I put my phone back in my pocket as we left the diner, swallowing fear and anger.
I knew those kinds of gangs existed around here, but had never personally messed with one. Why would you? You’d have to have a fucking death wish.
Or be Abby Harrison.
Nothing scared me, except when Abby was involved.
And she had a knack for getting involved. For testing those waters, taking me totally to the edge.
In my head, I could practically see her smirk.
I lit a cigarette. I was gonna offer one to Roach before remembering his new healthier lifestyle. The poor man would have to face this news with no vice, no numbing.
After inhaling deeply, then exhaling, I said, “Uh, Roach. I know where the girls are. Brad just texted me. They’re with Hellbound.”
He closed his eyes. “Jesus.”
“Yeah.”
“Of course, that’s the opposite way. It’ll take us four hours to get there.”
I didn’t like the idea of confronting Abby again after Amber’s threat. Even if the Shields bitch was far away now, who knew when she’d return.
But nothing could stop me from getting to Abby. Not blackmail. Not a gun pressed to my head. Nothing.
“I can go alone,” I offered, hoping to spare the old man.
But Roach was already headed to his bike.
“C’mon on, boy,” he said. “Let’s hit the road.”
We returned to headquarters, a shabby old brick house appropriately isolated from civilization and encircled with chain-link fence.
I watched Kim take in her surroundings with horror as we passed through the rusty iron gate.
We set up our impromptu “tattoo parlor” on the back porch: a couple folding chairs, a case of beer, and a plate holding the supplies.
My eyes caught on the needle, glinting under the late afternoon sun as Liam polished it, but I turned away quickly.
I didn’t want Kim sniffing out any nervousness. She was quite vocally opposed to the whole operation.
“In school we learned about all the fatal diseases you can get from one unclean needle. We should be sterilizing it really fucking well. You should be—”
“I am, Kim,” Liam said.
“And Abby, you should definitely not be drinking. That’ll make you bleed more! And that’s not even the worst of your self-caused problems.”
With a disgusted look, she added, “These guys are sloppier and trashier than our men at Satan’s Son’s, and they’re supposed to be fucking hitmen!”
“You know Liam can hear you, right?”
“I don’t care,” she snapped back. “I’m just saying, should you really trust them with needles? Much less guns?!”
Interrupting our argument, Liam said, “Alright, I’m ready to get started, if you are, Abby?”
Kim stood up from her chair. “I can’t watch. I’m going inside, to use the toilet. If you even have one in this fucking dumpster.”
I almost retorted with a snarky comeback but then I remembered everything my sister had been through and held my tongue. For once.
When she was out of earshot, Liam asked, “So, is this your first tattoo?”
“Yeah. Is it yours?” I joked.
“Funny enough, yes.”
I instinctively leapt away as Liam laughed.
“I’m just kidding,” he said.
He reached out and slipped away the strap of my singlet.
“I’ve inked a lot of people. Used to run my own parlor, actually. So I promise I’m very experienced, and I won’t let this hurt one bit.”
With his bare fingers he then brushed my shoulder, feeling out the territory. And sending a random shot of electricity through my body.
“Let me just clean the area first,” he said gently. “You can look away, if you want.”
I did, gazing out over his head at the open grassy fields behind the headquarters. Cool liquid suddenly wet my skin as he wiped it with a napkin.
Goosebumps sprouted down my arm.
“Your skin is a little softer than the other guys’. Don’t tell them I said that.”
He chuckled, and I found myself smiling.
“Alright then, Abby. Take a deep breath in, and let it go. Are you ready?”
I nodded, again following his instructions.
I then heard the revving of the pen.
It roared like motorcycle engines in the distance, a sound I always associated with Reaper and the Satan’s Sons. I pushed that thought away and braced myself for the pain.
Welcoming it.
And next thing I knew, the needle pierced my skin. Then it moved, scraping, drawing, dragging along my flesh in lines.
Marking me. Permanently.
My skin burned, radiating red-hot warmth.
The physical pain stung but that emotional commitment is what quickened my heart rate.
Thankfully, Liam kept up his kindness and encouragement. This was our first opportunity to hang out, just the two of us. As it turned out, he wasn’t half bad.
Soon enough, Kim returned, and the others came out to watch, too.
About an hour later, I was tipsy and tatted.
In the reflection of the back window, I examined Liam’s work. A simple pistol engulfed in flaming fire, not much bigger than my palm.
