Dirty Souls by Karina Halle
Ugly, messy things.
And then it happens.
The ugly messy things come sooner rather than later.
Ahead of us, a few cars down the line of traffic, is another black SUV. It’s in the proper lane and could just be a family heading out of the park, but my instincts tell me otherwise.
“Hold on!” I yell at Violet. “Going right!”
I yank the bike off the road, this time roaring right between a crop of Joshua trees. I have to act fast to guide the bike through them with accuracy, especially now that we’re back on rough terrain. I have to say, I’m impressed the bike is handling all of this as it is. It’s definitely not a dirt bike.
Once we’re past the trees, it seems the only way to go is up past a small rocky hill. I don’t think that’s an option, unless we take this to a foot race. I hold the gun at my side and look over my shoulder.
Both SUVS are pulling off the highway now and heading our way.
My instincts were right.
Time to finish these fuckers off.
I increase my speed, guiding the bike alongside the hill and up toward another patch of boulders and trees.
Once we’re hidden behind the boulder, I stop the bike.
“Get off! Hurry!” I yell at Violet.
It takes her an achingly slow moment to realize what I’m asking of her. She wants to hold on forever.
Trembling, she finally she gets up, and I barely have enough time to get off myself and grab her arm before she falls to the ground.
She can’t even speak. I undo her helmet and toss it to the ground, give her back the gun, and then grab the one at my ankle.
“Violet,” I say, looking into her eyes, trying to reach her. She’s so fucking scared. “I have you. You’re going to be okay but you have to do exactly as I say or this will never end? Got it?”
She gives a small nod, a sob escaping her lips.
“Okay. Run right behind me. Now!”
I take off, staying behind the cover of the boulders and trees, and head down into the small dip of a gully, enough to shield us from view of the SUVs. I start climbing up the back of the hill, scrambling over rock until we’re halfway up.
I look at Violet and then nod for her to follow me.
I slowly inch along the side of the hill until we’re poking our heads out around the slope and looking down at the bike and the boulders. The SUVs have pulled up to a stop near it. The driver, who looks like he could be Leo Madano from this distance, has his gun drawn and is approaching the bike with caution. The albino, his right arm limp at his side, clothing stained red, moves around the boulders from the other side.
I peer over at the other SUV, the new one. It’s running, the exhaust rising up into the deepening sunset, but whoever is in the car isn’t coming out.
It doesn’t matter.
I lie down with my elbows buried in the rocky sand and prop up my gun, taking aim. Once I take a shot, we’ll immediately be found out. I have to shoot the driver first since the albino is already compromised and probably won’t be able to fire back as well with his weaker hand.
I take in a deep breath, concentrating on the driver’s head. I have a few moments before he realizes we aren’t there by the bike or hidden behind the boulder. A few moments where he’s moving slow, an easier target.
I pull the trigger.
The gun roars to life and the driver falls to the ground, blood spraying from his head and splattering all over the rock walls.
Violet lets out a cry beside me but it doesn’t matter. Everything happens fast.
I already have the gun aimed at the albino who is lining up a shot back at us.
I fire at the same time he does, but his aim is off because of his arm.
I get him in the chest, then as he stumbles backward, I manage to get a shot to his head. You have to be cautious.
He goes down, motionless. In the dying sunlight the blood pooling out of his head looks like spilled ink.
Violet lets out another cry and I think she’s just struck by the horror of it all.
But when I turn around to face her, her expression is frozen, gaping at the top of the hill.
Where a man has appeared, a rifle in his hands.
A man in a cheap grey suit.
This is Leo Madano.
And the rifle is aimed at Violet’s head.
Chapter Seven
Violet
“Violet McQueen,” the man says, holding the rifle aimed right at my head. I can only blink at him, completely overtaken by absolutely everything that’s just happened. This almost doesn’t seem real. It seems like a dream. Every cell inside me is overwhelmed and breaking down.
Vicente stiffens beside me and the man notices. “I wouldn’t move if I were you. You’re a good shot, but so am I. And I’ve got this trained right at her head. So if you want to keep her brains intact I would do exactly as I say.”
“And what is that?” Vicente asks. His voice is cold and so in control.
That should give me confidence, but it doesn’t.
I still can’t get over the fact that he just shot two men in the head in front of me.
“Hand her over,” the man says, “so I can take her back to San Francisco and return her to her parents where she belongs.”
I frown, things slowly sinking in at a glacial speed. Is this Leo Madano?
He certainly looks like he could be of Italian descent, even with the deepening shadows. With the sun slipping away behind the western mountains, the air is growing colder by the moment.
“She belongs with me,” Vicente says calmly. How the fuck can he be so calm? Is he in this overwhelmed catatonic state too? “We both know that the moment I give her to you, you’ll use her to extort her parents for money. That was always your plan, wasn’t it, Leo Madano? Go for Violet now that George McQueen is a dead end.”
I can barely make out a smirk on the man’s face. “Raquel is a dead end too, I’m afraid. You really shouldn’t have gone to see her. Made her a lot more trusting to open that door.”
