My Maddie (Hades Hangmen #8) - Tillie Cole Page 0,29

did.

Reaching under my bed, I took out the unopened bottle of Jack I’d stolen from the clubhouse, my smokes and gun, and left through the back door before disappearing into the trees.

Slumping down in front a wide tree trunk, I opened the cap of the bottle and began to drink. I drank and drank, smoked smoke after smoke, until my lungs were raw and the forest before me started to blur. With every mouthful of liquor, the memories from the day Slash died had started to fade from my mind. Ultra HD technicolor gave way to grainy black and white. But the fucking ghosts didn’t disappear. No, those fuckers never faded. They never left me alone—fucking Reapers at my shoulder.

I blinked into the dark forest. Night had fallen as quickly as the Jack had slid so easily down my throat. One by one I saw them coming out. I saw the men I’d killed on the day Slash had died, walking toward me, blood seeping from their chests, heads and legs—whichever part of them I’d hit as I’d fired bullet after bullet into their mortal bodies, ripping them apart and robbing them of life.

“Die,” I hissed, my words slurred, even to my ears. But they kept coming. Next were the hoard of Mexicans Smiler and I had killed most recently, shuffling toward me, their insides bared, faces sunken and sallow, death eating at them like a greedy parasite.

And then I saw him. I fucking saw Slash, head wounded, blood spattering his face and body. His eyes never left mine. My fucking chest cracked at seeing my best friend like this. He moved to sit beside me, studying the men still coming my way. My hands were shaking feeling him so close. I tried to tell myself that none of these people were real, that Slash was buried, already across the River Styx with Hades. But I felt his ice-cold breath on my cheek. I heard him wheezing, struggling for the breath that would to bring him back to life. “Kill them,” he whispered into my ear. The world tilted to the side as he spoke. I was so fucking drunk. So, fucking over everything, I no longer cared.

I coughed hard. My lungs were blackened and fucked with the amount of smoke I was pushing inside them. Every day I drank and smoked. Every day I fucking lost another piece of my mind. I was convinced that by now there was little left to lose. I was quickly following Smiler into the abyss.

Nothing helped. Nothing blocked out the ghosts.

Suddenly, Saffie’s face flashed into my fucked up mind. To her sat near me under the bleachers at school. Next to her, the anger fell away like the ash from the end of my cigarette. Next to her, in her tight jeans and sweater, everything was fucking comfortably numb. But no sooner had her face filled my mind, than it disappeared.

“Kill them, Ash,” Slash’s graveled voice ordered, his bloodied index finger pointing at the men closing in. “Kill the fuckers that killed me.” He paused, inhaled a crackled, stuttering breath. He smiled; his teeth painted with stale red blood. “You need to avenge me, Ash. Never stop until all of them are dead. Kill them in my name… you owe me, Ash. This should have been you.”

I squeezed my eyes closed, feeling my throat choke on guilt and fucking regret. I would do it for him. I had to. It was the right thing to do. I needed to kill, blood for blood, for the life of my best friend. Reaching into my jacket, I took hold of my gun. It felt heavy in my hand. It always felt fucking heavy, like I wasn’t meant to have it in my hands.

I knew they weren’t real, these men. I knew Slash wasn’t there. Ghosts weren’t fucking real. Yet they never left me. Every time I closed my eyes they were there. They were there to remind me of a stark truth—Slash’s death should have been mine. The fucking Reaper on my back was guiding my shooting hand, making sure I paid the penance for my friend dying in my place.

“Kill,” Slash ordered, his voice hard in its command. His was voice was deeper now than when he was alive. Now, it was laced with venom. His bloodied hand pressed on my shoulder, burning through my clothes and scalding my skin underneath. Slash’s hand took hold of my elbow and lifted my gun. He helped