“Joseph, get into bed,” I say calmly.
He frowns and then sits down on the mattress. I move quickly before he passes out, manoeuvring him to get back into bed.
“Katia, stay with me,” he says. Great. He thinks I’m his dead wife.
“I can’t,” I say. “I have things to do. Now go to sleep.”
He closes his eyes, and I know within minutes he’ll do just as I ask. Devil’s Breath, or Scopolamine as its medically called, makes anyone into a compliant fucking zombie. I know because…
It’s what my father used repeatedly on me.
Outside, where the air is frigid, and I can breathe again. I walk hurriedly to my car. When Jospeh threw me, I stabbed myself with the fucking needle and twisted my ankle. The pain is starting to ramp up now. Luckily, I have some hardcore painkillers in the trunk of my car.
I find them and hobble around to the driver seat, easing myself behind the wheel. Only when the doors are locked do I rip open the box and swallow a few. Then I pull off my gloves and assess the damage. It’s not the hand that had the Devil’s Breath in. Thank fuck for that. The only damage is a sore palm which is slightly bleeding. I reach into the glove box for some band-aids, slap one on, and then wait while the drugs kick in.
Hired guns have to always be prepared. Getting blood everywhere, or accidentally poisoning yourself is not fucking advised.
My drive home is a little shaky, but I manage it. I get almost all the way home when my phone buzzes and the notification flashes up as I’m waiting at the lights. I glance at it.
It’s another message from Dante. It’s 3.a.m. in the morning. That can’t be a coincidence. I pull over.
I like watching you work. 10/10
Hope you don’t mind. I added the finishing touch.
A photo image shows up a few seconds later.
It’s Joseph, stretched out in the bed. Naked. Not the way I left him at all. I zoom in. Fucking hell. He’s been stabbed in the fucking eye with a blade. I zoom in closer, recognising the handle instantly.
Fucking hell.The knife is mine.
“Fucking bastard!” I expel all the rage I’m feeling by flinging the phone at the dash and slamming my fist into the steering wheel. Again and again. By the time I’m finished, I’m breathing hard and there’s blood on my pissing knuckles.
My phone rings. I snatch it up.
“Fuck! What the fuck Dante! I’m going to kill you!” I scream down the phone.
“Now, don’t overreact. You know it’s better this way.”
“You’ve fucked everything,” I snarl.
“I’m proving a point,” he says calmly.
“And what’s that?” I pant. I can hardly draw in a breath fast enough.
“That nothing lasts. Dreams end. People fucking die. Now since the scarred, emotional redhead with pretty eyes may be detained in future, who shall I choose next? Blond fight club who can’t keep it in his pants or the dark, brooding one who cries in his sleep?”
“Don’t you fucking dare touch them.”
“You can’t run forever.”
He hangs up.
I’m almost backat the estate when the blue and red lights alert me to slow the fuck down and turn back. I’ve no idea what I was going to do when I got here. Get my knife? Kill Dante? The presence of the police has woken me up.
I need to go home.
I’m in Jude’s Aston Martin. Not the best fucking car to be driving right now. I would have taken the Audi but after finding trackers in my Beetle, I didn’t trust the boys not to be keeping tabs on me.