Page 97 of Devil’s Disciples

He released her hand and cleared his throat. “Call me Cash.”

40

Andy

“Seriously,” Baker said demandingly. “You need to take a shower, lay down, and get some rest. We’ve got a medic that I can have come by here and--”

“Remember that asshole I told you I used to date?” I asked from my seat at the bar. “The one that beat me?”

His jaw muscles flexed. “Yeah.”

“What he did to me was ten times worse than this. I’m fine,” I assured him.

“Leave her alone,” Cash said from the kitchen. “Girl says she’s fine, she’s fine.”

They’d covered the dead cop with a blanket and rolled him up in a rug. I stared at it for some time, thinking about what my father had gone through. No differently than me, he’d been held hostage by my mother the night she shot him.

My perspective on the entire event changed. I no longer felt hatred toward him. Nor did I cherish her the way I had for all those years. A decision was made, and in an instant, lives were forever changed. Not just theirs, either. The repercussions of such an event ripple outward, touching everyone in their path until there’s no one else to touch.

I shifted my eyes from the dead cop to Baker. “He was looking for something. Around the bar. That’s where he was when I came out of the bedroom.”

Baker searched the bar and found a small listening device tucked into the molding that surrounded the brass railing used as a footrest.

He walked into the living room and looked at the rolled-up blanket. “That motherfucker.”

“I’m going to guess by the way he was acting, that he’s not on the up and up,” I said.

Cash barked out a laugh from behind me. “You think not?”

Baker flushed the device in the toilet, and returned after a moment. He looked me over and shook his head. “What about some rest? How about getting some rest?”

I needed a shower, but there was no way I could sleep. “I just woke up,” I said in protest.

“You need a shower.”

I was still wrapping my mind around what happened. I’d gone from making a bed to seeing a cop murdered, and it wasn’t even noon. There was no doubt in my mind that if Cash hadn’t shot the man, I would have been the victim. It wasn’t easy to accept, but it was the truth.

Grateful for what happened, but angry that I had to spend a lifetime carrying the baggage, I stood. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Some of the fellas are coming to help out with things,” Baker said.

“I’ll be gone right after I clean up.”

He raked his fingers through his hair, pulled it away from his face, and paused. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“I’m going to shower.”

“Take your time.”

I went to the bathroom. As if I was traipsing through hip-deep mud, I dragged my feet across the floor. Each step grew more difficult than the last. Once in the bathroom, I all but collapsed on the floor.

I stared at the shower’s drain as the blood washed away. In a short period of time, the water ran clean, giving no hint that there was anything else to clean up. I stared blankly at the drain for some time, mentally arguing with the message it was trying to send. I felt filthy. I wondered how they did it. How they coped. If time would make it easier to accept.

I turned off the water. Like a blanket of anger, the steam hung thickly in the air. I wiped the mirror with my hand, and looked at my likeness in the mirror. I raised my hand to my neck, touching the discolored skin where he had choked me.

It was easy to joke about the dead man in front of the men. They seemed unaffected by the event, entirely. I, on the other hand, wasn’t so fortunate. I feared the memories would haunt me for a lifetime.

I lowered my hand and turned away.