by M. N. Forgy
“He killed my mother!” I yell, sobbing. “I was only nine, but I remember the tattoo of wings,” I cry.
“She wants me to admit to killing her whore of a mother,” Miller confirms, giving Landon a look I don’t understand.
“You,” Landon whispers, taking on a confused tone as he stares at me like he’s just now seeing me for the very first time. I ignore it, my only mission centered on Miller and his tattoo.
“Take your shirt off. Now.” I cock the gun like they do in the movies, loading a round in the chamber. The clicking of it placing a bullet marked for my mother’s killer echoes through the room. I gasp, it actually worked.
Miller looks over at Landon and Roman, then he slowly starts to unbutton his shirt. My hands begin to sweat, causing them to slip from the gun. He pulls it off his shoulders and tosses it onto the floor beside him.
“Turn,” I growl. Miller swallows and spins, holding his arms out, the ink on his back on full display. My eyes widen, and my mouth parts as I shake my head. It just says ‘Blackwell’.
“That can’t be,” I mumble, dumbfounded. “No, it was you!” I reaffirm, pointing the gun at him. Landon walks by his father’s side and I swing the gun toward him, not sure what he’s doing. My nerves and inner conflict are making me erratic.
Landon slowly starts to unbutton his white dress shirt, his head lifted.
“What are you doing?” I ask, pointing the gun between him and his father. Landon pulls on his sleeves and yanks his shirt off. He slowly turns, showing big, black wings staining his back. A strangled cry leaves my mouth, my knees threatening to buckle as I take in the wings that haunt me. My eyes catch one white feather on the bottom. That doesn’t match my dreams, though. My legs shake and my blood rushes to my chest, trying to keep up with my racing heart.
“No,” I whisper, shaking my head.
Landon turns and looks at his father.
“See. I didn’t kill your mother.” Miller looks at Landon and smirks. “He did.”
Tears flood my eyes. “Is that true?” I question, my voice cracking with emotion.
“It’s complicated,” Landon starts.
“Yes or no. Did you kill my mom?” I scream, my throat hurting.
Landon lowers his head and swallows.
“Yes,” he whispers. My body goes numb. The only feeling I register is the ache radiating in my chest. I lift my head, my chin trembling with emotion as my finger pulls the trigger. A loud bang echoes through the room and a bullet slams into Landon, causing him to fall to the floor.
The sound takes me out of my shock, and I scream and drop the gun. I shot him. I fucking shot him! My ears drown out all sounds. All the hollering from Roman, Miller, and Veronica. Silence. Everything slows down, my vision wobbling as I take in Landon’s family panicking.
Roman, Miller, and Veronica all rush to Landon’s side in what seems like slow motion. I see blood creep out from under Landon, and I sob, my body shaking as I cry loudly.
“I didn’t mean—” I swallow hard and look toward the door. I glance back at the Blackwells and see Roman on his phone. At that point, I know I need to run. I look back down at Landon, not moving. I strengthen my legs and sprint out of the office, out the front door and toward a black car parked in front. I climb behind the driver’s side and pray there are keys inside. My hands search the steering wheel, and when my fingers find them in the ignition, I cry harder with the relief.
Starting the car with trembling hands, I peel out of the driveway and race toward Jayden.
I just killed Landon. My mother is dead. I have to run. Those three things are on repeat in my head as I drive toward the city.
***
I head to the strip where the sidewalks are littered with people going in and out of casinos and shops. I park the stolen car on the side of the road and get out, knowing I can’t drive the car to my place or pass the heart of Vegas without a cop seeing the stolen vehicle.
I shot Landon, probably killed him. I close my eyes, the look of shock racing across his face as he fell to the floor flashing behind my eyes. I didn’t mean to shoot him. I was in shock, my finger reacting without real thought. My heart aches knowing I might have killed the only person in this world I deeply care about, maybe love. The heat of the day instantly warms my skin when I step out. A woman with a tube top for a shirt and designer-looking jeans slows her stride, her eyes scanning me from top to bottom before her lip curls in distaste and she walks on. I furrow my brows at her reaction and look down at myself, curious at what she was looking at when I find myself in a camisole and PJ shorts, no shoes. I’m standing out like a sore thumb.
