by Kenya Wright
“No. I don’t want to be hugged.” I waved him away. “Xavier’s wife came home an hour later. She never forgave him for dumping the body in the incinerator and starting the fire.”
Sighing, I gestured outside to the alley across from us. “A month later, Xavier moved into an abandoned school bus and put a sign outside the door.”
“What did it say?” Kazimir asked.
“The sign said, ‘I give up.’” My eyes burned, but I wouldn’t cry. “Now, will you stop asking questions and just fuck me?”
“Is that how you deal with pain?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t like to see you in pain.” He closed the distance between us. “I’m sorry about what happened to you.”
“I’m sure things have happened to you too.”
“You’re right, but I’ll show you my wounds another day.” He kissed me.
And then a boom came from the living room.
Chapter 17
Kazimir
I put Emily behind me and grabbed one of my guns from its holster. “That’s not Luka. We would’ve never heard him come in. Do you have a gun?”
“Yes, but I don’t use it.” Emily pointed to her night stand, rushed over, pulled it out, and showed it to me.
It was a .38 special. The revolver caliber was a great middle of the road round. Good for self-defense, but packed less punch than its larger cousin, the .357 Magnum.
I checked for bullets and was satisfied. “Stay here and keep this close to you.”
She didn’t argue.
More booms sounded from the living room. Whoever had come into her place didn’t think anyone else was inside. They sounded like they were ransacking the house.
I slowly turned the knob and creaked the door open.
Two men rummaged through Emily’s living room. Dreadlocks topped their heads. Another man was in the kitchen yanking out drawers.
Emily peeked with me and then hissed as she whispered, “They’re looking for my money. My brother must’ve told them about it.”
“Well. . .they’ll wish he hadn’t.” I opened the door before she could say anything else.
None of the three looked up.
I went for the easiest guy first. The one in the kitchen. With one bullet, I shot him right in the forehead, no need to show off or waste more bullets than necessary.
I ducked behind the breakfast bar, knowing at least one of them would shoot at me.
The motherfucker must’ve had an AK-47. Bullets sprayed my way. It was a weapon for an unskilled person who couldn’t get their target. Something to kill fast without any real ability. When he rested, probably thinking I was done, I shot him in his forehead. Simple and easy. No need for all the noise.
He dropped to the floor.
His friend screamed, “You blood clot motherfuck—”
A boom came from his side, and then a slam as if his body crashed to the floor. I waited. Everything had gone silent.
I jumped out, aiming my gun at a new man who held a shotgun in the center of the living room.
Who’s he?
This man was brown skinned but didn’t have dreadlocks, and it looked like he’d just killed the guy.
My finger touched the trigger but didn’t pull back. “Who are you?”
“Maxwell. You’re the Russian that was with Em earlier.” His hand shook a little as he pointed the gun my way. “Where is she?”
“In the bedroom.”
He sneered. “Alive?”
“Yes.”
We kept our guns pointed at each other.
“Those were Shower Posses guys,” Maxwell said.
“Yes.”
“I don’t know why they were here.”
I nodded. “Emily had some theories.”
Frowning, Maxwell tapped his finger on the gun’s trigger. His hand no longer shook. “Are we supposed to kill each other or something?”
“From what Emily says, you’re her friend. Extremely loyal.”
“I am.” He kept his gun steady. “I’m even more loyal, when a gun isn’t pointed at me.”
“Then, put your gun down.”
He did, and I followed.
Emily rushed out of the room. “Max, are you okay?”
“Why the fuck didn’t you answer your phone?” he asked.
She went up to him and just as I thought she would hug him, she kept a foot between them and hugged herself. Concern covered her face. “My phone went out in the tunnels and then I was going to charge it at the gallery, but. . .Kennedy . . .”
“What about Kennedy?” He squinted his eyes and set the gun down.
“She’s dead, Maxwell.”
He hit the wall behind him. “Who did it?”
“I don’t know. I think it was Kaz’s stepbrother.”
Maxwell turned my way. “Kaz?”
She cleared her throat. “Kazimir.”
“You two are best buddies now?” Maxwell gestured to me. “What’s going on, Em?”
“You should tell me.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Why did you put smiley faces on Rumi’s dead body?”
All anger fell from his face. “I-I. . .”
“You’re about to stutter yourself into a lie.” She stepped closer to him. “Don’t. Just tell me what you know. Everything is going to be fine.”
“Now’s not the time for that conversation, but I’ll tell you later.”
“Now’s definitely the time,” she insisted.
“Yo.” He covered his face with his hand and then moved them away. “There’s a lot we need to talk about. We just need to do so. . . privately. Not here.”
I stalked forward. “No. We don’t keep secrets among friends.”
“You’re not my friend.” Maxwell got between him and Emily like that would be enough to stop me. “Emily and I need to talk at my place.”
I shook my head. “No.”
Emily walked around Maxwell. “I’m sorry, Max, but Kazimir is right.”
“He’s right?” Maxwell frowned. “What the fuck happened to you in the tunnels?”
Not letting her answer, I smiled. “We bonded. Now, tell me who killed Rumi?”
