“You boys break into a girl’s place tonight?” I ask, as nice as a clerk. “Black jackets with yellow piping. One big, one wiry. That’s you, right? I’m terrible with faces.”
Patchy barks a laugh. “Oh yeah. There was one like that.”
Beanie chews slow, like a cow. “Brunette. Mouth on her.” He drags a thumb along his lip. “Great ass.”
“Why, jealous you weren’t invited?” the last one asks.
My eyes drift to the duffel as my hand tightens naturally.
“Where is she?” I ask.
Patchy smirks at Scar. “Hear that? He thinks she’s still here.”
Scar’s gaze slides back to me, lazy and mean. “Was, brother.” He lifts two fingers and pinches the air. “She was.”
Beanie chuckles low. “Wanted to make it last. She was good.” He makes a gesture I want to burn my eyes from. “Couldn’t stop myself though. I like it when they cry too much.”
They…killedher?
I don’t remember crossing the room. One breath I’m twenty feet away; the next, the lamp’s glare is in my eyes, Scar’s chair is toppling, and my fist is in his mouth. Teeth click so hard I feel it in my own jaw. The table skids. Fries scatter. The bag tips; grease spills out to the floor.
Beanie’s under the table for the gun. I kick the edge, hard, and catch his fingers between wood and steel. Someone screams; I don’t look. Patchy comes at me with the chair. It explodes on my shoulder in a burst of splinters and cheap staples.
I grab Patchy by the collar and bounce his face off the table. Once. Twice. On the second his nose goes soft. He gurgles; his hands go slack. I let him fall and put the ball of my foot on the back of his neck.
Beanie frees the gun and points it up, muzzle wild. “Don’t—”
I shove the table aside, step into the arc of his arm, and drive my thumb knuckle under his jaw. His head snaps back. The gun booms. The round punches a neat hole in the gym’s ceiling tile. Sound ricochets. I don’t blink. I hook his wrist and twist until the ligaments pop. The gun clatters to the floor. He reaches withthe other hand. I slam his head into the roll-up door, once, twice, until his face smears. He drops down.
I know I’m not superhuman. I have limits. But what I feel right now pushes through them. It gives me hellish wings and the hunger to make these men pay.
Scar tries to stand, blood stringing from his lip to his chin. He spits a tooth and grins through the gap.
“You think you won’t die for this?” he pants. “You will be—”
I hit him again.
He swings wild. I take it on the cheek and let the world ring, then drive a punch into his ribs. Knuckles meet cartilage until the gristle gives and he folds. He gasps and drops to one knee. I place my palm on his head like a benediction and bounce his skull off the concrete. It’s enough to crack it open.
Beanie twitches. I kneel on his broken wrist, feel the bone strain, and lean over him. “Tell me where you left her.”
“N-no,” he wheezes.
“Okay.” I take his little finger and bend it back until it snaps. He screams. I wait. When the sound fades, I break the next one. He sucks air like a drowning man. In the corner of my eye, Patchy crawls toward the duffel, leaving a slug trail of blood and grease. He’s not going to make it. I let him try.
“Where,” I ask Beanie again in a calm voice. “Either you tell me, or I’ll destroy you.”
He laughs, a ruined, wet sound. Blood bubbles at the corner of his mouth.
Fucking gang shitheads. Why does loyalty always show up at the last second? Or maybe it’s not loyalty at all. Maybe it’s just spite.
Something scorches up my throat.
Bile. Tears. Regret for being given this life.
“Her body,” I manage. “Where did you leave it?”
Beanie’s eyes glitter. “What body?”
