What Doesn't Destroy Us (The Devil's Dust #1)(46)

She starts flipping through some book, trailing her finger across rows of writing. “They don’t have a check out date,” she responds.

“Thanks, doll,” Bobby says, before winking at her.

We walk out to Bull and Locks chatting about something in the parking lot.

“Rooms ten through fourteen; no check out date,” Bobby says, interrupting them.

Bull sits there scratching his scruffy cheeks for a second, thinking about what we should do next.

Whistling sounds from behind me make me turn to inspect where it’s coming from. A young boy wearing an El Locos' cut comes walking around the corner. The El Locos' logo is some weird-ass eyes that appear to be going around in circles. The eyes represent the crazy that the Spanish word “loco” stands for. I hit Bobby's arm and nod my head toward the boy. Bull and Locks get off their bikes when they see what we’re looking at. I pull my pistol from my holster and quietly catch up to the boy. When I’m close enough, I push the head of my gun into his back.

“Don’t you f*cking say a word or I will shoot you in the spine. You’ll be shitting in a bag for the rest of your life. Nod if you get that!” I whisper from behind him; the surge of aggression making me high. He nods his head.

“There anymore of you?” Bobby asks, drawing up beside me.

The kid shakes his head no. He is being compliant, but I want him to fight back. I want to pull this trigger so bad my finger is tensing.

“Take us to your room, now,” Bull demands. Bull, Locks and Bobby walk beside me to hide us from passing cars until the guy walks us to Room 13. His body trembles so hard he has tripped twice. He’s so pathetic, I think I might actually feel bad if I kill him; then again, probably not.

I'm not programmed like others; things that most people have a conscience for, I don’t. Killing and torturing others, makes me feel alive; gives me a control I long for. Growing up with a junkie as a mother, even though she was rarely around, f*cks with you. I shut down, I went numb. I’ve seen things I can never un-see and I have learned to cope with that. The only time I feel alive now, is when shit like this goes south.

Once we are in the room the young guy turns around. The room is filled with beer bottles and fast food trash; it smells terrible. I look down at the boy's cut and notice his name is Chad. What a dip-shit name. I push him down to the mattress with the muzzle of my gun as I check the room to make sure we're alone.

“What the f*ck are you guys doing in my town?” Bull asks, his voice deep and smooth.

“Fuck you!” Chad spits. My adrenaline spikes, eager at his defiance. He clearly doesn’t know who he is f*cking with. He is lucky I don't kill him now.

Bobby, clearly pissed at how disrespecting the little shit is, walks over to the guy and hits him in the nose with the butt of his gun. Blood splatters everywhere. He’s lucky it was Bobby because once I get going, I don’t like to stop. Bobby knows that first hand. We met in “juvie jail”; he was in for grand theft auto, I was in for assault. I nearly beat a kid into a coma just for teasing me for being poor.

“Fuck. Okay, okay,” he yells, holding his nose and making me laugh. Only took one hit to make him rat out his own club; amateur. If he was ours, he would be six feet under.

“Big Jim is pissed you guys disrespected us. He’s here to take your business and teach you some respect,” Chad sputters out, blood flying all over his arms and hands. Big Jim, must be their shitty president.

“How’d you find my safe house?” Bull asks, rubbing the damn stubble on his face again.

“What safe house?” Chad asks coyly. He knows exactly what the f*ck we are talking about. He’s starting to piss me off, playing games. The hair rises on my neck and rage floods my veins. I pull my pistol back to hit him; maybe a second hit will remind him.

“We followed you from the pizza joint. Don’t hit me again!” he yells quickly, as he winces back on the bed to avoid my gun.

“We sent Charlie out for pizza that night. He must have been tailed back to the safe house, giving them our location,” I remind everyone.

“Fucking prospect,” Bobby whispers. “He was tailed and didn’t even realize it.”

“We scouted the house for a few hours and saw there were only three of you; it was easy,” Chad says, shrugging his shoulders. Again, my body temperature rises, I grip my gun tighter, and my finger taps the trigger.

“It was easy? One of my men was hit, you f*cking turd,” Bull yells. The boy just laughs, blood still spilling from his nose. Bull nods at me, “teach him what happens when he f*cks with us.” I hover my pistol over the boy's leg. ”Don’t kill him, though. We don’t need that kind of heat right now. Just a lesson will do,” Bull insists, knowing I will gladly put this f*cker under by clipping a main artery.

Chad instantly starts screaming like a damn girl when he sees we are serious. Bobby jumps on the bed behind him and cups his mouth to quiet his screams. Without a second thought, I aim my pistol, cock it, and pull the trigger; all in one fluid motion.

The punk screams louder and his eyes bug out as the bullet penetrates his leg.

“You would think you shot his dick off. What a *,” Bobby says, laughing.

“You tell your president, Big Jim, to get the f*ck out of my town or next time that bullet goes in your head, son,” Bull says; and on that note the kid passes out.