My eyes widen, my heart skittering to a stop in my chest. Is he saying he killed Raquel? My would-be grandmother?
“You know you’re not walking out of here alive,” Vicente tells him, taking it all in stride.
Leo laughs. “Did anyone ever tell you that you have far too much confidence for a man of your age? Especially when there’s a gun pointed at your girlfriend’s head.”
“Did anyone ever tell you it’s highly unfair to make a girl pay for her father’s mistakes?”
“Payment for the sins of the fathers is the oldest transaction in the book. That includes the good book. This is nothing new and never will be. I’m sure one day you’ll pay for the sins of yours too, Vicente Bernal, if you aren’t already.” He pauses. “Don’t look so shocked. You don’t think I’ve been able to look you up? It’s one reason why I haven’t killed you yet. Maybe there’s another trade I can make.”
“And the car bomb?” Vicente asks.
Car bomb?!
Leo manages a shrug. “Just a failsafe. I figured after you saw me in the lobby you wouldn’t dare take it anywhere. It did make this little car chase a little more exciting though. I couldn’t have predicted you’d get a motorcycle. But, it’s getting late.” He glances up at the sky. “Come on, Violet.”
“Don’t go,” Vicente says, and when I look in his eyes I know he means it. But what the hell else am I supposed to do? I’ve never been so fucking afraid in my life and I still feel like I’m slogging through a bad dream.
“Violet,” Leo says, his voice clipped.
I know if I go, he’s just going to kill Vicente anyway.
It’s going to come down to his gun versus Vicente’s.
Though I don’t think Leo knows I tucked my own gun into the back of my jeans when I was climbing up the hill. And since he’s never seen my back, he won’t know it’s there.
I get up from my crouch and slowly start walking toward him.
“Not
I stare right ahead at Leo and feel the fear leave my body as I walk up the rocky slope. I wonder if I can reach back and grab the gun fast enough. Probably not. I wonder if I could get a good shot. Probably not.
But it’s our only chance.
I glance at Vicente over my shoulder and his eyes are trained to my gun, following it as I walk, then up to meet my gaze. His face is so impassive it barely gives me anything, but what I do read is caution.
He knows what I mean to do.
He knows how likely I am to fuck it up.
All I know is that if I get an opportunity, I’m going to have to take the shot.
I’m going to have to mean to kill this man in front of me.
A bad man, a horrible man, but it’s still a human life.
I’m going to have to play God and take it.
Can I do that?
Yes, something says from deep inside of me, rattling that cage again. Yes you can.
I swallow hard and keep my legs moving, nearly sliding a few times over loose stones and rock. The gun feels like lead against the small of my back, growing heavier by the minute with the mounting pressure.
The wind blows back my hair and I don’t know if I’ve ever felt so alive and electric before. Maybe this is how life is the moment before you die, everything exploding around you to make saying goodbye that much more bittersweet. The sunset behind all this mayhem looks like a magic painting.
I’m just a few feet away from Leo now. I can see the lines in the corners of his eyes, and I wonder why life made him so cruel. This can’t be about vengeance anymore. Some people are just born to create destruction.
It all happens so fast.
He grabs my hand in a vice-like grip and pulls me in front of him to prevent Vicente’s shot.
The rifle appears over my shoulder, aimed at Vicente.
He pulls the trigger.
My ears explode from the noise, my head shattering into a cloud where all sound is lost.
I don’t even look over my shoulder at Vicente. I can’t entertain the idea of him being shot, I can’t think about anything except death.
Leo’s death.
With my head full of cotton and stars, I reach back with my other hand, grasp the gun, and pull it out in one smooth motion.
I press the barrel of the gun into Leo’s stomach, feeling his soft skin sink in with the pressure.
Everything slows down.
He looks down at me in surprise.
I stare up at him with pure determination.
I don’t hesitate.
I pull the trigger.
I don’t even feel the kickback. Instead, I feel as if I’m the bullet myself, shooting point blank into Leo’s stomach, going through vital organs and exiting out the other side.
The rifle drops and Leo falls backward, clutching at his stomach.
Then my adrenaline kicks in.
I turn around to go to Vicente, praying he’s okay, only to see him staggering toward me. He’s grasping his ear where blood is trickling down his face and staining his shirt, but he’s otherwise okay. Just grazed.
“Grab the rifle!” he yells at me, his words sounding so muffled and faint from my hearing damage, and I spin around just in time to see Leo crawling on the ground for it.
I kick it away to Vicente who picks it up, aiming it right at Leo.
I step away, the gun burning in my hand, barely realizing what I just did.
All thoughts, all worries, all morals are pushed down, deep inside.
Vicente kicks Leo in the side and Leo spits up blood onto the dusty ground, then he pushes him over with his foot so he’s lying on his back. He stares up at us with shock, his hands over his stomach, trying to stop the bleeding that oozes through his shaking fingers.
I did this. I did this.
The thoughts are starting to creep back in.
Vicente steps onto Leo’s chest with his boot, making him wheeze and cry out in pain.
“Vicente!” I can’t help but yell, trying to pull him off. I want Leo to die, but I don’t want to see him suffer.
