Page 98 of Fangs
“The gods,” Vulture scoffed, a genuinely insane smile crossing his face that made my lungs stop working. “You think?—”
That was as far as he got before a shot rang out right next to my ear, making it ring painfully. For a terrible moment, I thought Juck had shot me, but before I could process it, I was on my hands and knees in the sand as Juck shoved me down. He crossed the tent to kick Vulture’s gun out of his hand. Vulture was lying on his back, his hand pressing against the wound in his shoulder where blood was quickly gushing out. Juck stood over him, gun pointed at his head, and I braced for the shot that would end Vulture’s life, but then Juck just started laughing.
“Nah, I’m not gonna give you an easy death,” he said in a cruel voice. “You’re gonna lay there and watch me take Bones away as you bleed out in the sand like the trash you are.”
I slid the knife out of the holster and buried it in the sand beside me, my hand still tightly gripping the handle. Vulture said something I couldn’t make out, but Juck laughed again, holstering his gun and striding toward me. He bent and grabbed my arm, beginning to haul me to my feet, but I surged up, pulling the knife from the sand and stabbing it into his chest as hard as I could. I aimed for his heart, and the feel of the blade going through his body made me want to be sick. He stumbled backward, and I yanked the knife out and stabbed it in again. Blood started gushing out over my hand.
“Angel,” he choked out as he fell backward onto his bed, pulling me with him.
He seemed shocked, like he thought I’d never actually fight back, like he’d broken me completely, and a white-hot rage washed over me. I pulled the knife out and stabbed it in again and again and again. His eyes were wide, and he tried to speak, but he was choking, drowning in the blood that was pouring into his lungs. There was blood everywhere, coating my hands, splattered across my face, and covering the bed sheets. When my hands slipped off the bloody handle, I looked up at his face and realized he was dead.
My ears started ringing as I numbly pulled the knife out, but I still heard the horrible squelching sound. I clambered off of Juck’s dead body and looked at Vulture. He was staring at me from where he was lying in the sand, clutching his shoulder.
“Angel—” Vulture wheezed.
I dropped the bloody knife, and it fell into the sand with a soft thud.
Angel.
My hands were shaking violently. Vulture had never called me that before, and it was abruptly crystal clear that I hadn’t changed a damn thing. I’d just killed a man, and it hadn’t changed anything—I hadn’t escaped. Juck was dead, and now I was Vulture’s Angel.
“Angel, you did it.” Vulture was grinning despite the bullet wound in his shoulder. “You killed the bastard.”
I backed away, my breath coming in fast, panicked gasps.
“Angel?” Vulture was pulling himself up, his face twisted in pain. “It’s okay, baby, you did it. He?—”
I backed further away toward the tent door, and I saw the moment he realized I was going to leave him there. I wasn’t expecting the hurt on his face to look so raw and real, but it quickly hardened into hatred.
I turned and ran, fleeing into the dim evening light. I heard Vulture yelling in fury, but it was swallowed by the screams and cries of the injured and dying that littered the ground. My feet slowed, and I stared at the bloody scene, horrified. The Reapers had torn each other apart. The sand was stained red, and the smell of blood was thick. A man put a gun to the head of his wounded partner and pulled the trigger without hesitation. They were lovers, and he just… killed him. He met my eyes for a second, and the emptiness in his face scared me worse than anything I’d seen so far. He took a step toward me, but then another gunshot rang out, and his body jerked, blood spraying, and he fell to the side. They were killing each other. Why were they killing each other?
Someone screamed, and it jerked me out of the daze I was in. I took off, my feet flying across the sand. I was panting and sobbing through my teeth, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. I just ran, leaving the bloody carnage behind me.
16
Iopened my eyes and immediately bolted to the door, barely making it off the small steps before I was sick. The smells, sounds, and sensations of that day would haunt me forever. I heard the door open behind me, Mac’s footsteps slowly approaching.
“You didn’t have to show me,”he said, irritation coloring his voice.
“I dunno.”I took a deep, shaky breath. “I think it’s easier than saying it out loud.”
“Sure, but we could have taken a break or something.”He hovered at my shoulder.
“I’m sorry,”I thought miserably.
“Are you seriously apologizing for being sick?”I knew he was glaring at me without even looking.
“I should have told you sooner. I should’ve told you right away. I’m so sorry.”I was afraid to look at him, terrified to see what was on his face. If he hated me now, I wasn’t sure I could bear it.
“Em,” he sounded exasperated as he took my arm, but his hands were gentle, “look at me.”
I reluctantly lifted my eyes to his face. He was staring solemnly at me, golden sparks almost glowing in his eyes.
“I don’t hate you,” he said steadily. “Do I wish you would’ve told me sooner? Yeah. But I don’t hate you. I’m just tryin’ to… process all this, I guess.”
“I tried to draw him away. That’s why I left. He saw the Vault. When you drugged me. He said he was coming,” the words spilled out of me. Was I even making sense?
He held my gaze for what felt like a long time, and I didn’t know how to read his expression. Something was lurking in his eyes that made me uneasy, but I couldn’t tell what it was.
