Page 40 of Blood & Kisses

I squeeze the trigger, and this time, I strike the can, ignoring how much every gunshot disturbs me whenever that sound slices into the peaceful silence.

“So, you know the address of Crow's mistress house?” I ask to clarify. “You’ve already done your homework.”

“Hit the can on the right,” he orders, ignoring my question.

After finding my target down the scope, I squeeze the trigger again, and the bullet fires out; this time, I miss the can I’m supposed to hit, but I hit the can on the left. “That was deliberate,” I lie.

“Sure,” he says in disbelief. “Hit the last can, and then I’ll set them back up again, and we can do it again. I need to get you comfortable with that in your grasp.”

I imagine the Crow’s fat head and the way he held me down, forcing himself on me as the other men laughed and drank liquor. I brushed that sickly thought aside, squeezed the trigger, and hit the last can on the fence.

“Good shot,” Blake’s tone is a mix of cautions and pride, as if he’s unsure I have what it takes to assassinate the Crow. “Put your weapon down, and let me set the cans up again.”

As he walks away from me several yards away, my mind sails back to that week I tried to forget when those men hurt me. As time passes, I can look back with a clear view of detachment and critical thinking. An ant crawls over my hand, and I focus on it moving so quickly, tickling my skin. Yet I don’t flick it off; instead, I let it travel where it needs to go.

The scent of perfume invades my senses. Women’s perfume. Not here and not now, but back when the Four hurt me. There was a woman in the background pouring their drinks and taking pics. I remember when I was half-dazed on the date rape drug; she was flirting and sitting on Lyon’s knee – now and again, she’d check on me, whisper in my ear to make sure I was okay. When I fell asleep, she patted my cheeks with cold water to wake me back up again.

Who was she?

Scarlet lipstick. Brunette hair. I think she is in her thirties and dressed in black lace with red heels. I resigned to her being a sex worker and paid to be there, and I think that’s why I forgot her quickly. I didn’t know her name and hadn’t seen her again. But she’s not an innocent player here either, and that’s why she’s reemerged into my mind right now.

Blake returns from setting the cans up again, yet my mind is still on the Four and the woman. Two are dead, and two more to go, but who was she, and was she there voluntarily or through force?

“Ready to go again?” he asks as his shadow cools my body and shields me from the burning sun.

His voice rings about my ears as I watch the ant crawl off my hand onto the blades of browning grass. Her sickly-sweet perfume and even the scent of her lipstick are infiltrating my senses, and nausea stirs.

I lift my head to gaze at the fence in the distance with the line of cans. “It was a woman,” I tell him.

In my peripheral vision, I see him turn his head to the fence holding the cans, then turning back to me again, confused. “What is?”

I swallow, noticing how dry my mouth is. “The person who filmed the rape and took pictures was a woman. I can still smell her perfume.”

“Was it a woman who took that picture that you had in your drawer?” he asks to clarify.

I nod. “Yeah. The memory came back to me. She wasn’t always there, but it was her behind the camera.”

“Would you recognize her if you saw her again?” he asks dubiously.

“I think so,” I reply, but I doubt I will see her again.

“Is she going on your list?” he asks flatly.

“I’m not sure,” I reply distantly as I prepare the rifle in my hands to shoot the line of cans, a darkened sense of purpose with my demeanor changed.

As I peer through the scope, I consider what I would do if I stumble across her. I squeeze the trigger and hit the can as it flies off the fence, then I quickly move to the next can and squeeze the trigger again, missing the next one.

“If I happen to bump into her. I would ask why,” I mutter as I line up the next can in the scope. “Why she was there?” Squeezing the trigger, I hit the can that I previously missed. “Whether she was there voluntarily or paid to be there?” I line up the next can and squeeze the trigger, and it flies off the fence.

I sense Blake’s posture changing, noticing my change in mannerisms. “Rae,” he says softly, but I ignore him because I’m not in the mood for a conversation or to be told to calm down.

My throat feels like it’s closing in due to the stress of this resurfaced memory, but she mustn’t get away with it because she may be involved with the other girls. But I won’t know until I find out more information about her.

Each can fall one after the other as my confidence grows and I become more comfortable with this powerful killing machine in my hands.

After shooting the last can, I pause and find little ant again running over the blades of grass. I clear my throat, “And why didn’t she help me?”

21

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