Just like Damon’s. The art that had drawn me into this whole beautiful mess.
Everyone held their breath, awaiting my reaction.
“I love it,” I declared, to cheers.
But I could see on Damon’s face that the fun wasn’t over yet, and on Kim’s face, the terror had only just begun.
“Now that you’re officially one of us, let’s celebrate the best way we know how. Boys and twins, grab your guns. We’re headed to the shooting range.”
Apparently, Hellbound had their own shooting range. I spent the drive there, crammed between Abby and Liam in the backseat of a random van, attempting to posit my stance on guns.
But Abby was so beyond help, so beyond persuading.
“I hate guns, for the record. Even when I was forced to carry them,” I said.
“Do you know how much damage they cause?” I continued, but Abby just rolled her eyes. “They’re so fucking dangerous, Abby. It’s a whole national crisis in America.”
“Well, good thing we’re not in America,” she said back.
Liam chortled, then looked at me apologetically. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, just…change your ways, damn it! It’s not that hard. I did it. Look how much I’ve changed over the last few years!”
Abby rolled her eyes at me. “Yeah, you’re a snobby book-worm all of a sudden. Remind you of someone? Ten points for originality.”
I gritted my teeth. She was impossible.
But also right.
All I wanted to do was transport myself away from all this screwed-up Hellbound bullshit and be home instead. Curled up in a blanket, safe in my bed. Studying. I had a big exam next week.
The way our roles had just completely reversed since high school was astounding.
“Kim, you’re just nervous you’re going to be a terrible shot,” Abby said.
“No, I’m not.”
“I guess we’ll see.”
Turns out, she was onto something.
They all dared me to go first, and, feeling challenged and with something to prove, I did.
But I picked up the gun daintily, not really wanting to touch it, aimed, and pulled the trigger. And…
Nothing happened. But everyone laughed.
“You’ve gotta unlock the safety, doll,” Damon said.
I’d held guns before but never actually fired one.
Blushing, I aimed again at the target. It was shaped like a man. Like a human being. My bullet breezed clear over his frame.
Again, a chorus of laughter. Abby, of course, guffawed loudest as all.
“I’ll get better with practice,” I said levelly.
“Sure,” she countered.
“Okay, Annie Oakley, if you’re so confident, why don’t you go next and show us all how it’s done?”
She squared her shoulders. “Don’t mind if I do.”
In truth, I was nowhere near confident.
I’d never actually shot a real gun before.
Mimicking Kim’s movements with swagger, I stepped up to the mark, slipped the plushy headphones over my ears, gripped the pistol with two hands, and aimed.
It felt sleek in my hands. Weighted, but not too heavy. Agile, but still powerful.
So powerful.
The capacity for death and destruction danced beneath my fingers.
I’m pretty sure I closed my eyes at first—not really a strategy the professionals suggest.
I opened my eyes, lined up the crosshairs to the target, and fired.
The ricochet kicked back at my chest, briefly throwing me off balance.
“Holy fuck!” I heard Damon exclaim. “You’re one-of-a-fucking-kind!”
“I knew you’d be a natural,” said Blake. “Well done.”
They continued praising me, and Kim continued berating me, when my ears suddenly stifled their sounds to detect another. A very, very recognizable one.
Motorcycles approaching.
Right outside.
My heart twinged with an impulsive flare of hope.
It couldn’t be.
I had to quit thinking like that, so fucking desperately and hopelessly romantic.
But then, I saw a flurry of dust from the opposite of the range.
Bikes approaching.
For the first time in three months, there he was.
Abby’s jaw dropped. And her arms lowered simultaneously.
In her hands, she held a gun.
Knuckles white from gripping it tight.
My gaze trailed from her barrel down the firing line.
To the fresh, still smoking hole, right smack dab in the target’s heart.
A complete bullseye.
I looked back at her in shock. Equal surprise, to see me, was painted across her face.
In unison, we both said, “What the fuck?”
That was not the reaction I’d expected from either myself or Abby. I just couldn’t keep it together.
And that was when I noticed the marking on her shoulder. It was raw and puffy and red but I could recognize it from a mile away.
Pistol and flames.
Ink.
A permanent Hellbound tattoo.
Everything was even worse than I thought. How the hell had she managed to make her situation even fucking worse than I’d thought?
“Goddamnit, Abby,” I said, my voice unfurling in a deep and serious growl. A demand. “What have you done?!”