“That’s not an answer we need to get into right now,” Max countered.
“This is bullshit.” Emily pointed at him. “If we all put together what we know, then this will be over. Just fucking say it. Who. Killed. Rumi?!”
Maxwell leaned against the wall and glared at her. “You did, Em. You killed him.”
“What?” She swayed to the side.
“You did.” Max stepped closer to her. “I swear to God you did. You just don’t remember.”
“No. No.” She kept blinking her eyes. “That’s. . .no.”
“I swear it.” Maxwell raised his hands in defeat. “You killed him.”
“I didn’t.” Her hands shook at her sides.
“You don’t remember.” Maxwell stalked after her. “You did it.”
And then Emily passed out.
I reached for her, but Maxwell grabbed her first, right before she could hit the floor.
“She’ll be okay.” He studied her. “She does this all the time.”
“Why did she pass out?” I asked.
Maxwell lifted Emily in his arms and carried her past me. “That’s how she copes. Her brain just shuts off and reboots, when things get too hard.”
That didn’t make sense to me. “She didn’t pass out in the tunnels or when she saw her friend’s dead body.”
“She’s not scared in the tunnels and she’s not afraid of dead bodies either.” Maxwell carried her toward her bedroom like he’d done this, many times before. “She was probably anxious and freaked out, but that’s not what this is.”
“And this is?” I followed him into her bedroom.
“Her not being able to deal with a part of who she is. When the truth is in her face, she passes out.”
“And the truth is?” I asked.
“She’s a killer.”
“And she doesn’t
know?” I asked.
Maxwell glanced over his shoulder at me. “Not as much as she should.”
I remembered in the story that she said she’d passed out when she’d killed Maxwell’s father. “How many times does this happen?”
“Too many fucking times.” Maxwell gently placed her on the bed and sat on the edge, staring at her.
I watched him, not enjoying how he studied her, almost drinking in every feature. His fingers twitched at his sides like he yearned to touch her.
He could be a problem.
“Do you love Emily?” I asked.
“It doesn’t matter.” Maxwell rose from the bed. “She would never love me.”
“Because of your father?”
Annoyance flickered across his face. “She told you about that?”
“Yes.”
“All of it?”
“I know about her first kill and the fire in the basement.”
“Her first kill.” He snorted without any humor. “I guess you were right.”
“About what?”
“You two did bond.” Maxwell glared at me. “And have you had sex with her?”
I didn’t usually answer a question like that, but I felt bad for this guy. He’d grown out of tragedy and it didn’t seem like things would be getting better for him. If he got in my way, when it came to Emily, I would kill him.
And what do I want to do with Emily?
I hadn’t decided, but I knew the time was coming up for me to leave New York. I’d learned enough and was close to why I’d come—finding out who killed Rumi. I’d just learned that Emily might’ve done it. I didn’t know Maxwell. It could all be a lie, but still I had to hear him out.
But what will I do with her?
When I connected the dots to why Sasha chose Emily to be my washer, then I would leave New York. There was no need to fight him in this city. He figured I was dead, and if I survived, he’d have the little Jamaican gang to come after me.
Sasha was such a small thinker, not understanding that I had more resources than him—presidents on speed dial. Had I not cared about America, I could’ve sent a fucking nuke to that brothel in the sky and leveled the Manhattan island and much more.
New York can thank Emily for saving it.
Maxwell waited for the answer and so I nodded.
“Yes, we’ve had sex,” I admitted.
Maxwell moved his finger on his side as if he wished he had a gun. “Are you going to kill her?”
I raised my eyebrows. “Why would I?”
“She killed Rumi.”
That wouldn’t be enough for me to hurt her, not with all that we’ve gone through.
“According to you, she did it.” I shrugged. “But why did Emily kill Rumi?”
“It’s hard to explain.” Maxwell walked out of the bedroom. “If you see the footage, you’ll understand.”
“You’re the one that took the security cam footage?”
“Yes.”
You’re the one that I should kill. I’m finding no reason to keep you alive.
I followed Maxwell, not wanting to leave Emily on the bed.
A door creaked.
We both stopped and turned.
Luka walked in with huge bags of Chinese food from the basement entrance. He froze when he saw us.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “He’s a friend.”
Luka scowled at Maxwell, and then his gaze took in the dead men around him. “This day will never end. I’m ready to leave New York.”
“Me too,” I said. “I am going next door to see the footage of Rumi’s murder.”
Luka’s jaw clenched.
“I’ll be fine.” I patted my friend’s back. “Watch Emily. But make sure you eat, clear the bodies, and make sure there’s food leftover for Emily.”
The big man nodded.
Maxwell muttered under his breath as he walked off to the front door, “And make sure Emily doesn’t wake up and kill you.”
I grinned, when he opened the door for me.
“You think that’s funny?” Maxwell watched as I walked through the doorway.
“It’s definitely an appealing character flaw for a woman. At least for a man like me.”
Maxwell led me out to the hallway. “I would rather have a chick with big tits versus her being a serial killer.”
I scrunched my face in confusion. “Serial killer?”
