Page 12 of Betting Blind

“Right. Smith,” I snap and snatch his glass off the table, downing it in one clean shot, and then pick up the other two glasses. They had the good sense to finish their drinks at least.I wonder if their eyebrows are all raised in surprise. I really hate not being able to read their expressions. “Can’t let Taylors go to waste. Have a wonderful night, gentlemen, and do be safe going home,” I call over my shoulder and pick up the tray of dirty glassware, heading back to the kitchen to decompress from that encounter. My blood is nearly boiling in my veins and my heart is pounding so loudly that I can hear it echoing in my eardrums as I push through the swinging kitchen door.

I pull several deep breaths in through my nose, trying to will myself to calm down. I can feel the rage vibrating through my body, winding up like a deadly jack in the box about to pop out and stab someone right through the eyeball. I alternate my two mantras like that will actually do me any good. It hasn’t in the past. The fingers of both my hands drag through my thick hair, tugging at the roots to give my brain some sort of stimulant to focus on other than the fury that is threatening to bubble to the surface.

“Killing people is frowned upon. Killing people is frowned upon. Killing people is frowned upon,” I say quietly followed quickly by, “I’m a nice, respectable human being. I’m a nice, respectable human being. I’m a nice, respectable human being.” A quiet chuckle snorts through my flared nostrils because that’s a funny joke, although my therapist would not find it humorous.

Chapter 8

Emelia

The door swings inward and slams against the wall with a loud crack. “Marcus?” I call out to him through clenched teeth. I need to do something before I chip a tooth. He emerges quickly from the storeroom with a scowl. “Could you watch the bar for a few minutes? I need to cool down.” My hands wave in front of my face, but it only succeeds in fanning around warm air. Why’s it so fucking hot in the kitchens?

Who the actual fuck are these guys? I’m struggling to keep my face neutral. If you count a resting bitch face as neutral. I need to get out of this building and away from people before I say something really terrible or do something even more terrible. I’m known for my short temper. It’s my calling card really, and right now my fuse has been lit and there’s no putting it out. The only thing I can do is get the fuck out of dodge until it burns out and pray to whoever will listen that no one crosses my path until it does.

“Are you okay?” he asks and ties a black apron around his waist. He is all too familiar with my tone and already knows the answer to his question, but he always asks. Despite most of my guys being cold-blooded killers, they do care for some people.

I nod a reply and don’t look at him as I make my way through the back door and into the alley behind the bar. I take several deep breaths through my nose and fight the urge to cough. My nose burns from the acrid air. It’s a narrow space, with opposing brick walls on either side. There are three dull, green dumpsters lining the right side and a small pile of wooden pallets on the left. Both openings lead out to the streets beyond the bar. I can see the flash of a crosswalk in front of me.

My eyes focus on the flashing light as I press my back against the wall, the brick biting into my exposed flesh. I follow the recommendations that my therapist once gave me to avoid attacks. Focus on sights, sounds, smells, and touches. Granted, those were for people suffering from panic attacks. I’m over here just panicking that I’m going to attack. I close my eyes, draw in another painful breath, and push my fingers against the unyielding bricks behind me.

“Look at this, Dare, we got ourselves a little lady out for a smoke break.” A gravelly voice pulls my attention to the opposite opening of the alley. Two figures emerge from a shadow and stalk into the flickering yellow light of the streetlamps. “Need a light?”

“No. I’m just taking a breather. I don’t smoke. Nasty habit,” I respond and fight the shiver that walks its way up my spine. My demons are clawing their way to the surface despite my best efforts.

“Here that, Paul. She’s not into ‘nasty’ habits,” he sneers the word and they break off, each coming at me from a different angle.

“Listen, boys, I’m flattered. Really. But I’ve had a trying night. I’m tired, and I really don’t want to be washing blood outof my hair tonight.” I push myself off the wall and move to the middle of the alley, keeping them in front of me. My fingers twitch toward the knife I have holstered on my right thigh. It’s true, I don’t want to wash the blood out of my hair, but maybe this is the universe saying ‘good job for not killing the fancy men. Here’s some lowlife, depraved idiots for you to sink your teeth into’.

They move fast once they get closer. I catch the gleam of a blade in Paul’s hand and as I turn to disarm him, a set of arms wraps around me from behind, pinning my arms to my sides. I hadn’t even seen the other man. Fuck I must be losing my touch. I spit at the two closing in before me but don’t fight against the muscles restraining me. Are these the asshats from the bar? Surely not. They aren’t wearing suits and they don’t appear to be the same build. I’m just unlucky enough to have two different trios of bastards to deal with tonight.

