Page 42 of Carnage
“Fucking trouble, right there.” He lifts his chin in the direction of the men. “The guy in the middle doesn’t look like he wants to be there.”
I focus on the group, spotting the source of Whisper’s concern. Out of the five men, one of them, a short guy with a petite frame, is being sort of dragged along, like he’s not entirely aware of his surroundings.
“We should leave it,” Specter says, but I already know from his tone what’s coming next. “But I’m nosy. Shall we?”
“Fuck yeah,” Whisper says.
“Stay here with Colson,” I say to Rue.
Colson pulls him close, nodding, and the three of us cross the busy street, darting around cars who honk at us. Like we give a fuck.
The group of men have disappeared down an alley, and it’s pretty easy to find them. It’s hard to see in the dark what’s happening, but as my eyes focus, I see the guy they had with them being pushed around the group, roughed up. One guy is pulling the man’s jeans to his knees as we come up on them. He’s holding a stick in his hand and rage spills through me.
The taller one turns and looks at us, pulling his head back. “This ain’t none of your business. Get the fuck out of here.”
Specter chuckles. “Hear that, boys? We should get the fuck out of here,” he mimics.
“What if we don’t want to?” Whisper asks. “What if we like it here?”
“You want to join in?” another guy asks. “The fag won’t know.”
I crack my neck. It could’ve been anything—a drug deal, a hookup. But I have a sneaking suspicion it’s about to be a hate crime if we don’t intervene. I swear to fucking hell, this shit is getting old.
The guy they have on his knees looks up and sways, but I see the moment clarity hits for a few seconds and fear saturates his features.
“Where the fuck am I?”
One of the guy’s backhands the victim hard enough that he topples over. That’s it. That’s fucking it.
“Now you fucking did it,” Whisper says, stepping out of my way as I descend on the guys.
The man drops the stick and pulls a knife from his pocket, which makes me laugh.
“Look, Specter, dude brought a knife to a Carnage fight.”
Specter chuckles. “Poor bastard won’t even know what hit him.”
I grab the guy with the knife by the neck and immediately force him toward the building behind him, slamming him against the craggy brick.
“Fuck.” He coughs, gripping my hand.
I can hear the other guys being terrorized by Specter and Whisper, but I pretty much black out with rage at this point, pummeling the guy until his blood splashes on my face. Specter likes his guns, Whisper too, but I like to get my hands dirty. I want them to feel it. I want them to know what’s happening and fear it. I want them to think about their goddamn souls as they slowly slip away.
I bash the guy’s head against the wall one more time, then let him slump to the ground. I swing around to see if anyone else is left, but Whisper is helping the victim to his feet, and Specter is dragging the other bodies behind a dumpster.
My breathing is harsh, and it takes several minutes for me to calm down and get my head on straight again. That’s when I focus on the two figures standing at the entrance to the alleyway, my gaze sucked in by the beautiful man watching me.
Rue.
I expect disgust or even fear on his face. What I don’t expect is pure, unadulterated lust—his lips parted, pupils blown, and cheeks flushed as a streetlight shines down on him.
“Here, brother.” Whisper hands me a handkerchief.
I wipe the blood off my face and hands, then shove the stained cloth into my pocket. I approach Rue slowly, giving him space to panic or avoid me, but he stands firm.
“Why are you here?”
“Some guys were talking shit to us,” Colson explains. “I thought it was safer here.”
