Page 55 of Penance

“Then when you’d finished slurring venom at me you pulled me into your chest, cupping the back of my head and stroking my hair. Half pulling me on top of you in my single bed. You kissed my forehead. And I just remember feeling so,sofucking happy that you were there with me. Giving me your attention, despite the nasty shit you said. When you started snoring, I cried. I cried so damn hard that my body shook, and in your sleep, you shushed me. Soothed me with your presence, kept me close, held me tight so that all my broken pieces stayed in place just a little while longer. And then you mumbled that you loved me. You kissed my hair, telling me that you loved me. And you were drunk, of course you didn’t remember, but I did. I remembered you telling me that as I woke up the next morning without you again. Wondering if my imagination had conjured you up for comfort, summoning the devil in my hour of need.”

I swallow thickly, flicking my cigarette into the darkness. The glowing tip quickly dying out in the wind, reminding me of the fire in me as a teenager. How it too, was snuffed out just as easily.

“You were just gone again, and I was alone, and the thing is, Max. You continuously told me throughout our entire lives that you’d never leave me, time and time again and so now, how could I trust you enough not to leave? Not to make me feel things for you again, try to make this work, see where it goes. How can we be happy in this life if I’m always waiting for you to up and leave. For you to just pack up a bag one day and walk out. I can’t do it. I won’t. You’re not stable, Maddox. You can’t be whatweneed you to be. Because it’s not just me you need to be there for, this is our family. Huxley, Kacey and I, we need stability, and we have that together, but I’m unsure about you. I don’t know you anymore. You play dirty and you hit harder and harder and harder and you’re not Maxi and I’m not Lala and the world is a mess. A giant fuckin’ mess where you and I are concerned. And I just don’t think I can do it again.” I say, thumping my fist against my belly.

“Kyla-Rose, I won’t leave you,” he rasps, his usually smooth voice unsteady. “I’m never going to-”

A sharp whipping sound whistles past my ear, brick behind my head exploding as a bullet lodges in the wall. I drop down, Max ducking down with me, instantly drawing his gun.

“Fuck! Lala!”

“Shush!” I hiss.

My heart hammering in my chest, blood roaring in my ears. I strain hard to listen as my breath comes out in short, sharp pants.Fuck,if my assailant wasn’t such a shit shot I’d be dead right now, that bullet wasn’t even an inch from my face. My body heaving with breaths, Max tucks himself into me. Using the bin for cover, his crystal blue eyes wide as I stare back at him. A smile plucks at me, adrenaline roaring through my veins as I hear a single footstep.

I reach into my pocket, pulling free my little switchblade, leaving my gun in my waistband, because we absolutely donotneed a shootout in central London, this ain’t the wild west. Flicking it open, thumbing the edge of the blade, I hold my breath. Max stills, grip on his gun tightening like it’s an extension of his arm, my focus enthralled by his fingers curling around the grip as I listen. My head tilting to one side, we stay crouched.

The shuffle of a foot, a mere few feet away. I gesture to Max, placing the blade between my teeth, using my good hand to lean on Max’s knee for support. I start to silently pivot in place, working my feet in small circles. Turning my back on Max, I press the palm of my hand against the plastic bin. Steadying my feet and taking in a slow deep breath. We can’t start a fucking shoot out in the middle of an alley, the attacker might have a silencer, but Max and I certainly don’t and I’m not having the police getting involved. We’ll deal with our own shit in the most English way we can.

A good old fashioned fist fight.

Guns are for emergencies.

I slap my hand against the bin, the sound echoing down the dark alleyway triggering another shot to whistle over our heads. I spring up, Max effortlessly boosting me up by my foot. Flinging me up into the air so I crash down feet first onto the half open bin lid. My booted feet pounding down onto it as Max darts out from behind it, distracting the lone shooter long enough for me to run at him. Throwing myself into him, I body slam him into the floor. The gun goes off, my ears ringing now that I’m in such close proximity, a silencer is nowhere near silencing, just lowers the usual boom of a gun.

I arc my knife down into my attacker’s bicep, his head ricocheting off the concrete with the impact of my weight slamming into him. No more than a grunt released from his lips as Max kicks the gun from his hand, stepping onto the back of it, grinding it into the ground. Bending low he scoops up the gun. I stare down into the masked man’s face, unfamiliar brown eyes glare back at me, not an ounce of fear in them. Nothing but pure unfiltered rage staring back. That’s something I can understand, relate to.

Rage.

Such a beautiful fucking thing.

Excitement rides me hard, my body thrumming with exhilaration. I’ve fucking missed this the last few weeks. This used to be my weekly routine, every chance I got to get my hands dirty I’d be out with Charl, fucking shit up and leaving chaos in our wake.

I grin down at him as I carve my knife through his left arm, buried three inches deep in muscle I dig the blade through him. He hardly even winces, not bothering to try and get out from beneath me. My knees either side of his ribs, my weight seated on his stomach. Best position to be in should he roll, then I can get my feet under me and thrust up. I glance up at Max, jerking my chin at the guy’s head. Max reaches forward, keeping the guy’s own gun aimed on him as he crouches, gripping the black balaclava in his fist, ripping it free.

“Hello,” I smile, getting a good look at his crooked nose and gaunt cheeks. “My name’s Kyla-Rose, what’s yours?” I ask like a kid in a playground, tilting my head.

“Fuckyou,” he spits through his gappy teeth, his scarred lip curling in disgust.

I laugh, “that’s an unusual name, but I suppose with a face like yours, your mummy didn’t like you very much.” I shrug, squeezing my thighs hard, my bony knees grinding into his ribs. “So,Fuck You, why’re you here?” I ask sweetly, my lashes batting dramatically, earning a scoff from Max.

The man stays silent, my blade still protruding from his arm, his brown eyes narrowing as he glances at Max.

“Hey!” I snap.

Moving my foot to his sliced bicep, my finger and thumb digging into his cheeks as I grab his face. I squeeze hard, feeling his teeth carve against the inside of his mouth.

“Look. At.Me.” I demand, dragging his head up off the concrete before cracking it back down into the ground.

This time he groans, and I smile victoriously at the resounding smack.

“Now, let’s try this again.Whyare you here?”

The man’s eyes roll into the back of his head, his eyelashes fluttering as he tries to stay conscious. I suppose his head must be spinning, I sigh heavily, such a shame when there’s not much of a fight.

“Well, that was anticlimactic,” I huff in disappointment, blowing a strand of hair from my face.

A suctioning squelch as I pluck my knife free from his flesh. I pocket it just as a stampede of heavy feet pound towards us.

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