Fiction: Ray's Honey Pots, Part Eight

I want to get out, get my girl, and go home. I want to buy earplugs and hide from the world until The Loop has worn off and I'm free. Ray has nothing for me anymore and Rowan's family is no longer in danger from him, so I figure I can lie low for a while and do a little networking to find the next place that wants a monster like me.

But Ben follows me out Ray's office door and stops me. I don't want to listen to anything he has to say, but I have to, anyway.

"Stop," he says, "Where are you going?"

"Getting Lucy," I say. I've stopped. I'm just standing there, my back to him. My skin is crawling. I can't go until he says I can. Knowing that makes me want to throw up.

"Fine," he says, "But you two have to go to my place."

"Fine," I say, "Can I go now?"

"Yeah, I think Ray and I can handle the cleanup."

I head down the stairs, two at a time, an angry energy buzzing in my head. I hadn't asked Rowan, because I was too afraid of the answer, but I had hoped they'd just leave me the fuck alone after I saved Ben from Ray. Knowing I had to continue to obey them made me want to empty both pieces into the next person that gave me the side-eye.

"Here comes the hit-girl again," one of the bouncers says, grinning up at me.

"How'd it go up there?" the other asks.

I let my pissy mood shine through but keep my hands away from my guns. "Everything's more fucked than we thought. Turns out Ben wasn't the one, after all; it was Jacob."

"What?" asks the first one, his eyes open wide in astonishment, "Can't be. I mean, Jacob had his fingers in the honey pots but so does everyone else. He wouldn't have been moving precious cargo behind Ray's back."

I shrug but I keep my guard up. All the boys are part of the boy's club. "Too much evidence against Jacob in that phone call, I guess. Jacob lunged for Ray. I shot him down."

"You -- you what? You shot him?! Goddammit, girl, that was my fucking friend you just offed!" He lunges for me but I'm faster. I get a shot off, hitting him in the kneecap, while taking the steps up and out of his way. He roars with anger and pain. I glance at the other one. He doesn't know what to do.

"Fuck you," I say, feeling the monster in me rise up, happy and eager, "I'm out of a fucking job just because I figured out who was fucking over Ray. Take one more step toward me or draw your goddamned gun and you are fucking dead."

I glance at the other guy. His fingers are twitching. He's indecisive. There's no one else around. I shoot them both dead and step over their bodies. My skin sings, my fingers are warm on my gun. I feel the desire to blast my way out of the place. In my head, I do, but in reality I am a calculating monster. I think about how I would prefer to stay alive and do more damage later. And I think about Lucy, with the braid.

I turn the corner and there she is, putting cocktails down at a table, smiling at the men who feel her up and pinch her nipples as she leans over. I put away my piece, quell my desire to shoot random, horny men pawing at my very own girl. But I must still look fierce: they draw their hands back at the sight of me.

She turns her head. Her braid falls down the opposite side of her neck. I want to fuck her right there and show the men just how perfectly her body fits to mine.

"Let's go," I say, grabbing her wrist.

"My shift isn't over," she says, but follows easily enough.

"Ray's given you to me," I say, threading us through the slower, drunker men, ignoring their gazes and their opportunistic hands, "so you won't be working another shift here again."