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He doesn’t, does he? “I had to. It was my penance.”
Royce snorts. “Catholic shit, huh?”
Something like that.
“I wasn’t good for her.” I’m still not. “Right before I left… I killed a guy.”
He points a finger at me. “You’ve killed plenty.”
True. “Yeah, but he was my first.”
“Ah. Just like with women, you always remember your first kill.”
He doesn’t know how right he is. “I was a runner, Royce. A fighter. But a killer? Shit, I wastwenty. Akid. What did I know about killin’ anyone? But when my old boss told me to work him over because he owed him money, that I’d get a cut of it… he shouldn’t have said what he said. I wouldn’t have done what I did if he didn’t threaten her.”
Royce knows this part of the story.
Everyone in the life knows this part.
His name was Skittery. A nickname, of course, and he got it from how antsy and jittery and, well, skittery he got when he was coming down from whatever junk he was on. He had a smart mouth, sticky fingers, but I heard he had a habit of sticking his dick into women who weren’t willing.
There’s a reason the Sinners went into girls. We make sure that everyone who has a spot upstairs wants it. No one is forced to sell themselves for money, and for a percent of the profits, we make sure of it.
But the Sinners didn’t exist back then. Neither did the Libellula Family. Instead, there were six, seven, eight small gangs in Springfield, each fighting over a scrap of territory.
I worked under a guy named Gunner. Fitting, since he’s the one who got me into gun-running for money in the first place, but I was still making a living with street fights at that point.
Until Skittery owed Gunner money, and I was tasked with getting it back. No force was too unnecessary, and Gunnar said I could kill him if he didn’t have the dough. He was that done with Skittery.
I never thought I had it in me. Sure, there was always that darkness welling up inside of me—a shadow that was only tamed by Ava’s sunshine—but a murderer? It went against the commandments. I couldn’t do it.
And then Skittery made the last mistake of his life. He spat at me when I asked for Gunner’s money, and he laughed at me. I could deal with that… until he said with a cocky grin that he was going to find Ava and fuck her brainless to get back at me for trying to buck up to him.
He didn’t call her my girl. He used her name.
He mentioned that she was in college.
Heknewwho she was—and he threatened to touch her.
No one touches Ava like that. I knew that even then and I… I didn’t just kill him. With the only weapon I had—my fists—I beat that junkie to death. Then, when I was done, I took the knife I found on him and hacked his head right off of his body.
The whole thing happened in an alley on the West Side of Springfield with enough people as witness that I couldn’t even deny what I’d done if I wanted to. One of the locals stumbled upon me when I was done, seeing me tell Skittery’s detached head in a cold voice that I’ll see him in hell, and that was that.
The legend of the Devil of Springfield was born that day, and I knew that I could never touch Ava again with hands capable of such brutality.
Gunner shielded me from the crooked cops the same way I protected Ava after she shot Maglione, but he owned from them on. I was his until the day his rival took him out, and I decided to start my own syndicate.
But all that happened after I walked out on Ava, and I spent fifteen years trying to make up for putting her in danger. I always said when I did, when I had enough power, wealth, and control over my dark side to return to her, I would. Until then, I would do whatever I could to watch over her, keeping her safe from a distance.
And then I fucked up, Joey Maglione tried to do what Skittery had threatened long ago, and here I am.
God, I need a fucking drink.
Before I can flag down a waitress, I notice that Royce is watching me with an amused smile.
“What?” I snap.
“I finally figured it out.”