Vicente shrugs me off and takes the rifle, aiming it so the barrel is shoved right between Leo’s lips.
“You deserve so much worse than this,” Vicente says coldly to him. “For what you did to Violet. For the years of worry and pain you brought the McQueen family. Violet’s part of my family now. And I promise to ruin each and every man who dares to touch a hair on her head.” He glances at me quickly over his shoulder. “Look away, mirlo.”
I do.
I hear the shotgun go off.
Even through my muffled hearing, the sound is something I’ll never forget. It’s not just a gun blast, but the sound of bone, tissue, skin, and cartilage slopping together. It’s the sound of someone’s brain exploding.
I look down. Blood and grey matter are sprinkled on my jeans.
I’m going to be sick.
I stumble off and collapse to my knees, the rocks cutting into my skin as I crawl on all fours and start to vomit like a sick animal.
Vicente lets me be. I think he knows I need all the time and space in the world to process this. I’m surprised I’m not in hysterics. I just vomit over and over again until there’s nothing left inside.
I don’t feel any better. The world is orange and purple and gold and it won’t stop spinning.
Finally, I see Vicente’s boots beside me and he grabs my arm, hauling me up.
“You’re safe now,” he says, and in the darkening twilight, his eyes are glowing gold, telling me nothing and everything. “Okay? They’re all gone. No one will hurt you now. I promise.” He pauses. “And I always keep my promises.”
I rub my lips together, trying to feel safe and assured, but there’s nothing to hold on to right now except for Vicente. “Let’s go back,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “I need water.”
He watches me for a moment, probably realizing all the psychological damage that’s about to take effect, and then holds my hand. We run down the hill before it gets dark.
The motorbike ride back to the hotel is a dream. A fuzzy cape that flies past us, the desert dusk settling into night. I hang onto Vicente, pressing my cheek against his back but it’s like he’s not even there. As much as my grip tightens, he doesn’t feel like anything more than a ghost.
What just happened?
One moment we were shooting and fucking amongst Joshua trees and cacti and I was feeling so alive that it was like I was on the most indescribable drugs. The feel of the gun in my hands, that power, then then feel of his cock inside me, the sun glinting off the sweat of his dark skin. I felt unstoppable.
And then it shattered.
And it all happened so fast.
From Vicente shooting the drone, to getting on the bike, to nearly being hit by an SUV, then going off road—there was so much noise and chaos and dust. Bullets and brakes. I thought I was going to fall off. I thought I was going to die.
It was like being in a movie, but one that’s terribly real, the kind that gets under your skin. We escaped and then the madness followed us.
I had all my trust in Vicente.
All of it.
He didn’t let me down.
He kept me alive.
I barely had time to take in how easy it was for him to shoot those men, whether on the bike or off.
Yet, I saw all the guarded rage and venom that flows through Vicente come out free and unchecked. I fear that if I wasn’t there, he would have done something much worse to Leo Madano, just to make him suffer. Anything as payback for what was done to me.
And what was done? What happened to me in San Francisco could have been a lot worse than stalking or a kidnapping attempt. I was hit, but I hit back more. I had gotten away. Leo’s end was far worse than the crime.
Wasn’t it? Maybe that’s my bleeding heart talking.
Maybe if I looked at what could have been, I wouldn’t be so unsure.
Why this is staying with me.
Vicente had said yesterday that there’s a black hole inside each and every one of us and if we were to inspect it deeper, really put our hands in, we would see what we are made of. But we are usually too afraid.
I already know what I’ll see. I’m starting to realize that inside me there is a dark version of myself, one brought to life by Vicente’s confidence and wickedness. That version of Violet, the one that lives deep inside the black hole, thinks Leo actually got what he deserved. She thinks the moment she pulled that trigger and shot him, right in the stomach, close enough to feel the bullet break his skin, she began to take control.
She scares me.
I try to keep the thoughts at bay until we get back to the hotel. I’m so tired and drained and yet adrenaline keeps spiking through me.
We get off the bike, Vicente helping me, and I nearly collapse once my feet hit the ground.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers and then scoops me up, until he’s carrying me in his arms. I’m too weak to protest, too overwhelmed to ask whether he’s returning the bike, too fried to worry if danger lurks in our hotel room.
Vicente is calm. Cautious. Collected.
He takes me up the side stairwell of the hotel and to our floor with ease, then without letting me down, opens our hotel door.
He kicks it open, hits the lights.
The room is completely ransacked, the side table toppled over, my clothes from my duffel bag empty and scattered across the room, the content of his suitcase rifled through.
“I thought this would happen,” he said, placing me on my back on the bed. “I’m guessing the guns I have in the Mustang are long gone too.”
There’s a wistfulness to his voice as he surveys the room. I’m remembering they had said something about a car bomb?
“When were you going to tell me?” I ask him, my throat parched, making swallowing uncomfortable.
He eyes my discomfort, goes into the bathroom and fills up a cup of water, bringing it over to me.
“Tell you what?” he asks, sitting on the edge of the bed as I take the cup and drink. Water never tasted so sweet.