of my lips softly before slapping on his Guy Fawkes mask and jumping out, opening the trunk and taking something dark and round with him. I sit and watch him disappear into the underground parking lot of the building, jogging down the wide concrete road and sliding under the automatic barrier.

I think back to the first time I saw Beat’s Guy Fawkes mask. He said he chose it because it was the easiest mask to find, but I know the truth. Guy Fawkes represents chaos, anarchy, and dark deeds that are done behind closed doors.