“You really want to call me a cocksucker when that’s what you’ve been doing the past four years just to get by?” I retort, arching a brow as I approach him.
We’re in a dank alleyway, with trash littered on either side, spilling over from the dumpsters. Or maybe there’s a family of raccoons in there tossing out the undesirable rot. Makes me wonder if they’d keep Rick’s body after he’s dead.
The pavement is wet and cold, and a whirring, orange bulb hangs at the mouth of the alleyway, offering enough light to bless me with a pock-marked face and greasy hair tucked under a beanie.
“Fuck you,” he spits, his trembling hands holding his bloody knee. Or what’s left of it. He’s rocking back and forth, moaning through the agony as he glowers up at me with hatred.
Even Addie has more oomph in her glares than that, and she’s never truly hated me. Not like Rickety Dick here is about to.
I crouch down and sweep my gaze across his form, dissecting him like bones out of fossilized shit. The summer camp counselors made us do that one year, and all I could feel was utter disgust. Feels about the same as I stare down at the sad excuse of a man.
At the time, I couldn’t fathom what the fuck the point of that exercise was. Now, I suppose it was useful because Rick here is no different. A pile of shit with bones lodged somewhere inside, and unlike the first time, I’ll enjoy pulling each one out of him.
One by one.
“That’s not the part you should be ashamed of. It’s whose cocks you’re sucking. Xavier Delano ring a bell?”
He snarls, looking away and refusing to answer.
Max gave him three million dollars for kidnapping Addie. More than half of it is already gone.
Aside from his drug addiction, Rick also has a gambling problem. Horses, specifically. And he’s really fucking bad at it, too. Any money he makes, he sinks into the wrong horse’s ass and comes out with shit in the end. To make up for his habit, he’s tended to some wealthy men over the years. Xavier being one of them.
“Do you know who I am?”
He sputters out what’s supposed to be a laugh but sounds like a wet cough.
“Am I supposed to?” he snips.
“Aimin’ for the heart today, my guy,” I respond, grinning.
He snarls. “Let me guess—Z. No wonder you hide your face; you’re fucking ugly.”
“Don’t make me cry, Rick. I’m having too much fun,” I deadpan.
“This is about that stupid fucking diamond, isn’t it? Did ya kill Max already, because I hope to see him in Hell so I can kick his ass for getting me involved in that shit.” He laughs again, similar to a hyena. “That fucking bi—"
A rush of fury hits me in the chest, and I snap out my hand and grab him by the jowls, squeezing until he squeals like the fucking pig he is.
“Finish that sentence, and I’ll rip out your tongue with my bare hands and make you choke on it. And I wouldn’t call my girl stupid when you’re the one lying on trash with a bullet in your knee,” I bite out.
He seethes but locks away all the insults he had ready to spew. I’d say he was getting smarter if he wasn’t trying to slyly sneak his hand toward the knife in his back pocket. The handle is sticking completely out. Some think that my left eye is blind because of the discoloration and the scar slashing through it, but even if I was, a grandma with bifocals could see what he’s up to.
Patiently, I wait for him to think he has a chance. He wraps his fingers around the handle and then rips it out of his pocket and slashes it towards my face. I catch his wrist and snap it before he can blink, the knife dropping from his grip.
He screams, eyes widening with shock as he stares at his limp, useless hand. I squeeze his face tighter, his fighting renewed.
“Really, dude? A fucking kitchen knife?” I ask, picking up the pathetic weapon. It’s what Addie used to carry around when she was attempting to hate me, and I laughed every time I saw it clutched in her tiny fist.
Addie has the power to cut me. This bozo doesn’t stand a fucking chance.
He groans and thrashes in my grip, shaking his head roughly in an effort to dislodge my hand from his face.
“Let me fucking go!”
“Well, shit, since you asked so nicely, I guess I will,” I say, releasing him. His eyes widen once more in surprise, and then he’s scrambling up. Or at least trying to. He instantly drops back down, but he’s not deterred. Desperation is more potent than a bullet wound to the knee.
If the government could bottle that particular emotion, they could create an army of superhumans. It’s the driving force that creates extraordinary abilities.