Page 93 of The Wicked
Ignoring his remark, I asked, “Did you shoot anyone outside? The gunshots—”
“They shot themselves while I used them as human shields. Broke a few faces with the baseball bat. The usual.”
I frowned when he bent, fishing in his pocket for a handkerchief; he covered his hand with it as he searched Buzzcut’s body until he recovered a wallet and pulled out an ID card, examiningit before slipping it into his pocket and throwing the wallet back on Buzzcut’s corpse.
“Let’s go,” Elio said, brushing past me.
My stomach ached as I followed behind him. “You didn’t take that ID card because you want to—” I stopped short when somebody came rushing through the entrance. The boy was in the same uniform as the other guys, but he had a striking resemblance to Buzzcut, mainly because his hair was also a buzzcut. He didn’t look like he was more than nineteen.
His frantic eyes swept past Elio and me to Buzzcut’s body, and he screamed, “Papà!”
Elio’s gaze swept between Buzzcut and the boy.
No…
“Elio, don’t—”
The shot rang through before I could even complete that statement; the boy’s body dropped to the ground with a crumpling thud, blood running from the wound on his head.
I stood in shock, my body completely frozen, as Elio slipped the gun back into his pants. “Come on.”
I couldn’t move. I couldn’t bring myself to. I felt sick to my stomach.
What the fuck.
What the fucking fuck.
A groan left Elio, and I caught his figure approaching from the corner of my eye. “I don’t have time for this,” he said, grabbing my good arm and pulling me with him.
My head was cloudy, the sound of the gunshot still ringing in my ears, even as Elio reached a black car and opened the door, pushing me inside the passenger’s seat, and rounded the car to the driver’s side; I stared into nothing.
The car started moving, and as we drew further and further away, my breathing became sharper.
Once on the familiar highway, I felt unable to breathe properly. My hands were shaking, and thinking was beginning to feeldifficult… The torture, the lack of food, the shocks from the metal clamps, and then this… what I’d just witnessed.
This man had just—he had just… he was—I can’t—I can’t—
“Stop the car.”
“What?”
“Stop the car, now.”
“I do—”
I picked up the gun he’d dropped on the console and pointed it at the side of his head. “Stop the fucking car, or I’ll blow your fucking brains out.”
He glanced at me, annoyance glazing in his eyes as he navigated the car to the side of the road.
The moment he stopped, I was dropping the gun, ignoring my exhaustion and my worn limbs, staggering out and away from the car, taking a lungful of breath, my fingers raking through my hair in frustration.
“Fuck, fuck,” I chanted, trying to calm myself.
The sound of the car door opening and closing had me looking up at Elio, who came to stand outside, leaning on the side of the car hood in my direction as he watched me before fishing in his pocket for a cigarette and a lighter.
He lit it and put everything back in place while he smoked and watched me. There was no remorse in his form, almost like he hadn’t just shot a teenager.
“You didn’t have to kill him,” I said, my voice heavy with anger.
