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Shuddering, I turn my gaze from the mirror and the marks across my body. I drag open the shower curtain to turn on the water, only to be greeted by my roommate and committed life partner, Bones.
Bones cocks his head to the side, his eyes flitting over me as if he’s drinking in each bruise, each bite mark. Each pink, red, or rapidly-turning-purple mark on my flesh, and judging me for every single one.
“Don’t look at me like that, dude. You lick your own asshole.”
Bones meows, licking his lips.
“Oh, let me guess. Wonder of wonders, you’rehungry. There’s a shock.”
Bones hops up onto the edge of the tub. He’s probably been drinking from the leaky faucet. He jumps down onto the floor and rubs his head against my shin.
“My my, amazing how that judgey attitude drops when you need your tummy filled, isn’t it?” I smirk, wincing when I bend down to pick him up. “Okay, c’mon.”
The tiny refrigerator with the plug-in electric stove sitting on top of it is shoved into the corner of my cramped, crummy apartment, right near the door. I make a face when I open the fridge, smelling something rotten coming from God-only-knows-where, considering it’s empty. The cupboard above isn’t much better. I’m down to two slices of bread, one can of tomato soup, and a tin of tuna fish.
When I first arrived in the city, I worked multiple odd jobs—waitressing, mainly—to try and rustle up the enormous sum of money even a shithole like this costs to rent in this city. Because Ihadto be here. New York was the last clue I had about my addict twin brother’s whereabouts.
As of two months ago, though, when Apostle entered the picture, I haven’t had time to work. Not with trying to track the targets he gave me, and plan how the hell I was supposed to do what he wanted me to do. And I don’t exactly get to bill him for my time.
So mostly, for the last couple of months, I’ve kept Bones and I fed by shoplifting. I’ve only managed to keep the apartment itself because my elderly landlady on the first floor can’t remember that I haven’t paid her in two months, which, needless to say, makes me feel like complete shit.
But you do what you have to do to survive. And I willalwaysdo what I have to do for Finn.
He gave everything for me.
My stomach groans as I look over our meager provisions.
“You know what?” I shrug, putting Bones down and then grabbing the last precious can of tuna from the cupboard. “We’re celebrating—”
I stop.
What the fuckamI celebrating? Killing someone for the first time? Someone I didn’t even have any personal problem with? Or, what, losing my virginity…likethat?
“You know what, forget celebrating. Let’s just eat.”
I open the can and use a plastic fork to shovel a quarter of the tin into Bones’ bowl. He happily digs in as I sit on the edge of the bed, chewing slowly and thoroughly to make each bite last.
I jolt as the burner phone rings on the bed next to me. Here we go. A coldness settles over me, as it always does when I have to interact with him.
“Hello, Una.”
The voice—this vaguely metallic, slightly filtered, almost inhuman sound—always makes me feel like a ghost is dragging its nails down my spine.
“Hi,” I mumble in a choked whisper.
“Can I assume it’s done?”
I nod, clearing my throat. “Ah… Yes.”
The phone is quiet.
“Hello?”
“Good. It is the job of the righteous to send the wicked to Hell.”
My heart clenches as a shiver tears right through me.
My father was a religious zealot. A monster, a psychopath, a killer, and ahorriblefather, too. But it was his religious fanaticism more than anything that attracted people to him. People just as insane, who saw him as this almost cult-like figure. They were women, mostly. That much I remember from before he went to prison—the legions of adoring, fawning women who always seemed to be hanging out around our house day and night.
