Following her down the hall, I take a look around, surprised the place is so clean. She leads me into a large kitchen, motions for me to put the basket on the table. Setting the basket where indicated, I lean against the counter, watching her go about brewing two cups of coffee in her fancy machine.
Soon, she’s sliding a mug to me, which I take, though I have no intention of drinking any of it. She sits on a stool beside me, pulls the basket closer to her, leaning in to get a better look at what I brought.
Already sick of this nonsense, I half sit on the stool next to her and say, “So, Miranda…”
I let my sentence drift off, knowing from her sudden change in demeanor that she gets my point, loud and clear. And she knows, I know she knows, she never told me her name. Her hand grips the edge of the counter, panic on her face and I smile,knowing I’m going to enjoy making her wish she’d never been born.
“Where’s the girl?”
She glares at me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think you know what I’m talking about,” I respond, my tone low, eyes locked with her. “And I suggest you start talking before you end up in a very precarious position.”
She meets my gaze, unflinching, a smug smile curving her lips. “And what are you gonna do?”
My eyes drift to the knife on the counter as I reply, “Do you enjoy blood sports?”
A shadow in the doorway moves in my periphery, the telltale shape of a gun leading the way. I lunge for the knife on the counter, snagging Miranda with my free hand and dragging her off her chair, jerking her in front of me.
“What the fuck,” she cries, her hands gripping my hand where I’m pulling on her hair. “Let me go.”
A young woman steps into the room, gun gripped in both hands, pointed directly at me. She’s thin, unkept, the shadows around her eyes bleeding into her aura.
“Put the gun down,” I state, pressing the tip of the knife to Miranda’s carotid artery. “Or I’ll bleed her out.”
“Shoot her, Amber,” Miranda screeches. “Fucking shoot her.”
Amber stares at me, wide-eyed, and I’m surprised by the lack of emotion on her features. She’s close enough it wouldn’t take much for her to hit me, even if she had to graze her mother in order to do so, but she hesitates. Again, Miranda shouts, “Shoot her, Amber.”
Amber sighs, lowers the gun slightly as she asks, “Why should I?”
My brows lift in surprise, and Miranda freezes in my grip. “What?”
Amber waves the gun up and down as she says, “Why should I shoot her?”
Miranda’s body vibrates with rage. She lets out an ear-pierced shriek and then lunges forward, wrenching herself out of my grip as she shouts, “You ungrateful little bi?—.”
Bang.
For a moment I remain in place, paralyzed, then I’m scanning down my person, looking for the bullet hole I can’t yet feel. Seeing nothing, I look up again, watching as Miranda wobbles then drops to the ground.
I blink at her prone body, genuinely surprised by what’s transpired in the last few minutes. Blood begins to pool beneath Miranda’s body. I glance at Amber, now standing a few feet from Miranda, staring down at her blankly, gun hanging loosely at her side.
“You gonna put that down?” I ask, inching closer.
Amber slowly lifts her head, her eyes slightly glazed over. “What?”
I point at her hand. “The gun. You gonna put it down?”
She lifts her hand, frowns at the gun, as if she forgot she holding it. She holds it out in front of her, as if she’s offering it to me, so I move closer, slowly, until I can take it from her. I clear the chamber, release the magazine, then set it all on the counter before turning back to her and asking, “Why’d you do that?”
She lifts a shoulder then sighs. “Why not?”
Narrowing my eyes, I move to stand directly in front of her, searching her eyes for some kind of duplicitous motive. There’s nothing there, just darkness. Then she adds, “If I hadn’t done it, she would’ve called for the others.”
“The others?”
She nods, walks around me to the counter, pulls a button from beneath it. She holds it out to me, so I take it rather gingerly as she says, “Press this and they’ll come.”
