Someone hisses at us to move, since we’re standing in front of them, so I take off after Mercy, leaving Angel to collectthe blankets and bring them back to our room. I’m rounding the corner of the main building, debating whether to convince her to come spend the night in our room or just throw a bag over her head and carry her like a Viking, the way I did the first few times, when a shadow steps into the path. I pull up short, taking in the area in a glance. Two more figures materialize in front of me, blocking my way, but I don’t spot any other movement.
“What do you want?” I ask, my voice carrying in the stillness of the spring night. We’re far enough from the movie that the volume will drown out voices—or a scream.
“Where is she?” asks the tall guy in the middle.
“Who?” I ask, though I think I already know.
“Your little girlfriend,” he says, coming closer, the others falling into step on either side. “The redhead with the fuckable tits.”
I squint into the darkness, trying to make out their features, assess how much danger I’m in. I know one of them. I’ve seen him around Mill Street, where Maverick hangs out with his artist friend. That’s our turf.
“Heard she’s been running her mouth,” says the short guy. “You really should have taught her better than that.”
“Yeah,” says the third guy, the one I recognize. “There are consequences to actions like that.”
He’s younger than the others, only a few years older than me. I try to remember his name, but I can’t. He would have been around when I was coming up, though, probably got his bones around the time Eternity disappeared. The other two look older, around my mom’s age. One of them looks vaguely familiar too, though I can’t think of where I’ve seen him. That’s not too surprising. The old guys usually don’t run the streets.
“We’re not here to kill her,” promises the guy in the middle. “We just want to teach her a little lesson on keeping her mouth shut.” He’s dressed in expensive but ugly clothes, ablue suit and a gaudy gold watch that he’s probably showing off to the others to get their respect. He’s moved up the ranks, is making good money and probably not doing dangerous shit anymore. Which means they don’t expect violence or even much resistance, if that’s who they sent to get M.
“Are you the guys who took Eternity?” I ask. “I know it was Frederick’s guys.”
“Doesn’t ring a bell,” says the tall one, stroking his goatee.
“No, wait a minute,” says the guy I’ve seen around. “It’s the brother of that bitch we took back in the day. I do remember her. A little slutty, but she put up a good fight.”
I can’t tell if he’s fucking with me, or if he really remembers her. But I know he disrespected her.
I throw a punch, and it lands squarely in his jaw. He stumbles back, cursing.
“Oh-ho, somebody thinks he’s Rambo,” says the one in the middle, who’s clearly the leader. I can tell by the way the others push in close, the way we do around Saint, and wait for a half-second to see if he’ll speak before they jump in with their bullshit. They didn’t kill me already, which means the guy I hit is a goon, no one important. The leader of the crew might be important. He has a predatory slyness, a smugness that makes me want to punch out every one of his perfect white veneers when he grins, seemingly delighted by my reaction.
“I heard you been talking too,” says the third guy, a short redneck with greasy hair and gaps in his tobacco-stained teeth.
“You squeal like a pig, boy?” asks the leader.
“I don’t snitch,” I say, refusing to budge.
“Bet they’d take him too,” muses the one I hit, spitting blood for good measure. “Those sick fucks don’t care what they stick their dick in, long as it’s tight.”
“You got that right,” says the redneck. “Only time I’ll agree with them.”
“Your boy-pussy still tight, Rambo?”
“Why don’t you come over here and find out,” I ask, whipping my blade from my boot. I had to break into a crime scene to get it from Sinner’s Tower, but it was worth the risk.
“Now you hurt my feelings,” the leader taunts. “Ain’t no need for all that. We’re on the same side, aren’t we?”
“Someone’s coming,” warns the redneck.
“Better put up that weapon,” says the leader. “Wouldn’t want to get expelled, would you?”
“You wouldn’t want to get arrested, would you?” I challenge, but I slide the knife up the inside of my wrist, so I’m holding the blade in my palm, the tip pressing between my fingers.
One of the priests strolls by. I could yell for him, but this is Crossbones business, and it wouldn’t go over well if I involved anyone else. Besides, I know the old guy, and he’s as sick and twisted as any of these men. He’d probably stay to watch them gut me so he could jerk off to the memory later.
The moment he’s gone, I whip my knife out, only to see that the younger guy has pulled out his own weapon—a gun.
“Let’s take him with us,” he says. “I think boss’ll be happy with our new find, don’t you?”