“Fuck,” I whisper, running my hand through my hair in agitation. My eyes catch a door swinging open in an alley way, a guy in an apron and chef hat swinging a garbage can over his head and emptying the contents into a dumpster. Without another thought, I sprint down the alley. I can’t walk along the strip in this; I’ll cause too much attention for sure. I run. I run until my head throbs, my clothes are soaked with sweat, and my feet feel like they’ve been thrusting against razor blades. I run until I finally reach the shitty apartment I shared with Jayden.
My chest wheezes for air while I slowly climb the stairs. I open the door, which isn’t locked, and find Jayden curled up in her bed, sound-asleep. The smell of home soothes my panicked state. The house is a mess. There are clothes thrown everywhere and empty boxes of food all over the floor.
“Jay,” I pant, tripping into the apartment. Jayden pops up, her hair sticking up everywhere and eyes half-closed.
“Hmm.”
“Jayden. We gotta, we gotta—” I can’t seem to spit the fucking words out.
“Charlie? Oh, my God, are you okay?” She hurries out of bed and grabs me by the elbow to steady me.
“I’m in trouble, and I have to get out of town. I have to hide.” I heave, sitting down on my old bed, trying to catch my breath.
“What happened? What do you mean?” Her eyes are wide, her head shaking back and forth in confusion.
I swallow hard, my dry tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth, and I choke. I slowly tear my gaze from the dirty floor to Jayden’s panicked eyes and let out a breath of air.
“I killed Landon,” I rasp.
“You what!” Jayden snaps her body up straight, covering her mouth with her hand in shock.
“I think. I don’t know. But the Blackwells will be after me. I know it.”
“How do you think you killed someone? You either did or you didn’t.” Her eyebrows furrow with confusion.
“I did. Now, I have to hide. I don’t have time for this shit!” I yell, standing up and rushing to my closet.
I grab a sports bra and my stretched-out Harley Davidson shirt, putting them on quickly before grabbing some ripped shorts.
I risk a glimpse over at Jayden, finding her by my bed, her face still the image of shock.
I snap my fingers, grabbing her attention. She nods and licks her bottom lip.
“Mick, he’ll save us,” Jayden reassures, like everything is magically fixed.
I purse my lips and lift a brow.
“You’re still holding on to that ‘you’re safe with me’ bullshit? Because he didn’t do a damn thing when Landon took me,” I remind her.
She huffs out a tired breath and places her hand on her hip. “I don’t see a lot of other options right now, do you?”
I shake my head and grab some flip-flops. “No, I don’t, unfortunately.”
Jayden grabs some clothes off the floor and starts putting them on, making me realize she’s been naked this whole time. I was just too determined to get some clothes and run to notice it.
We hurry out of the apartment and avoid the main alleys and streets to get to Mick’s. The whole time, Jayden is staring at me, a million questions sitting on the tip of her tongue. And I’m looking over my shoulder, paranoid a Blackwell is tailing us. Along with my paranoia, I feel guilt. Sorrow. I killed Landon, the man I care about. But that man, the m
an I thought I finally had figured out, is actually the man in my dreams who haunts me. He killed my mother. To hate and to love are two polar opposites, yet I feel them both right now.
“Here we are,” I whisper, striding into Mick’s office.
“Fancy! Rarity!” Mick greets, sitting behind his desk, wearing a dark purple shirt with a gold chain. He looks like a stereotypical pimp today.
“Fancy needs help,” Jayden spits outs, making me rub the nape of my neck nervously. She couldn’t ease into the conversation?
Mick sits back in his chair and steeples his hands, his forehead wrinkling as he looks at me.
“Is that right? And why does Fancy need help?” Mick questions, his tone taking a hint of concern.
“I just—”
“She killed that rich fucker,” Jayden interrupts. I slowly turn my head and glare at her.
