Paul looks like a deer in headlights. No one’s paying attention to him, and instead of being thankful, he’s turning around, time and time again, as if he wants attention drawn to himself.
Stupid motherfucker.
And that’s when he spots me.
His face pales a shade. I merely tilt my head in response, knowing he can’t see my face. But oh, he feels my presence. He knows I vowed to ruin him, he knows I’m here to be his Angel of Death. The man I spent the majority of my life fearing, looks fucking pathetic in front of me. Not only that, he is scared, he isfucking scared of me. The taste of vengeance is on the tip of my tongue, and I can almost feel the sweet victory… Almost.
In some panicked, half-assed attempt to get away, Paul raises his gun. His hand is trembling as he fires the shot, and the sound is muffled by the people around. Someone accidentally bumps into him, without glancing at who they’ve run into. He’s irrelevant now, and he’s all mine to ruin. The bullet pierces straight into my abdomen, and yet… the pain isn’t there. Not yet, at least. Thanks to the amount of heroin I took, and the adrenaline that’s warming my blood, I don’t feel it.
So, I take the opportunity to lunge towards him.
Paul’s eyes widen, and he drops the gun, before turning on his heel and trying to run away. I push and squeeze past people, determined not to lose the sight of him. He’s right ahead, though he’s a little faster than I am, given the wound on my stomach.
I don’t know how long I chase him for when he takes a left turn. My feet follow as fast as possible, and once we’re out of the main crowd, I allow myself a little breather.
Then, I continue to run.
It’s only now that the wound starts to make itself known, blood dripping down my stomach, and I wince at the sudden ache. Thank God I asked Kaya for a first-aid kit, I just didn’t think I’d need it for me.
My heart is pounding in my chest, echoing in my ears. The rain’s been terrible. My clothes are soaked, and it’s not helping that the darkness of the night is blurring my vision.
My breathing is heavy, and I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to continue like this. The wound on my stomachis bleeding heavily, my feet wet from all the puddles of rain I stepped into.
I stop for a moment, pressing my palm against the wound. My eyes snap close, and I wince in pain. The ache spreads through my body, my fingers coated in my blood. The hoodie’s becoming heavier the wetter it gets, but it’s too cold for me to take it off.
“You won’t run away from me,” I grit out, muttering the words to myself, opening my eyes. “I won’t let you.”
With a deep breath, I steel myself, then continue running. The adrenaline is pumping in my veins, overtaking all the pain, numbing my sore muscles. The streetlights of New York are dimmer the farther away I get from the main avenue, taking a sharp turn to the right. There are residential buildings all around, and we have run into an alley.Of course he fucking runs into the alleyway.The motherfucker’s been on the run for two months now, and he managed to stay completely off the grid.
I glance over my shoulder to the main street, and a massive billboard catches my eye. The image is plain white, with a lot of light blue butterflies all around. My chest clenches at the sight, and I know in my heart that it’s a message from Arlo. He knows what’s happening, and this is just the proof I needed — he’s with me. He’s always with me, whenever I need him. I can’t let him find me just yet. He lost too much because of me, and I can’t return to him. Not until I’ve taken down the man who’s to blame for all of it.
With a deep breath, I force myself to look away from the painful sight, returning my attention back to the alleyway. It’s dark, and I step forward, pulling my gun out. From the corner of my eye, I spot a small gate that’s slightly ajar. A hiss comesfrom my lips, and I continue running, pushing the gate open and looking around, not once stopping.
It leads onto a different street, but it resembles the previous one. However, this one has a couple of empty premises. There’s an underground club on the far right, the loud music blasting through. I highly doubt the man who has the entirety of America looking for him, would go to a fucking club.
That’s when I spot one single place that looks almost… too silent.
It looks to be an old pub. The windows are covered with old newspapers, dating all the way back to the early 2000s. The door’s made out of thick wood, but the doorknob is broken. Right below are old cigarette butts, beer cans, and bottles, alongside some used syringes that were definitely used for drugs. Slowly, I push the door open, stepping inside. The scent of staleness hits my senses, and I scrunch my nose, trying to catch my breath. The place looks like someone left in a hurry — old, dusty glasses scattered around the bar, half-full bottles of whiskey lingering around.
However, the most noticeable thing is a figure in the dark, dark corner of the bar. A smirk tugs on the corner of my lips, and I close the door behind me, stepping further inside.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” I call out in a singing, mocking voice.
Nothing.
A beat of silence passes before I take aim with the gun at the ceiling, firing a round of shots. It hits the old lightbulb, making the glass shatter into a million small pieces, falling all over my hoodie and down to my feet.
My feet start carrying me toward the corner where I spotted movement, and my vision clears as soon as I’m closer. If I reached out with my hand, I’d be able to touch him.
“I got you, Paul. And you won’t be getting away from me now.”
I take out my gun, and whack him across the face, watching him stumble backward, as his unconscious body falling limp to the floor.
TWENTY-FIVE
Simmons is not a small man. He’s as tall as Arlo, and weighs so much more. In comparison, I look like a kid next to him. It was a fucking struggle to get him in a sitting position in one of the old, dusty wooden chairs. Luckily, true to her word, Kaya brought dufflebags with everything I asked her for inside. She knocked on the door three times, by the time I get to the door, she is long gone, with the bag sitting in the entrance.
The chains are so fucking heavy. They’re thick, and I think that it would be possible to kill a person with a single hit of one of these. That is, of course, if you have enough strength to lift them. I struggled with it immensely.
