He screamed and wailed when his kneecap blew out, then dropped onto the ground to roll around and bleed.
“Fucking dramatic,” I spat. “The address.”
“You’re going to die for this!” he roared.
The clock ticking inside me was loud, making me impatient. I didn’t have time for this. I needed an address, and he was going to give it to me.
Overturning the flask, I poured the vodka all over his legs and feet, then moved up to his chest.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
The metal banged when I threw down the container and stood back.Not good enough,I decided and went to check his trunk. If he was any good kind of outlaw, he’d have—Ah!
“Guess it’s my lucky day,” I hollered, lifting the jug of gasoline fromthe trunk and spinning off the cap.
“Wh-what are you doing?” the man on the ground asked, trying to avoid the splashes of gas I sprinkled everywhere. Once everything was good and drenched, I tossed the half-empty jug into his car, watching it spill all over the back seat.
When that was done, I reached into my jacket for a match.
You know, it seems to me that a lot of men say they’ll burn the city for the one they love, but who actually does it?
The match dragged over the flint on my ring, the flame sparking before igniting to life.
I stepped forward. “I asked you a question.”
“I—I—wait!” he wailed as I slammed my booted foot into his chest and pinned him down so I could hold the flickering flame to the hem of his vodka-and-gasoline-soaked jeans. The fire caught immediately, and he began to scream.
I pulled out another match and struck it too. “Where is he?” I asked, the smell of gas and smoke already polluting the air.
He fired off an address as he writhed and screamed, smacking the flames growing on his legs with his fist. “I told you!” he wailed.
“You lying?”
“I swear to God I’m not,” he sobbed.
Reaching into my jacket again, I pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “I haven’t touched one of these in two years,” I told him. “But now seems like a good time.”
I lit it with the match still burning in my fingers before tossing it into the puddle the man was sitting in. Another blaze ignited, and I watched, emotionless, as he triedto scramble from the flames, only to have them follow and climb onto his jacket. He screamed in agony as I inhaled the sharp, acrid smoke, letting it invade my lungs the way the memory of the last cigarette I’d smoked invaded my brain. It was the night I’d left Rett.
I blew out a stream of smoke while the man begged for help.
“We need to go,” Kieran said.
The man on the ground collapsed at my feet and began twitching. The scent of burned flesh was unpleasant, and I took a step back.
“See you in hell, motherfucker,” I said and tossed the half-smoked cig onto his already burning body.
“Wait!” he screamed as we walked away.
I paused and turned back, lifted my gun, and fired.
His screams went silent, but the fire continued to rage, the flames following a stream of gasoline to where the jug lay inside the car.
Boom.
“The address he gave is about ten miles from here,” I said.
“You think it’s legit?” Kieran asked as we jogged toward his SUV.
