Page 2 of Vipers & Roses

I’d never say it aloud, but cleaning the wall of blood is somewhat satisfying. Every brush of the mop waters down the scarlet, which goes from violent red to pink and then clear.

After we’ve cleaned every surface, Z sweeps an ultra-violet ray machine over the area to check for invisible fingerprints and other marks that might contain DNA. Then, use chemicals to clean them off.

Once done, we take our cleaning trolley, switch the light off, and head to Zara’s white van. A black SUV turns down the street as we drive to the empty intersection. We’ve seen this vehicle before, appearing as we’re leaving, and assume it’s 906 or maybe Smiler. Either way, we pretend we don’t notice it and go on our way.

“Oh,” I exclaim when I remember that a message came through while I was in the house. I can’t imagine who would be texting me in the small hours of the morning, so I assume before I read it that it’s a wrong number.

Them: I hear you’re looking for some hardware – Blake T.

I turn to Z, “Do you know a Blake T?”

“Oh yeah, that’s the guy I told you about who can supply you with a handgun,” she answers so matter-of-factly that it makes me chuckle a little.

“A night owl?”

“Well…he’s probably working,” she says the quiet part out loud—her contact, the thief, stalking the streets in the undercover of the darkness.

Me: Yes. How much and when can you supply?

Blake T: $200. Meet me tomorrow at 1 pm at Rockford Park, on the seat overlooking the jetty.

Me: Deal.

Blake T: Bring cash. No fucking about.

“Tell him the gun must be clean,” Zara states with a warning tone. “No clean gun. No deal.”

“Clean?” I ask curiously.

“Yeah, without fingerprints, unregistered, and never been used in a crime,” she rattles off like a professional. Thank goodness for Z. Details like this would never have crossed my mind.

Me: Gun must be clean. No deal if not.

Blake T: U been talking to Z. She knows my stuff is always clean.

I read out his reply, and Zara snorts. “Yeah, that’s true. He’s always been a good supplier, but you have to watch him ‘cos he can be a little mischievous.”

She drives past Great Torres Lake, which is nothing but a sea of black, with surrounding black shapes of trees and houses that seem incredibly eerie in the dark. It’s deadly still and quiet—too quiet.

“I told him you need to protect yourself,” Zara says after several moments of silence. “That is why you’re requesting a gun, isn’t it?”

“That’s true,” I answer, gazing out the window to avoid her eye, even though it’s dark.

A growly sound comes from the back of her throat, and I know she’s not entirely convinced. Z won’t ask any more questions. Instead, she’ll let me tell her when I’m ready.

There is more to the story. Two years of planning. Two years of restoring my courage to tackle my objective. Two years of imagining them dying before me. Let’s call it justice—the sweet symphony of revenge.

You see, I have a list with four names on it, and my single-minded goal is to wipe them clean from the planet.

Starting with…

The Lion.

2

Rae Haines is the champion of the world. Another first-place ribbon, another gold trophy to sit on the mantelpiece in my parents' living room. Standing on the podium as the crowd roars, chlorine-laced water dribbles down my back from my sodden golden ponytail.

The Lion catches my eye, and all the color in the stadium drains away to several shades of gray. That penetrating stare and vile smirk suffocate my senses as I swallow back the rising vomit from the stench of his sour breath.

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