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Then the chime of a text breaks the silence.
She takes her phone from her purse and looks at the screen. On her face is a mixture of sadness and anger.
“Sweetness, something came up and I can’t make it,” she reads the text for me. “But I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
She stuffs the phone back into her purse without sending a reply.
“I can’t believe this,” she says. “If there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s being stood up.”
I interlace my arm with hers. “Come on, I’ll buy you a drink and you can vent all you want.”
She still looks sad and mad, and I feel for her, I really do. But I also feel like she just dodged a bullet tonight with the guy not showing up. I have no rational reason to think that, and it might just be because the darkness creeped me out. But I feel it very acutely nonetheless.
27
Ruin
I tried not to think of anything on my way back to the Inn. Best way to prepare for whatever might come, in my opinion. But that was impossible. Used to be possible back when I had nothing to live for, when dying young doing some grand deed would’ve been a dream come true. Now I kept seeing Ariel’s face whenever the thought of dying at Joker’s hands crossed my mind.
Sure, I’d be doing a service to the MC if I took him down with me. But I’d also be causing Ariel to suffer. And she’s suffered enough.
I very nearly said fuck it all and met her for drinks and another night together when she practically begged me to. But the MC has to come first tonight.
Edge’s text telling me to stay away from the Inn because Joker was talking about killing me if he ever saw me again didn’t help matters in terms of helping me focus. But at least I knew what I was walking into because of it. So all I’d have to do once I got there would be to get close enough to Joker to kill him before he had the chance to kill me. Simple.
The evening crowd is already gathered in and around the bar. Or maybe that’s still yesterday’s crowd. Or just the people that never leave here. Each day I spent here, I saw a bunch of new faces, but now I’m starting to recognize some of them. Especially the ones that rose while I was choking Joker.
Three of those are standing by their bikes to the left of the entrance. Their eyes zero in on me like a bullet flying as I park and head inside. They follow, the intensity of their gazes boring holes into my back.
All I have to do is get to Joker before they get to me. I have a knife—my lucky knife that hasn’t failed me yet—up my right sleeve and my Glock armed and ready in the waistband of my jeans. I just need to reach Joker before getting a bullet in the back. Or a knife.
He’s sitting where he usually sits, at a table next to the one occupied by Edge, Bane, Archer, and Fossil. Karma and her two friends are sharing his table. Five of his guys are out in the open now, flanking him on all sides.
Edge’s eyes are as large as saucers as he sees me walk in and he rises in his chair as though he means to run over and chase me back out. I give him a little wave meant to reassure him I know what I’m doing. I don’t think he believes me, but he sits down and taps the side of his calf, probably unhooking the strap holding the knife he keeps there in place. My other three brothers look kinda constipated. Probably because they might have to choose between helping me or Joker today. I have no idea what their choice will be, but I could always count on Edge to have my back and I know I can count on him now. Maybe that’s why I’m not as nervous as I should be as I approach Joker.
He’s piercing me with his flat, dead eyes.
“Well, well, look who decided he’s brave enough to come back,” Joker says as I approach. “Come to apologize?”
I pull out a chair and sit down across from him. The heavy wooden back of it might be enough to deflect the worst of the attack from behind and it’ll take me about half a second to plunge my knife into his throat from this position. Maybe less. I used to think like this all the time, back when all I cared about was being the best killer I could be. It’s all coming back to me easily. More easily than I want it to.
“Apologize for what?” I ask, picking up the bottle of bourbon and taking a quick swig. “You insulting my ol’ lady?”
He chortles, which makes him sound like a kind old man, but his eyes stay flat. “Nice.”
He leans back and folds his arms across his chest, chuckling still.
“What is?”
He may have relaxed but his guys, the ones flanking him and the ones I still feel behind my back, have not. Everyone else, including the Forsaken, is hanging on our every word like their lives depend on it.
“I figured you’d walk back in here to grovel before me,” he says. “But here you are, adding insult to injury.”
I slam the bourbon bottle against the table. “Why the fuck would I apologize to you? We’re square as long as you keep your mouth shut about Ariel from now on.”
He chortles again. But in the next second his face turns dead serious. He’s gotta be some sort of a psychopath. After what I heard about him today, it wouldn’t surprise me. I was four times his age when I saw my parents get murdered and I’m some sort of a psycho too.
“I figured you’d come groveling back, because the Devils sent you to get cozy with me,” he says. “But then again, you wouldn’t attack me in the first place if that was your plan.”
