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“Be there by eleven. The drop is at midnight.”
I jerk my chin up in silent agreement. Fuck, but I’m ready for this conversation to be fucking finished.
Dom drops his eyes to Sara one last time. “See you soon girl,” his voice rings with the promise of his words, and I vow to die before they come true.
***
I jerk awake and my stomach rolls violently with the remnants of the dream still fresh in my mind. The sheetsbeneath me are soaked with sweat.Fucking fuck.Goddamn these fucking dreams.
When Sara first died, I relished the times I would dream of her as they were few and far between. I soaked up every second her voice haunted my sleep because I was so fucking scared of forgetting what it sounded like, terrified of the day I could no longer close my eyes and hear it in my mind.
As the years wear on, the dreams come more often. But no longer do they bring me peace. Instead, they serve to fuel the fire that burns in my soul. A fire that can only be doused by the blood of those responsible for her death.
“Bad dream?” Speaking of her voice, I look over to where my sister sits in the corner of the room.
“Is it too much to ask to have a fuckin’ ounce of privacy around here?” I snap as I pull up the blankets, situating them over my lower half. Not that my dick is hard after that lovely fucking dream, but still, I don’t want my little sister seeing me half fuckin’ naked.
“You don’t have to be so prickly, Zainy. You do realize that I’ve been able to see your wiener from heaven since I died, right?”
I squeeze my eyes and wonder for the thousandth time when the fuck I lost my mind and started seeing my dead sister’s ghost.
A snort from the other corner of the room proves how much I have well and truly lost it.
“Just what every man desires. To have his manhood called by that which is also asmallsausage like dog.” The distinguished voice rings out with barely contained humor and I open my eyes to scowl at Azrael—the Angel of Death—as he leans casually against the wall, eyes dancing with mirth.Jesus Christ.
With a growl, I stand from the bed and march into the bathroom where I slam the door on the voices in my head.I don’t bother locking it because it won’t keep their annoying asses out either way. They can materialize out of thin air any fuckin’ where they please.
I turn the water on and splash the cold stream in my face, hoping this might be the moment I snap out of whatever fucking sideshow circus act my life has become.
Months ago, I got the feeling I was being followed. A prickle at the back of my neck, shadows in my peripheral, and the lingering sense that something wasn’t quite right. The first couple times I saw the man, it didn’t trigger any warning bells. I’ve never been one to back down from a fight and I have no reason to fear anyone. I’m the biggest boogeyman on these streets. For a while, I thought he was a Fed, but on closer inspection, his crisp black suit and glossy shoes spoke of wealth no federal agent would be familiar with.
Reality slammed into me the morning after a night with two faceless women, too many whiskeys to count, and a drug induced haze that landed me on the cold, tiled floor of my bathroom. Arms wrapped around the porcelain, head in the toilet bowl, I vomited until nothing but bile remained.
I’m no stranger to shame and self-loathing, but the last thing I expected was my long dead sister bearing witness to my downfall into the pits of hangover-hell.
Through dazed eyes, and with the stench of vomit and piss surrounding me, Sara stood mere feet away, an almost serene expression on her face. Beside her, the man in the black suit. A smirk was set on his chiseled jaw and I wanted to punch it right off… if only I could drag myself off the damn floor.
Jesus fuck. The fuck did those whores put in that fuckin’ coke? That’s what I get for not gettin’ my own powder. This… this isn’t fuckin’ real. I’m either hallucinating or I’m dead. And since I don’t think pain receptors work after death,the hammering in my skull suggested this was in fact an hallucination.
“Zain,” There was no disguising the disappointment in Sara’s voice. “You know better than to use that crap. And referring to women that way?” She shook her head, eyes roaming over me as if she didn’t recognize me anymore.
Just what every hungover man needs, a guilt trip from his little sister. I squeezed my eyes shut, rubbed them with the heels of my hands, then slowly got to my knees before finally making it to my feet.
Head bowed and hands gripping the edge of the vanity, I focused on the cold water I splashed over my face and rinsed my mouth out with. After a few regretful shakes of my head that caused sharp, stabbing pains to throb behind my eyes, I lifted my head and gazed at my reflection in the mirror.
Bloodshot eyes, ashen skin, and an unkempt beard glared back at me. Disgusted, I clenched my fists in anger, ready to punch my reflection until there was nothing left but jagged, broken shards of glass. I imagined the blood seeping from my knuckles, the bruised flesh, and the pain that would, for a passing moment, remind me I was alive.
“Do it,” a deep voice urged.
“Breathe, Zain” a softer voice whispered. “Everything will be okay.”
What the fuck is happening to me? Groaning, I pulled open a drawer and rummaged through it for a bottle of ibuprofen. After swallowing a few down, I reached into the shower and turned on the spray.
Hallucinating 101: Take a cold shower.
Without taking the time to undress, I stepped under the icy stream and clenched my teeth against the cold. I closed my eyes and counted to ten before opening them again. The fabric of my now soaked, dirty undershirt tugged against my skin, soI gripped the material in my fist and shucked it over my head. My underwear went next and when I bent to push them down my legs, a feminine squeak echoed through the small room.
I spun on my heels and came face to face with a beet red Sara covering her eyes with both hands.The man next to her continued to watch on with a hint of amusement in his eyes.