“Come on, boys, you really don’t want to do this tonight,” I say calmly and watch them stalk forward. They’re so close I can smell the cheap liquor on their breath. That definitely did not come from my bar.

“This is the only thing we’re going to do tonight, sweetheart,” the man holding me whispers in my ear. “All night long. We’re going to use you until your pretty little soul is shriveled and begging for death, and then we’re going to leave you to pick up all the broken pieces.”

My nostrils flare. “It sounds like you’re speaking from experience here.” I pause to crane my neck to look at him. “Are you Larry, Curly, or Moe?” I choke on the last word as he squeezes my body tightly.

“Just shut up. I don’t want to gag you. I want to hear you beg as we take turns breaking you.” Paul flips theknife between his fingers and grins wickedly. I get this odd sensation of deja vu because I feel like I just did this, and I’m getting really tired of these men with their unoriginal thought processes.

“I do love a good beg,” I admit with an attempt at a sheepish smile. Based on the flicker of confusion in their eyes, I can only assume that my smile is more sadistic than innocent. Oh well, I made an effort. I lash out with my left foot, kicking up into Paul’s groin. He doubles over with a groan and drops the knife. Ten points for the steel-toed boots.

Before Dare can register that his friend is down for the count, I grab the set of arms around my abdomen and use them to haul myself up and plant the soles of both boots directly into Dare’s chest. He stumbles and the arms holding me loosen. I twist and drive my elbow into his groin and as he’s leaning forward, I spin and drive my knee directly into his nose. I hear the crunch of cartilage and the grin on my face widens.

The three men are writhing in the muck as I bend to retrieve their knife. It’s a puny thing, all things considered. “Now. I politely told you to back the fuck off. I’ve had a trying day, and my patience is wearing thin. And then you go and admit to the most depraved of sins. Well…” I bend down and grab Paul by the hair, pulling his face up to mine. “Better start your sacrament of confession.”

Dare’s movement catches my eye and I turn my face to him. He’s standing with two switchblades, one glinting in each hand. “You crazy bitch,” he spits at me and I grin. Fuck the paperwork. I’ll apologize to my therapist later. Right now? I’m going to blow off some steam and get rid of the molten aggression that’s threatening to boil my blood.

“Now. Now,” I sigh and straighten my spine, turning my body to face him with one foot planted slightly in front of the other. “Name calling is a sign of low emotional intelligence, Dare.” I move quickly, fingers sliding to the edge of the hilt and pulling back only to let my wrist snap forward in one fluid motion. The blade lands with a wet thump, buried to the hilt in Dare’s throat. He drops with a muffled gurgle, blood bubbling from his lips and staining his dingy white shirt crimson.

“Holy shit,” the muscled man pants behind me, and I turn to see him trying to push himself to his feet, ready to make a run for it. “You’re fucking insane.”

“Certifiable,” I agree with a slight tilt of my head. “My therapist says I need a better outlet, but…” I walk over, pluck the knife free from Dare, and then head towards muscles. “I have a thing for blood.”

He frantically crawls backward using the heels of his hands and kicks his feet out to trip me. His mouth falls open to beg or maybe scream, but he never gets the chance. I drive the blade under his chin, silencing him. His body falls slack, and I brush the back of my hand across my forehead, trying to move my hair out of my eyes. I only succeed in smearing my face with warm blood.

Faint footsteps echo through the alley, but before I can turn to evaluate that situation Paul is on his feet trying to make a run for it. Over my dead body are these rapists going anywhere other than in a body bag tonight. I pull my knife out of the holster hidden on my thigh and chuck it in his direction, purposefully not aiming for anything too vital. The blade connects with the back of his left calf, and he goes down again, crying desperately.

“I’ll do it for you, Paul, since you seem a little distracted.” My fingers twist in his hair again, pulling his face skyward. “How does it go? I’m not catholic. It’s… Oh right. Forgive him Father, for he has sinned.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head, lips trembling and tears streaming down his face. “I wonder if this is how they all looked before you finished with them?” I ask him quietly, a hint of venom in my voice. He might have been a monster on the prowl tonight, but I’m the monster finishing the hunt.

“Give the devil my regards,” I whisper, my lips ghosting along his ear as I draw the blade slowly across his exposed throat, opening him from ear to ear. He lets out a desperate cry that ends with a gargle and thrashes for a moment before going still in a growing puddle of his own blood.

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