Bad Habits: A Dark Anthology - Yolanda Olson Page 0,2
stalk up to the little shit who may just piss himself when his gaze locks on mine.
“Who are you? Are you here to—”
I don’t wait. The bullet is between his eyes before he has time to utter another word. Stepping over his body, I lift a black boot and kick the door from its hinges. A squeal of surprise comes from inside, and I notice a pretty little blonde racing from the kitchen into the living room.
I turn to where she was headed and find the man I need. He’s high, fucked out of his skull. “Hey man,” he grins, holding up a joint, pulling in deep before exhaling a cloud of sickly smoke.
One thing I don’t do—drugs.
Give me a good Scotch or a beer any day, but this is the shit that puts you in the ground fast. I don’t respond. Instead, I lift the glass coffee table, turning it on its side, sending all his paraphernalia flying through the air.
“What the fuck, man?” he bites out, suddenly more awake than he had been. He’s on his feet, but I’m taller. I’m more fucking dangerous than some prick knocked off his head on weed.
With my cigarette perched between my lips, I smile, lift the gun, point it right at his crotch, and utter, “God sends his regards,” before I pull the trigger.
The asshole drops to his knees, his hands cupping what’s left of his crown jewels. The blonde pops up from behind the sofa with a screech that could wake the fuckin’ dead. I should leave her be, but she’s seen my face. I should’ve covered up. Fuck it. I point the barrel at her and pull the trigger. No use leaving witnesses. They only cause shit later on.
Another glance at my mark, and I take in the slump of his shoulders. Just to make sure I’ve done my job, I put another burning hot piece of metal in his head. His crumpled form is evidence enough.
Pulling my cell out, I tap the camera and hit the button. Once the photo is sent to Fletch, I head out of the house and down to my bike. I thought there’d be people in the street after hearing the gunshot, but I guess they’re all hiding indoors.
I would too.
The rumble of my engine is music to my ears, and I tug my face mask up to cover my mouth and nose before I pull onto the road and head down toward my cabin.
It’s time to get away for a couple of days. I’ve always liked being in the woods, where it’s quiet. Where my mind can focus on what it needs to recoup. With the work I do, I can’t afford to be distracted.
And that’s where my little problem comes in.
Maeve Bianchi.
A pretty Catholic nun who I should never have met. Two months ago, I walked into the convent and stole a crucifix for the boss, but before I could get away, Maeve walked smack bang into me.
I recall her pretty smile when she looked up at me. My dark eyes, black hair, and inked skin must’ve been a shock for her. A good one, apparently, because she offered me a cup of tea.
I don’t drink tea.
But I did take something else, I stole her lips and kissed her until she whimpered. Who knew a nun could kiss like a whore? I turned around and walked out without a glance over my shoulder.
Each time I follow my little nun, I think of that kiss. Perhaps one day I’ll get the boss man to hire her. With those sultry eyes and that pouty mouth, she’ll certainly be as deadly as I am.
I pass a sign on the side of the highway telling me I have another few hundred miles to go. I don’t care, the further out of town I can get, the better. Wind whips at my face, but I don’t slow down. If anything, I speed up.
Maeve
Hallowed be Thy Name
The sound of the front door rattles through me, and I wonder what’s going to happen tonight. In the dark, silence is more welcome than the sounds of my parents coming home.
A girly giggle filters through the house, and I shut my eyes so tight, focusing on the way the cotton sheets feel against my skin. I want to cry, but if Daddy or Mommy walk into my room, I know I’ll be in trouble. They don’t like when I’m awake late at night.