Page 63 of The Killer Card

Closing my eyes, I take a very slow breath. Okay, you can do this. You will not go home empty handed. You will do whatever it takes.

Even if it means murder?

Swallowing bile, I check the address again- then my surroundings to make sure I’m not being followed- and start the too short walk toward my mark. Because I can totally do this. I can totally do this. I can totally do this…

✽✽✽

The clatter of cutlery against fine China echoes from the dining room as I enter the house. My shoes squelch against the marble floors, my hair plastered to my forehead from the rain.

I’d jacked a car- successfully this time- but to keep suspicions from the house I left it five miles up the road, in a ditch. It’s not like I have fingerprints anyway. Thanks to Andrei I haven’t left a trace of my existence since I was fifteen. And I’m pretty sure none of this blood is mine? Though, I definitely have a black eye, and my thumb may or may not be broken. At the very least it’s fractured.

The bastard put up a hell of a fight, one I was not quite ready for, but won nonetheless. I’m not scrawny- malnourished maybe- but not scrawny. All the calories I consume go straight to the muscles cording my arms and back. I can see my own ribs in the mirror, but I can also crack tile with enough motivation. Today tile just happened to be some drug addict’s face.

All for the wad of cash that I unceremoniously toss on the dining room table.

Food pauses on the way to mouths, drinks are left undrunk, and my grandfather glares at me with all the venom of a snake as the cash rolls to a stop next to his plate. I’ll apologize to Kira later for the bloody streak it left across the polished surface. In my periphery I recognize a handful of faces- Andrei, Sonya, a few of Grandfather’s closest associates- but I don’t dare take my eyes off him. Not because I’m scared, but because if I do I’m going to end up with much worse than a black eye and a broken thumb.

Reaching forward, Grandfather picks up the cash, holding it out to the security guard at his back. The man takes it and begins counting. “He put up a fight?”

“Yes,” I say, obviously, gesturing to my appearance.

Grandfather picks up his Scotch, swirling the contents of his glass. “You used the knife?”

Sucking at my teeth, I begrudgingly admit under my breath, “Yes…”

“Speak up, boy!”

“Yes,” I tell him more firmly.

Andrei lets out a derisive snort and my jaw clenches. I fucking hate him. Sometimes all I want to do is wrap my hands around his throat and press until his skin turns blue and that stupid fucking smile melts from his face—

“Is he dead?”

It takes me a second to shake my reverie and realize what Grandfather is asking. My brow furrows, because, “No, of course not….”

Had he expected me to murder a defenseless man for no reason other than money? The guy had been in shambles, probably in his fourth day of withdrawal. He hadn’t even thought to pull a weapon on me, just run with his arms swinging. I’d knocked him down in one punch to the face, but when I went looking for the money he came after me with a vengeance and a lot of sobbing.

Grandfather makes a noise in his throat, taking a long sip of his Scotch. Andrei snorts again, “I told you he wouldn’t do it.” This time I do fully look at him, glaring openly at my grandfather’s second in command. He grins at me like a wolf, aggressively stabbing a bite of bloody steak with his fork. “He’s just a little puppy, no bite, barely a bark.”

The entire table erupts in quiet, chittering laughter at this, and my fingers ball into fists that make my bruised knuckles ache. Sonya, who sits closest to our grandfather- squeezed between him and some asshole in a white suit- is the only one who doesn’t.

Instead, she makes a distasteful click with her tongue. “Grandfather, this is horrible,” she scoffs and for just a moment, I think she might actually defend me. Until, “Make him go upstairs and bathe. I can’t stand to see the blood any longer.” Right, because why would she defend me?

“Of course, my darling.” Grandfather waves a hand at me dismissively. “Go. Bathe.”

“I’m hungry—”

“Go.”

Sucking at my teeth, I turn, storming from the dining room to a chorus of laughter and jokes at my expense. Kira is standing just out of view in the hall, but I don’t want to talk to anyone. Not about what just happened, not about what happened earlier today. The knife Andrei gave me is still in my pocket and I close my fist around it as I take the stairs up to my landing two at a time.

I tell myself I could have done it. If there hadn’t been so many people, I could have done it. Deep down I know that’s not true. I couldn’t actually kill someone, certainly not my own blood. For one, Andrei would put a bullet between my eyes before I ever got close enough, and if I went for him first one of his many underlings would take me out. But God do I wish I could. I wish I was brave enough to do all the things they expect of me, even if it’s just to prove them wrong when I finally free myself from their ridicule.

Closing the bathroom door, I peel the jacket and shirt from my shoulders, checking my torso for bruises or scratches. I fight a lot at school. I fight a lot for the entertainment of Grandfather’s friends. I fight Andrei and his goons daily. There’s always blood to clean, scars to bandage, bruises to tend. When I come up empty for things to bandage, I start scrubbing the blood from my face meticulously, the way I’ve done it a thousand times. In the glass, forest green eyes blink back at me, unlike any other set in this house. They’re my father’s eyes. I remember how warm and kind his had been- even if I’m forgetting the deep, rumble of his voice- everyday as he pretended to just be my friend. He was the only one I ever had, but I think I prefer to know him as my dad when I look back now.

No one told me until after and now it’s a constant cloud over my existence. It doesn’t help that I’m a perfect blend of both my parents now. Two stains on my grandfather’s reputation. Two debts I’m expected to purge.

My fists slams into the mirror before I can think better of it, sending glass shattering into the sink. Blood coats my knuckles- my own this time- and I curse under my breath because I’m sure to pay for this lapse later.