Page 56 of Ricochet

I didn’t say anything. I’d found people got uncomfortable quicker by my staying quiet while holding a deadpan stare. Like a natural predatory response. Just as I suspected, she slithered back from the table, eyes cowering in submission.

Once she’d walked away, my attention swung back to Jalen.

Thing about street gangs was they had nothing to bind them together. No loyalties. No single mission that tied them to each other. They were fragile, easily broken. As the Seven Mile Crew had gained some traction, built up some power, they’d begun to crumble, break off into their own pursuits.

Jalen ‘Babyface’ Wallace was a fine example of that. Of all the Crew, he’d been the most difficult to track down. A few bad deals had landed him on a lot of shit lists, and many of his customers were the kind of gangs that did bind together for a reason. Religious. Political. They took any act of mistrust as a reason to kill, and Jalen had been forced to hit the underground as a result. His ties to the Seven Mile Crew were severed when he didn’t deliver on a large order of semi-automatics to a few infamous crime bosses. The leader of the Crew, Brandon Malone, couldn’t risk the chance he’d become the target of a larger fish in the ocean, so he’d distanced himself from Jalen, eliminating that cozy layer of protection Jalen once enjoyed.

At a tug on her wrist, the waitress bent forward, and Jalen put his lips to her ear. Sickening giggles followed. With his arm draped over her shoulders, he shot up from his chair and guided her out of the bar.

And the hunt begins.

Why I smiled every fucking time I was about to rain hell on their little picnics, I’d never understand. I left some cash on the table before following the two outside.

Jalen led her to a rusted, early model Tahoe, parked in the far corner of the lot, where both climbed in the backseat. Once they’d closed the door behind them, dark tinted windows made it nearly impossible to see, aside from the occasional abrupt movement.

I took a moment to slip the black ski mask down over my face.

Within earshot of the vehicle, I heard a smack followed by the woman’s outcry, and Jalen’s shouts of, “Stupid bitch! Nasty ass whore!”

Tugging my hoodie over my head, I checked my weapons. The guy’s bare ass might’ve been hanging out in the air, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t fucking her with a gun in his hands.

Without so much as a courtesy knock, I threw the door open, my lip curling at the sloshing sounds that ceased the second both of them caught sight of me.

The female screamed, as expected.

“What … the … fuck?” Jalen reached for his gun, but stopped the moment I lifted my blade in the air.

An exceptional blade, serrated on one side with a mean looking gut hook. Couldn’t help but imagine the damage it’d do if it happened to get lodged beneath the skin—a thought that must’ve passed through Jalen’s mind, because he settled back against the seat.

“Get out,” I said to the woman quaking beneath him, my gaze shooting straight back to Jalen.

Without skipping a beat, she scrambled out from under him with her gathered clothes into her arms and, eyes on the blade, took off.

To Jalen, I said, “Get in the driver’s seat.”

In an asinine move, he tugged his gun loose from its holster, but I sliced the knife across the back of his calf, yanking the hook to dislodge a nice chunk of flesh from the wound.

“Motherfucker!” He grabbed for his mutilated leg, and I raised the blade again. “No! No! Okay, okay, okay!” Dragging himself between the two seats, he fell into the driver’s chair.

I opened the passenger door and took a seat beside him, as Jalen’s trembling, blood-coated hand turned the key and the vehicle fired up to a roar. “Old Boblo Dock.” I propped the blade at his balls, smiling as Jalen pulled out of the parking spot.

Blondie ripped through the bar door, flanked by two burly men, and pointed at us as we passed. For good measure, I lifted the blade higher, sneering at the whimper that escaped Jalen.

It pained me to think that, if I’d only had the training, the conditioning, the sense of calm I’d come to possess— so many things I could’ve done with that. I stuffed the thought aside—plenty of time to ruin myself later. For then, it was a celebration—before moving on to bigger and better kills.

“Who are you?” He kept stealing glances as I half-heartedly propped the knife to his nuts.

“In time,” was all I said, watching the city pass through the window.

“Y-y-you want money? Drugs? I-I-I got connections. Whatever you need.”

“Your connections want to kill you as much as I do, Jalen.” I tipped my head back and, smirking, directed my attention back his way. “Thought I’d put your dick in a jar to set on my mantle.”

There was a quiver in his laugh, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw his head whip between me and the road. “You’re a funny guy, eh? Jokester.”

“No. Not a jokester.”

Within minutes, we reached the dock, where I’d already taken care of the lock on the fence. He pulled in where I directed him, alongside the abandoned building. Much as the city had turned its shit around, Detroit still boasted a good share of abandonment.