Skip the fucking, just kill the creep.
I don’t take my pedal off the brake. I keep staring ahead of me, at the car parked opposite of mine.
All I have to do is drive, go to the bar, fuck and/or kill the creep, and I’ll feel better. That’s how it’s supposed to work. Fucking always makes me feel better.
The killing is supposed to make me feel better too.
Zayden screaming had been fun. He’d deserved it.
But Samantha is still gone. Rachel is still dead. Blaze, River, and Asch still did the horrible thing to me.
“Fuck off,” I say again, my voice smaller, more broken. “Why does everybody think I’m not okay?”
My phone buzzes with another message from the creep. He’s wondering where I am.
I type back, “Informing on the FBI that you get off on raping underage girls.”
He immediately blocks me.
Guess I’m not fucking that guy. I could still kill him, but I doubt he’ll stick around the bar long enough for that.
I drop the phone into the passenger seat and let go of the steering wheel.
“I’ll get laid on Saturday,” I say out loud. “I’m going on a date with three hot guys who all want me. Who needs more than three guys? Three is the perfect number. And it’s going to be perfect, because they do care about me, and I’m fine, and I’m a destroyer of worlds and nothing bothers me and anyway how can I have feelings if I don’t have a heart?”
I reach for my chest and lay my hand over the empty cavity.
It’s completely still.
That’s right. There’s nothing inside there.
Carly and Kavita are wasting their time worrying about me.
I force myself to smile.
If anything, they should worry about everybody else, honestly.
If I weren’t fine, the world would already be burning, after all.
27
RIVER
“Give it up for the women’s heavyweight winner, Alanna Price!” the announcer proclaims.
The crowd cheers loudly for her. I never expected the college boxing matches to be so well attended, but between Dyschord, St. Rathmund, and Stoltzburg U, we gathered a decent crowd.
I’m sitting on a chair near the ring, flexing my hands. Fenrir is talking to a woman who walked up to him, and judging from their body language, Fenrir fully intends to get laid when his match is done.
Coach pats my shoulder. “You ready? You’re up after the next match.”
I glance up at him. He’s a balding man in his early forties, and even though he hasn’t touched a mat in years, he’s still as fit as the rest of us.
He tries to play father figure, but I’m not interested.
“Yeah,” I tell him, but my mind isn’t on this match.
I glance out at the crowd, my eyes finding Blaze, Asch, and Pandora.
