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“I’ll return with my entire club. Trust me when I say they won’t find anything left of you to bury. I know everywhere in the fuckin’ desert to scatter your body for the crows to feast.”
“Fuck,” he spit, turning his head while he groaned. “That bitch isn’t worth it.”
His remark pissed me off. “You don’t ever lift a finger to hurt a woman again. Got it?”
His hand rose, and he flipped me off. “Fuck you.”
Really? This guy was dumber than I thought. Did he think I was messin’ around?
His attitude needed an adjustment. I called the crow, grinning wide when I heard him rush inside the house through the open front door, flapping his wings and scolding the bloodied man on the ground.
“I guess this lesson is gonna be learned the hard way.”
I stomped on his right hand, feeling several of his bones snap. He screamed as I pistol-whipped the side of his head, watching with satisfaction as his eyes rolled back.
“Lights out, bitch.”
Yanking my knife out of my cut, I bent down, carvingwife beaterinto his forehead. With any luck, it would leave a scar.
Caw...caw.
“Yeah. Yeah. You’re getting your turn. Take his eye.”
Backing away, I stared down at the bloody message forever etched into this prick’s skin. Maybe that would stop his abuse.
The crow hopped on his chest, quivering with excitement. His beady eyes blinked before his head tilted to the side. Another caw escaped.
“No. Only one eye. Don’t kill him.”
The crow protested, hopping around as he berated me for denying him justice.
“Hey. We’ve been over this. We don’t kill unless it’s necessary.”
The crow’s puffed chest deflated. He turned around, shaking out his onyx feathers.
“Just the one eye,” I reminded him.
All I got in response was a short, exasperated caw.
Fucking cranky ass bird.
I dropped to the floor, picked up the limp left hand, and snapped the rest of this asshole’s fingers.
There. A matching set.
“Have fun wiping your ass, you abusive fuck.”
The crow tittered, perching on the man’s nose. He stared me down.
“Okay. Fine. I’ll leave you to peck his eye in peace.”
Damn.
Mumbling about the crow’s ridiculous need to feast without an audience, I stomped outside, pausing to pick up a pack of smokes off the end table. I ignored the blood staining my fingers and plucked out a cigarette, lighting up as I sat on a chair. The tiny porch didn’t have much furniture, but I managed to plant my boots on the worn metal table, waiting for the cops to show up. Made me smile as I inhaled to know I stole them.
“Is he dead?”
The young woman watched me smoke an entire cigarette before speaking.
