Page 54 of The B!tch is Bad

“Die, fucker. Die,” I hissed, pleased with my one and only shot to his temple.

The 9mm bullet, small and light, would have crossed ten football fields if Klozov’s head hadn’t gotten in the way. The bullet shredded his brain, severed nerves, caused torrential bleeding, and killed him instantly before coming to a rest inside the soil beneath.

Standing tall, I sighed with relief.

It didn’t last long. “Arrow!” I called, squatting and opening my embrace to the Bernedoodle. She nearly knocked me over, splattered with grape skins. I checked her over for injuries, spearing my fingers through her fluffy, curly fur. None. Was Klozov going nuts over the dog?

Ford and Lytton roared up, splattering us with more leaves, skins, and dirt. Slinging their legs over their saddles, they came to me with open arms.

“Fuck!” cried Lytton. “You okay? Where’d you come from?”

It was funny how they barely glanced at Klozov, although Ford did take the precaution of unscrewing the ghost gun from his grip.

“I came from Wine on Main! It’s fucking on fire! Klozov did it, pretending to be a sugar guy.”

Lytton asked, “Completely on fire? Or just our section?”

“Looks like he wanted to gut the entire building. It was way on its way to doing that when I left. Where’s Creed?”

Ford jogged to the section where Arrow had burst from. A low, plummeting sensation formed in the pit of my entrails. When Wolf Glaser rode criss-crossing the vines, Ford directed him to hold Arrow and presumably guard the body. Wolf Glaser slowly removed his shades as his jaw dropped, staring down at Klozov, a river of blood oozing from his smashed skull.

He looked back up and grinned crookedly at me. “Welcome to the club.”

I smiled briefly at him before we plunged into the jungle.

I struggle with trivial things, irrelevant to my daily life. Tiny things can be important. Someone’s words, choices, silences, empathy. Sometimes small things are my whole world. In that moment, Wolf’s jagged smile, his invitation to his beloved family, that was everything to me.

I was neck to neck with Ford when we found the telltale white shirt, Creed splayed face down on the soil.

“Dude!” shouted Ford.

“Creed!” yelled Lytton

And I bawled, “Zaddy!”

We all skidded to our knees. We turned Creed over so his head was in my lap. His eyes opened and blinked, and the rise and fall of his chest made us exhale with relief.

“Zaddy, Zaddy,” I sobbed God knows how many times ‘til Creed responded.

Lifting an arm, he smiled weakly and touched my face. “My kitten.”

Ford gripped Creed’s shoulder, examining his back where I’d noticed a bullet hole. With one hand I unbuttoned his shirt while caressing his beautiful Roman face. No exit wound. Ford came to the same conclusion.

He said, “Maddy isn’t working today. She’s shopping in P and E. Let me get her out here. Let’s get Creed into his house so she can work on him.”

As Ford dialed his old lady, I also put my phone on the ground and called Gudrun on speaker. As an NP, she could help with procedures like removing bullets. They were called on a lot in the Bare Bones line of work. And of course, Ford and Lytton were practically MDs by this time.

The two half-brothers lifted Creed smoothly like circus acrobats while I picked up his mangled glasses. I helped by kissing his face incessantly.

And of course, Creed noted the extinct body of Oliver Klozov where Wolf stood guard with his shit-eating grin.

“Nothing says goodbye like a bullet,” Wolf noted as we trundled on by. He held Arrow’s collar as she tried to leap, to kiss Creed too.

“Who did that?” asked Creed. “I heard one shot.”

“It only takes one,” I admitted.

Ford told Wolf, “Leave the body. Take the truck.”

Small terrors pass. You’re only really imprisoned by fear when you surrender.