“Fuck. No!” Mick shouts, pointing at his door dismissing me.
“But—”
“No. I am not getting involved with the Blackwells. Especially if some whore is dumb enough to kill one. You!” He points at me. “Get out and run. Run far away,” Mick instructs.
“You owe me,” I grit. I lower my head and glower at him, but he just chuckles and shakes his head.
“And why do you think that, sweetheart?” Mick laughs.
“You said I was safe. You said this was my family, but you didn’t lift a finger to save me.” I point at my chest and lean over his desk. “I saved me. I did what I had to do. Therefore, you owe me,” I snarl.
Mick takes in a large breath, his face turning sympathetic. Like something you would see on a puppy begging for food.
“I’m sorry, Fancy, but I can’t.” He shakes his head. “Landon is making a statement by taking over the Blackwells, and I’m not about to jump on that ride. The best I can do is give you your cut from working here.” He rubs his hands over his head and continues to shake it back and forth.
“I might know someone who can lower the rent on a place, get you in there till you can figure something out—”
“Deal,” I interrupt.
He opens his drawer, pulling out a bag of some sort, and throws a bunch of hundreds on the table.
I grab the money and shove it in my pocket as he picks his phone up to make the call about the apartment.
I glance at Jayden, who is still looking at me strangely.
“What?” I finally ask.
“How did you do it?” Jayden whispers as Mick talks on the phone.
“Do what?” I reply vague.
“How did you kill him?”
I swallow, my heart sinking in the pit of my stomach as I think about it. The gun pulling back as it fired. The loud bang. The blood. Landon’s face.
“I shot him,” I mumble, closing my eyes. How did I miss the tattoo on Landon’s back? I close my eyes, and images of Landon and me together play behind my eyes. Us at the hotel, but the little bit of red lighting cascading into our room wasn’t enough to see with. When I was on his desk in his office, he still had his shirt on, and when we were in his room last night, it was too dark to see anything. The evidence was right in front of me, and I missed it every time.
“Daaaaamn,” Jayden remarks, pulling me from my thoughts.
“Done. Go out, make a left, walk six blocks till you get to a hotel that reads Hawns. He’ll take care of you,” Mick directs as he points toward the door. “Now. Get out now,” he insists, his voice serious.
“Thank you,” I reply, turning to leave.
“Rarity, you need to leave and never come back here. Do you understand?” Mick questions,, cocking his head to the side.
“Why?”
“You have been running the streets with Fancy, who killed a Blackwell. I don’t need to chance that someone saw you two together, and is tailing you,” Mick explains, his tone hard.
“I’m not leaving her by herself anyway” Jayden responds, walking out behind me.
“You don’t need to come with me,” I tell her, but only because I feel like that’s what a good friend would say. In truth, I’m terrified right now and pray she comes with me.
“Screw you. I’m coming.” Jayden reaches down and grabs my hand, giving it a squeeze.
“We’re in this together,” she mumbles.
TWENTY-ONE
LANDON
My chest aches, and my head throbs painfully. I open my heavy eyes, finding everything blurry. I blink a couple times, trying to clear them when I see Roman sitting in a chair across the room. His shirt’s untucked, and he’s in jeans. I look down, finding myself in my bed, a patch placed over my chest, just below my shoulder. Reminding me that Charlie shot me.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. It’s her. How could I have not put two and two together? No wonder I’ve been so drawn to her; I knew who she was. My body recognized her before my brain registered who she even was. The thought that she actually had the balls to shoot me runs amok between the pride I have for her and the fucking anger radiating in my chest.
“About time you wake up.” Roman yawns. I open my eyes and try to sit up. My chest instantly smarts with the stretch of muscle, causing me to wince.
“How long have I been out?” I question, glancing toward the window. It looks like the sun is just coming up.
“A day.” Roman stretches and walks toward my bed. “How ya feeling?”
I glance up at him after finally getting in the position of sitting up.
“Like I’ve been shot,” I inform dryly.
“You deserved it.”
I whip my head up and glare at him.
