Page 46 of Aftershock
By whom?
More importantly, did I take care of them?
If I haven’t, if that person is still alive, I’m going to destroy them. I’m going to spend weeks—no, months—running trials on them until there’ll be nothing left of them, not even their bones.
“You can’t throw me out!” someone shouts, cutting into my thoughts.
A man about my height stumbles backward out of the corner bar. His hands flail in an attempt to regain his balance.
Recognition slams into me like a freight train.
The gray hair stuck to his forehead. The narrowed green eyes.
The voice that has my hackles rising.
Harold.
Grabbing him from the street isn’t what I had in mind for him. Tomorrow, or the day after, I was supposed to break into his apartment, kidnap him, and vanish into the night.
Apparently, the universe has other plans for me.
As I devise a new plan, I press my back to the nearest building, spying on the bastard as he takes two wobbly steps toward the bar.
“I know my rights!” He shakes a finger at whoever’s in there. His charcoal suit is wrinkled as if he hasn’t washed it in weeks. “You’re… Law… Customer…” People side-eye the snarling man before quickly slipping past him. “Ahh, fuck it. My rights!”
“My bar, my rules.” A burly guy in black, with a dish towel slung over his shoulder, walks out onto the street. “You ever come around here again, being kicked out will be the least of your concerns.”
What’s left of Harold’s confidence withers in a heartbeat.
He lifts his hands in surrender, mumbling, “Sorry. Sorry.”
That’s the thing about bullies. They run with their tails between their legs as soon as a bigger one shows up.
He won’t be able to run from me, though.
One last glance behind me reassures me that no one is stalking or staring at me.
Good.
Back to Harold, who turns into the alley by the bar, staggering as he goes. I’m right behind him. That fool, without knowing it, is making my job that much easier, especially since the alley is dark. Too dark for anyone to see what I’m about to do to him, including the people living in the surrounding buildings.
“F-f-fucking fucker.” Harold’s speech is slurred. “All of them!”
His feet don’t carry him in a straight line. He stumbles again, but before he falls flat on his face, he reaches for what he must think is the nearest wall.
Except it isn’t a wall.
He’s so wasted that he doesn’t notice the construction dumpster shoved against it.
But then, instead of metal, his hand lands right on the poor cat sitting on top of the dumpster.
Though hurt, the mottled cat doesn’t stay down. A furiousmeowcuts through the alley, then he bares his claws, swiping at Harold’s face, scratching his cheek.
Good thing Harold’s only allergic to kiwi. He’ll survive.
“Piece of shit!” He covers his wound with one hand, waving a fist at the cat with the other. “You’re gonna get it now.”
Like hell.
