Confess (Sin City Salvation 1)

“Please don’t make me,” I whispered.

“You’re just delaying the inevitable.”

He’d been saying that for months now. When I sprouted breasts and got my period, Ricky told me I couldn’t make him as much money anymore, but there were always ways around that.

He got up off the sofa and gestured for me, and I froze. I’d fended him off a few times already, but he was right that it was inevitable. I fantasized about clawing at his face and running out the door with Birdie, but it wasn’t going to happen. I’d been trying to make it happen for so long, I’d lost hope. In the end, it didn’t matter what happened to me. As long as Birdie was okay, I could be okay too.

“Come,” Ricky ordered.

I took a step back, and he lunged forward, catching me by the arm. He forced me closer, and I suppressed the urge to retch as he took my face in his hand and licked my cheek. I’d been to hell and back, but I’d never felt dirtier than I did at that moment.

“Please don’t,” I rattled.

“You should know by now those words don’t work on me.” He unzipped his pants, and my chest heaved. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I wished for it to be over.

My eyes fell shut, and Ricky grunted. I hadn’t even touched him yet, and already he was getting off on the fantasy. His skin brushed against mine, and I braced for the roiling disgust. I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t breathe. I was paralyzed, waiting for the worst to come, but instead, all I heard was a thud.

I opened my eyes to the sight of him on his knees. He wobbled, clutching at his back as blood dripped onto the floor behind him. I couldn’t understand until I looked up and found Birdie standing there with a knife.

“It’s enough!” she roared. “It’s enough!”

I was immobile, still trying to come to grips with what she’d done when she flew into a rage and slashed at him again, this time hitting him across the face. Blood spurted from the wound and splashed against my arm. I tottered backward, and Birdie tackled him to the floor, stabbing at him again and again.

“You. Won’t. Hurt. Us. Anymore.”

Each punctuated word made his body lurch, and I tried to find the will to stop her, but I couldn’t. Birdie had flown into rages before, but never anything like this.

“B,” I whispered.

She didn’t hear me. Her arm shot back as tears streamed down her face, and she screamed out her frustration, aiming at the soft flesh of his neck.

Blood. There was so much blood.

My body shook as I watched it pour from his gaping throat, and his empty eyes stared up at the ceiling. I knew he was dead, but I kept thinking that he was going to come back. The bad guys always came back.

I tried to grab Birdie. We had to run. We had to leave. But a hand wrapped around my arm, and I screamed.

“Stop.”

I scratched at the offending limb, kicking and screaming my way out of his grasp. I wouldn’t let him win. I wouldn’t let him take Birdie away.

“Gypsy,” the voice sliced into my hallucination. “It’s me. Open your eyes.”

I knew that voice. That voice calmed my racing heart, and I obeyed his command. When I opened my eyes, I met the darkness in his.

Lucian.

His arms were bleeding where I’d scratched him, and an enormous, gaping hole of sorrow opened up in my chest. When he leaned down to touch my face, I gasped out broken sobs as I clung to him like I’d never let him go.

“What happened, pet? Tell me.”

“She did it,” I whispered. “She killed him.”

“IT HURTS,” SHE CRIED. “IT hurts everywhere.”

I pulled her against me in the bathtub, cradling her in my arms as she shivered. “I know.”

Her body didn’t stop shaking while I bathed her, regardless of how warm the water was. At that moment, she was like a child, completely helpless and dependent on me for guidance and care.

That reality lanced through my heart and poured acid into old wounds. I wanted to shake her for being so reckless. I wanted to do the same to Luna when she’d told me what she allowed Gypsy to take. But there wasn’t any use in letting my anger control the situation. It was done, and now all we could do was weather the storm.

I removed Gypsy from the bath and set her on the counter while I toweled her off and brushed her hair. It was difficult to dress her when her limbs were so heavy, and she was tired, but I managed to get her into one of my soft cotton tee shirts before I tucked her into bed. It didn’t last long. Before I could even get myself dressed, she was crawling across the tile floor in the bedroom, clinging to the surface like it was her savior.