Page 115 of Fiery Little Thing
When.Notif.
The police stopped by at nine this morning, asking questionsabout the bullet the doctors found in his gut. I’m not sure which part shocked me more: the fact that they didn’t accuse me of being the one who shot Kohen, or that they believed me when I said it was a drive-by. Maybe the jeans and the knitted jersey Sue made me sold the story. Picture-perfect innocence and all. Or maybe it’s the fact that I couldn’t stop myself from sputtering and crying like a little bitch.
I peel the skin on the side of my nail, lost in thought from imagining a life without Kohen. I don’t know how I would cope without him when he’s helped me get this far without falling back on my urge to get lost in white powder. I’m barely on the wagon as it is. Losing him might tip me over the edge, and I don’t know if I’d return. But the more I picture it, the more I realize that even if he didn’t make it out of this hospital, I’d make him proud. For him, I’d stay clean just to burn the Osmans to the ground, because if he dies for my vengeance, then I’ll die for his.
Squeezing Kohen’s hand, I stare at the bite mark tattooed on his finger and freeze mid skin-peel when he squeezes back. I launch to my feet and crowd his space, placing my hands on either side of his head as his eyelid twitches.
“Wake up, dickhead,” I whisper urgently, tapping the side of his face. “Nap time is over.”
He mumbles something that sounds eerily like “Fuck off.”
I huff and slump back in my chair. “I’ll give you another hour,” I grumble.
Time ticks on far too slow for my liking. I have no phone to keep me entertained, so the only option I have is the TV which only has the news—which is depressing as shit—and more goddamn infomercials. Only this time, they have subtitles and no weirdly catchy music. Neither of those two options are appealing to me,so I liberated a coloring book and crayons from the kids’ area earlier, and I’ve almost finished coloring every page despite how much my knuckles protest. My postkindergarten-level art is mortifying, but it’ll be Kohen’sGet Better Soonpresent.
“You suck at drawing.”
My attention whips to the voice. “I’m coloring, not drawing, idiot,” I snap, then send the book careening onto the floor as I assault him with desperate kisses along his cheeks, forehead, nose, eyelids, lips, throat. Anywhere and everywhere.
He’s alive.
He’s a-fucking-live.
The words replay in my head, turning into gleeful shouts as his fingers wrap around my wrist. I don’t notice the sobs tumbling out of my throat until liquid salt seeps through the seam of my lips. Wiping the snot and tears on my sleeve, I slap him lightly on the cheek. “Don’t you ever fucking do that again.”
“I’ll keep that in mind for next time.” Kohen’s voice is a low grumble that takes me back to just a few hours ago, when he could barely speak while I had his blood on my hands.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “I’ll kill you if you do.”
“That’s my preferred method to go.” His eyelids droop and reopen slower than normal. Every medical professional here would say he needs to rest, but I’m a selfish person. I need to hear him speak to know that taking my grandfather out didn’t take Kohen from me.
Against my better judgment, I flick his ear. “Don’t you joke with me, Kohen. I thought you were going to die.”
“You can’t get rid of me that easily, Thief.” He winces as he brings his hand up to my face to wipe away my tears.
“I don’t want to get rid of you,” I whisper, graspinghis hand to kiss the inside of his wrist. “I love you, Kohen.”
His mouth breaks into a soft smile. I wish I could capture this moment so I’ll never forget how his eyes light up like he’s finally reached the pearly gates. All because of thirteen letters.
“About getting those words tattooed…”
I roll my eyes and chuckle as he traces my lips with his thumb. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
A Year and a Half Later
“Did you bring popcorn?”
I glare at Blaze as I drop down onto the empty space beside her. The scratchy material of the picnic blanket wrinkles as I try to get comfortable on the hard ground. “I didn’t exactly have time to fitmaking popcorninto my schedule.” Anticipation pumps through my veins as I recheck my watch.
She shakes her head and kisses me while savagely plucking the innocent grass. “Misplaced priorities.” The thief sighs, reaching over me to get to the picnic basket—wait. Since when do we own a picnic basket? Secondly, how did she manage to steal it? Blaze waves the bag of popcorn in my face. “It’s a good thing you have me to make sure you don’t forget anything.”
I snort and snatch the bag away from her to grab a handful beforeshe can. We settle into silence as we stare out at the twinkling lights of the city and listen to the sirens blaring in the distance. The sounds started the second we got to our spot, right on cue.
She leans against me, and I wrap my arm around her shoulder to pull her to my side, running my fingers over the small strip of skin between her crop top and skirt. We found this slice of abandoned property last year while scouting the area in preparation for this day. It’s situated on a hill that overlooks the industrial part of the city, and has the perfect view of the big, white and silver building that has people filing out of big glass doors and onto the footpath.OPis printed in big red, cursive lettering on the side of the building, bright enough to be seen from a mile away.Osman Pharmaceuticals.
The place where the magic happens.
It’s my family’s headquarters. Their main lab is based in that hideous building, and so is their primary manufacturing facility—since they lost all of their overseas FDA approved factories, that is.