“Why’d you do it?” He lifts a brow in questioning.
“Do what?” I mumble, looking my wound over.
“Kill that woman?”
“I’m not getting into this right now,” I groan, resting my head along the headboard in exhaustion.
“I know Father had an affair with a woman with the last name Evans. I know the Evans woman was why Dad made the rule about not sleeping with the escorts, too.” Roman walks back to where he was sitting and grabs a folder. The rule came from Charlie’s mother, to be exact. She was the whole reason behind it.
“What are you rambling about?” I ask, irritated.
“Be honest. Did you sleep with her? Did you sleep with Charlie Evans?” Roman stands by my bed, looking at me with an unreadable look.
“Does it matter?” I shrug, my chest blazing with a warmth of pain.
“It does.” Roman slaps the folder in my lap and grins. “I know for a fact she didn’t have any clients. Well, none you didn’t send on their way, anyway.”
I open the folder, finding the girls’ weekly health checks from the doctor as Roman continues.
“So, if you look at that, you will see why I ask if you’ve slept with Charlie.”
My eyes roam the paper, finding all the girls with a negative sign for everything. But one plus sign stands out amongst those negatives, catching my attention. I furrow my brows and follow it to the escort’s name, finding Charlie.
“The doctor said everyone checked out, but that one girl in particular had a rise in HCG.”
I follow the positive sign up, looking for what Charlie has when the word hits me like a ton of fucking bricks.
“Pregnant,” I whisper.
“Pregnant,” Roman confirms. I drop the paper and close my eyes. Charlie told me I was the only one she slept with without protection. Shit. It couldn’t just be that I slept with an Evans, that I cared for an Evans. No, I got one pregnant.
“You got an Evans pregnant, Landon. Do you know what Father is going to do when he finds this?” Roman points at the paper and scoffs.
I swallow the lump in my throat. I know exactly what he’s going to have done.
“He’s going to have her and the baby killed,” I whisper, my chest not just aching from the bullet wound anymore.
“Do you love her?”
My eyes snap to him in shock.
“What’d you just fucking ask me?
”
“Do. You. Love. Her?” he repeats.
I sigh, resting my head against the back of the bed. Love. Does that even exist? Am I capable of love? I don’t think I’ve ever seen love to know what it consists of.
“’Cause if you do, you better go find her now. Father has the whole cavalry out looking for her,” Roman scoffs, shaking his head.
My body goes rock-solid, my eyes widening.
“What?”
“Father has everyone we know out looking for her, demanding her back here alive. He’s even got the police we have in our pocket on it.”
“Why didn’t you fucking start with that?” I yell, throwing the blankets off my legs.
I hurry to my closet and throw some jeans on. I rip a black dress shirt off the hanger and thrust one arm in the sleeve, wincing when I shove my other in it.
Looking over at Roman as I hurry and put my shoes on, I find him smirking at me, clearly amused.
“Something funny?” I snap.
“You love her. You love an Evans.” Roman laughs.
“Fuck you,” I sneer.
CHARLIE
Jayden and I follow the directions Mick gave us and finally arrive at Hawns. It’s another motel, and it’s not any nicer than Mick’s. It’s rundown, with chipped white paint. The motel doors are painted an ugly blue color, and half the roof is missing shingles. It looks to be the exact layout even. It’s only for a few days, just until I can figure out my next move.
I grab Jayden’s hand and head toward the manager’s office.
“You must be Fancy,” a black man mumbles as he lights a cigar. He has a thick, black ponytail and is wearing a floral t-shirt, one you would find in Hawaii.
A cloud of smoke climbs upward as he pins us with light blue eyes.
“I’m Fancy,” I agree, the hairs on my neck standing on end.
He gives a salacious smirk as he continues to roll his cigar into a flame, puffing out a thick smoke.
“Right. Well, I owe Mick one, so you can have room 23 for two days tops. Then you owe me seventy-five dollars every day following.” He cocks his head to the side, surveying Jayden and me. His bright blue eyes turn a shade darker as a vicious smirk curls his upper lip.