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I jam the key in the ignition and peel out, heading out of the quiet little neighborhood we live in. There’s always somewhere to go to find a fight in the heart of Detroit. Assholes hanging around street corners, hopped up on drugs and looking for violence, bars packed with people who won’t turn down a good brawl. I crack my knuckles after having them so tight on the steering wheel that they were turning white.
As I drive deeper into the city, I weigh my options. I could pick a spot, cause some chaos, and then get out. Or find someone to piss off and then make them give me a reason to fuck them up. I don’t need to take them back to the house to make them wish they’d never messed with me.
I lose track of the time, just driving, my thoughts churning.
I keep thinking about Gage saying that this was the arrangement, and the arrangement is over now. I keep thinking about how River looked when she was fucking with Ivan, making sure he knew why she was doing this to him.
It wasn’t the long, drawn out torture he deserved, but it was something close enough. He knew when he died why he was dying and that there was nothing he could do to stop it.
I wanted to get in there and help her. Get my hands bloody with hers, help her take her vengeance. But I knew it was hers to take, and that she’d earned it. Done all the leg work, hunted him down for as long as it took. It was her moment.
I was just happy to be a part of it.
Afterward, I wanted to talk to her about it, tell her how fucking hot she looked, making him pay for everything he’d done to her, but then she was gone. She was gone, and we’re just supposed to be done with her, according to Gage. Which sounds like bullshit to me.
Thinking about her changes my direction. Instead of going to find a bar or a street corner to start trouble at, I drive to River’s apartment building. I still remember how to get there from following her that first time. The feeling is definitely different now, though.
Her car isn’t in the rough looking parking lot off to one side when I pull up, but it only takes a few minutes for her to drive into the lot. The dog is in the back seat, and as soon as she parks and gets out, he stands up on the back seat, wagging his tail like mad.
He hops out of the car like he’s the king of the goddamn world about to accept an award or something, trotting up toward the front door of the apartment building while River gets her bag from the back.
Her silver hair is pulled back into a messy bun, and she’s got on low-slung jeans and a thin t-shirt. She looks comfortable.
She looks good.
She always looks good, but there’s something different about her now. That pinched look she used to have all the time when she was mad at Gage or feeling frustrated is mostly gone, but there’s something else that looks like it’s weighing her down now.
She takes her bag and slings it over her shoulder, then sighs, walking up to the door of the building.
I noticed before that it’s basically a shit hole. A couple steps above a slum, but not by much. The paint on the outside probably used to be white, but now it’s a dingy grayish beige and peeling. The short set of cement stairs that lead up to the entryway are crumbling at the corners, and the metal rail is so rusted that it would probably snap if someone actually leaned on it.
River walks up the steps, then looks at Dog, who’s still wagging his tail like a weed whacker.
She says something I can’t catch from where I’m parked, then jabs her finger toward the alley. I remember the dog coming out of there when I picked her up, and I smirk.
I knew that wasn’t her fucking dog. Just some stray she took in to try to fuck with us. I never cared, but I know he pissed Gage and the others off pretty bad. Point for River, I guess.
The dog just looks at her like she’s crazy, tilting his head in confusion while she keeps pointing. I catch the end of her last word this time, a frustrated “Go!” that the dog ignores.
River rolls her eyes and lets herself into the building.
As soon as the door opens, the dog tries to trot through it, but River pushes him back with one foot. He sits down on the stoop and gives her those pathetic eyes, and even from my car, I can tell they’re working.
She presses her lips together and then slumps in a sigh.
She says something else to him, and he wags his tail even harder. Then she swings the door open wide enough for him to come through, and they disappear for a bit as the door swings shut behind them.
I don’t look away from the building. I wait, watching the windows that face the street. Some of them are already lit up with people home, but I remember which apartment is River’s.
My eyes go to that window, and in a couple of minutes, it lights up, a pale glow spilling out around the edges of the blinds. For a bit, there’s nothing. Every now and then, I catch sight of her shadow moving in front of the window, putting things away, probably. Maybe feeding the dog.
I track each movement like I’m fucking desperate for them, trying to will her to lift the blinds and let me get a look at her. When I thought I was addicted to her before, I was definitely right. I barely blink, just waiting, wanting to see her.
And then I get my wish.
The blinds go up with a snap, and the window gets cracked open. And then there she is, standing in front of the window with a cigarette in hand.
Smoke curls from it and she takes a drag and then leans down, blowing the smoke out the crack in the window. It wisps into the air, floating away, and somehow just watching her do that is getting to me.
