Anarchy Found (SuperAlpha, #1)(8)
And f*ck if I don’t like that little bit of giving in. Because what the hell… I can feel myself getting hard.
Well, I’m sure as f*ck not giving her that power over me. So I get up and extend my gloved hand to her for the third time today.
She takes it, squeaking out a little, “Thank you.” She stands there, looking at the ground, like she can’t believe this is where we’re at.
No one is more surprised than me. “Just let me get my keys, OK, gun girl? And then we’ll go talk about this like grown-ups.” I walk over to one of my big red toolboxes, open the top drawer, fish around a little and come up with what I need.
I walk back over to her. She’s still in the same place, but now her arms are wrapped around herself, like she’s freezing. She probably is. She’s soaking wet and covered in mud.
“Cold?” I ask, smiling down at her so she gets a little lost in my eyes. She nods and I pull her close to my bare chest, knocking her off her guard even further. I lean into her ear and whisper, “Sorry, gun girl. But I have no choice.” She tries to turn her head to look at me, but I’ve already bitten the cap off a hypodermic needle.
I stick it right into the fleshy part of her shoulder.
First Kiss
First Kiss
Chapter Five - Lincoln
The static hum of a police scanner fills my car as I ease my way through the dark, wet streets of Cathedral City. Sheila is commenting endlessly on the scanner though the computer in the dash, but I’m only half listening. Case is waiting for me and I’m late. I had to turn my phone off last night to stop worrying about his incessant calling, but everyone has to face the music eventually and my time is now.
The darkness of the city streets mimics my mood, but that’s not unusual. My mood has been dark for many years now. Too many to count. And looking back, was there ever a time when things looked bright?
If so, I’ve blocked it out.
What else can you do? I mean, why bother wishing for something you can’t have? Why bother with hope that will fail you over and over again, when you can count on revenge and retribution to deliver every single time?
It fills the holes. Maybe those holes aren’t overflowing with satisfaction yet, but that’s OK. Being filled up with indifference is better than being empty.
I pass one of the cathedral ruins that stand guard at the entrance to the Merchant District and look up for a moment. There was a time back in school when I was obsessed with them. I studied each of the thirteen cathedrals like a historian looking for the meaning of life. This one is barely standing. Three walls are gone, the stones hauled away centuries ago after the old city fell during a long-forgotten war, the treasures inside pillaged, the stained glass broken. There’s not one scrap of glass left. Not one shard, not one sliver of color remains.
And we’re back to the darkness.
Cathedral City has its fair share of darkness. Every metropolis has problems. But the recent downturn in the economy has taken a toll on the lower classes. Unemployment is at an all-time high. The crime is so bad on this side of town, most goes unreported. Education is failing. The kids drop out at an alarming rate. The streets, especially here on the south side, are packed with the homeless, the drug dealers, the criminals, and the morally bankrupt.
Public services are inadequate, politicians are corrupt, and the police are in the pockets of the tech industry that floods this town with wealth. Blue Corp is a giant among giants. They own almost everything. All the public utilities, even the mobile phone service. My jaw clenches just thinking of the insane power they wield. Law means nothing when you have f*ck-you money. And Blue Corp definitely has f*ck-you money.
People have no respect for good and evil anymore.
Easy, Lincoln. Just get this meeting over with and then you can get on with the night business. Just the thought calms me, and I take in a long draw of air as I slide up next to M-Street Bar and cut the engine. There are no drug dealers eking out a living on M Street. Even they know enough to find a safer place to squat.
This is my little piece of the pie. This is my one place to feel safe when I’m here. One square block.
I get out of the car and the rain immediately starts pelting me, so I flip up the hood on the jacket I wear under my leather and jog over to the entrance where the unmarked door swings open before I even have to knock.
“Good evening, Mr. Wade.”
“Hey, man,” I say back as amicably as I can. I don’t need to be nice to him. It’s his job to be nice to me. But I am anyway. Maybe we’re not friends—I don’t have many of those—but I’m on good terms with Mac’s guys and I make a point to be amicable when I can muster it up.
I spy Case over at the bar talking to Mac, the bartender and owner of M-Street. Case looks over his shoulder when the cold, damp wind from outside makes its way over to him and gives me a disapproving shake of his head.
I ease into the barstool next to him. “Whiskey,” I tell Mac. He nods, and then disappears to give us privacy as he pours my drink.
“Where the f*ck have you been?” Case seethes through his teeth. “I called you all last night after that monumental f*ckup and Sheila said you were out.”
“I was out,” I say, catching the glass of whiskey Mac slides down the bar. I take a gulp and let the dark liquid burn my throat. “And now I’m here, so what do you want?”