“Emily.” Chuckling, Maxwell walked over to his door, stopped, and unlocked it with a key. “Oh. . .you haven’t been paying attention, have you?”
Chapter 18
Maxwell
Why did Emily tell him? I don’t get it.
Emily never talked about shit like that. I couldn’t figure out why she would decide to confess it to the Russian of all people.
But, that’s not the only bad news. There’s more.
The Russian had sex with Emily.
I didn’t know if that would be a good or bad thing. Usually when guys slept with Emily, they wanted to do it again. So much that they stalked and tried to find ways to possess her. Sneaking into her place while she was sleeping. Creepy shit. Forcing her to work for them in some way that made her feel like she was in a bird cage.
Sometimes she killed them.
Other times, I killed them without her knowing. How could I not? Since breaking me out of that boys’ home years ago, Emily had taken care of me. I’ve never gone hungry or homeless with her. She always provided and made sure I was good to go.
What will this one do? What will we have to do?
I’d never had the pleasure of making love to Emily. I couldn’t help biology. I was the mirror image of my father. Thank God he’d been a good-looking man. Sadly, he was also a pedophile. He never touched me, but I’d later learned the truth from Emily and Kennedy.
Who knew if he’d bothered Xavier’s daughters too? He always loved to play hide and seek with us, always finding the girls first. He never caught Darryl and me. Emily usually outsmarted him many times, hiding better than us all.
And then one day he found her, and she didn’t want to play with him anymore.
But our families pushed it on her again and again, anytime there was a cookout or Sunday card game. And something twisted in her head. And the day she killed my father, she was never the same. Our lives changed. Her and Darryl’s father died in the fire. Xavier’s girls burned alive.
Emily went real dark after that, always playing with knives and screaming in the middle of the night. Xavier had us for three weeks.
We must’ve been the shittiest kids to have while he mourned. I fought kids all the time in school. Darryl stole anything around him, whether he wanted it or not. Emily just played with knives and hid in tunnels, making us all feel like scaredy cats. Xavier had to come up to our school every other day due to one of us getting in trouble.
Social services took us from Xavier. They didn’t believe he could take care of us, especially after the sketchy way his daughters had died in the basement fire.
They kept Darryl and Emily together because they were siblings and then threw me in a boys’ home. I grew suicidal, always having to be watched by a counselor. Emily damn sure didn’t get better. It was just her luck that the foster home she landed in had adults with touchy fingers.
By the second foster home, she’d run away with Darryl. They found me in a boys’ home and freed me.
And we never were caged again, running through the concrete jungles of New York, roaring and climbing. Hiding in sewers. Sleeping in libraries. Stealing our food from fruit and vegetable stands. Pickpocketing tourists in Times Square. Smoking thrown out cigarette butts. Living in the wild within skyscraper forests and brick valleys.
Does this guy understand that she won’t be trapped, not by anyone? And that where she went, I did too, never leaving her side, never letting anyone get too close to her?
The door shut behind us.
The Russian turned to me.
Why does Emily always fuck the big, scary guys? It�
��s going to be a bitch killing this one.
“How much do you want to know?” I asked.
She’s already told him secrets. Maybe, I could scare him away with the rest.
The accent was so deep, I almost didn’t understand him as he said, “Tell me everything.”
I snorted. “We’ll have to go in here. My dad’s old bedroom. It’s the only place where I can guarantee Emily wouldn’t go snooping in. Not that she would snoop.”
I opened the bedroom door and turned on the light. Eight photos of men decorated the back wall. News clipping were thumbtacked under the images. A map covered the other wall with multicolored thumbtacks for spots in Harlem.
Leaning against the wall, I let the Russian drink it all in.
Smart as he was, he said nothing, walking slowly inside, reading a few lines of each article, and then going on to the next one. One by one, he went through the stuff that I’d cut out and put on the wall. It lasted for a good ten minutes.
At the last image, he turned to me. “Emily is the Tinder Killer?”
“Yes.”
A neutral expression covered his face. He walked over to the table by the window where I’d scored a few of the victims’ criminal records.
He opened a few and flipped through the pages. “They were all suspected of rape. Did she know this before finding and killing them?”
“I don’t think so. She never remembers, and we’ve never talked about this.” I rose from the wall. “I found her in her bedroom one night covered in blood. She was just sleeping there with a knife in her hand. I called Xavier.”
“The man that lives in the abandoned bus?”
Damn. Emily did you give him your social security number too?
“Yes,” I said.
“He’s like her uncle?”
“Yes.” I sighed, uncomfortable with him knowing so much. “Xavier called Darryl. We all decided not to tell her. We washed and dressed her. Cleaned her bedroom—”
“But you had no idea what she’d done?”
“No. Xavier only found that she’d messaged some guy on Tinder to hook up. We had the meet up address.”
“Where was it?”
“A hotel. We had his picture from his Tinder account—D.t.f.BeastBoy.”
The Russian quirked his eyebrow at the name.
I continued, “I was going to check on Mr. Beast Boy the next day. But that morning, the hotel’s maid found him. His face was all over the news. We matched it to his tinder account from her messaging.” I marked my neck. “She’d sliced dude deep, right here and then a long side swipe.”