WICKED ✓

6

Dominic

I sit on the edge of my bed with my shoulders hunched over and my upper body twisted to see Stella. All throughout dinner last night, I watched as she downed enough alcohol to make someone as little as she is sick. Fortunately for both of us, I made sure that she ate and drank enough water to prevent that from happening. When she passed out on my couch, the whole teasing incident forgotten, I carried her to my bed wanting to see what she looked like in it.

That was my second mistake.

I brushed her short hair out of her face, pulled the covers over her and left the room. I didn't even bother trying to sleep in the guest room, knowing that she was sound asleep in my bed would have kept me up no matter where I went. I spent the night in my office, digitizing and encrypting confidential files on my computer.

My first mistake was letting Stella into my life in the first place.

I didn't entertain guests. Hell, I barely lived in my own apartment. I don't know what I was thinking, bringing her here. It was safe, of course it was safe. I wouldn't bring her here if it wasn't. But was she safe with me? Would it be possible for me to have another person in my life without them ending up hurt? I'd never attempted it, but the unfriendly reminder of what it feels like to lose someone you love to this kind of life is painful.

I run my hands over my buzzed hair, the short hair prickling my palms when they lay flat or change direction. When my hands are moving, dragging across my scalp, it feels soft and smooth despite the multitude of scars decorating the skin. I imagine they're Stella's, her small, soft hands on my skin as I sit here with her for a few more seconds before I have no more time left to waste. I force myself to stand up and walk out of my bedroom, and then I walk out of the apartment.

In October, the weather in South Dakota is warm in the afternoon, and even throughout most of the day, but in the morning and at night, it gets pretty damn close to freezing; I love it here. I'm not a big fan of warm weather. I spent a couple of months in Florida for work this past year and couldn't stand the heat.

My black SUV is cold from the lack of sunlight while sitting in the garage and stays that way without the heat. My body has its own heating system and only seems to require artificial heat in the coldest of months. I am basically a robot with no cooling system. I park in an empty lot behind the red brick building, pulling my black bag out of my trunk and fitting my sunglasses on my face.

I let myself in to a side entrance of the building next door, unlocked, and walk quickly up the stairs. Exactly as expected, the warehouse is empty of any and all people. Machines lay dusty and abandoned all over the room, but a few have been cleared out to make a large space for a conference table. The only light comes from the large windows only on the top of the wall across from me. I'm silent and hidden in shadow as I set myself up on a suspended grid walkway, directly beside the door to the stairwell.

I listen closely and steady my breathing, listening for the exact moment that a car door closes outside, followed by several others, all coming from the opposite side of the building to my designated stairwell. Three doors and the trunk of a car. I'm on my stomach, my body rigid and eyes calculating. Chains rattle and the door swings open as three men walk briskly into the room, dragging another behind them carelessly. One cases the room hastily and joins the others as they pull the unconscious man into a metal chair and bind his wrists behind his back. They wait with their arms crossed, standing behind the man as if to showcase him to the next person to walk through those doors.

Four more doors open and close and three men walk in, dragging a woman with them. I grit my teeth. The woman attempts to claw at the large man holding her, kicking and biting but she doesn't scream. She knows that nobody can hear her. Nobody but me. She isn't scared, but she is angry.

She eyes the unconscious man sadly and sobs when she sees his state. Beaten black and blue, with blood crusted on his face that can be seen even from my perch. "You've seen him. Now make the call." One of the men says, stepping toward her from his position behind the man.

"Go to hell," She spits. I watch as the man who spoke rears his hand back and the woman flinches in response. The room erupts into chaos as soon as I pull the trigger.