The Kiss of The Deep:: Deadmen's Reach

Grimm Celebration

Antonio dropped a mountain of cash onto the table, the sound of it hitting the surface loud enough to break the silence that hung heavy between the three of us. We sat there, staring at the money, none of us daring to touch it. It was as if the cash itself had become tainted by everything we'd done to get it. But the kid, he was different. After a long pause, he sat up and said, "Not once in my 14 years of living have I made a single dollar legally. But here I am, hesitating to just hold my cut of this mountain of cash. But here I am."

Antonio slapped his hand down on the money, his voice rough and sharp. "Money's money. We're death row inmates and life sentence lifers. We'll live fast and die young. Who cares if they die first? We'll live for them... and for us. I'll be getting us better gear and weapons. You two kids, you party. I handle the business end."

As he said that, he tossed each of us three wads of cash. The forced smile on his face—so smug yet hollow—didn't fool either of us. We could see right through him. He was lying, pretending that this somehow made everything okay. That we could justify the horror we'd committed, the things we'd done just to survive. He was trying to protect us from facing it, but we both knew it was beyond saving.

We ended up going out, but it wasn't like the old days. It was more like a temporary escape—some way to drown out the guilt, the weight of what we had become. The only place we could afford in the hellish city we found ourselves in was Banshee's Inn, a dive bar that was as rough and cheap as everything else in the area. Miss Banshee owned it, and she wasn't someone you wanted to mess with. Everyone feared her, respected her. All it took was one word from her to silence a room full of people.

I sat there, drinking cheap vodka to try and numb the guilt gnawing at me, and that's when it hit me. I had never once asked the kid his name. He never asked mine either. We'd been through hell together, and yet we didn't even know who the other really was.

As I mulled over this, I noticed the kid. He wasn't drinking, wasn't trying to act tough like most kids his age. He was drinking soda and munching on two burgers with fries, completely unbothered by the chaos that was our world. It made me wonder—who was he, really? What had he been through before he ended up here?

It was then that Miss Banshee walked up to our table. She seemed to have a different connection with the kid, one that went deeper than just casual acquaintance. She spoke to him with a warmth and familiarity that I couldn't place. "Sorry, kid, about your brother," she said softly. "He was a good man. But he also left you a gift. A custom-made Winchester Model 1897 Shotgun. I hope it kept you safe down here. And I hope you get the info you wanted. I hope it brings you peace."

She placed the shotgun in the kid's lap, along with a worn notebook. The kid, to my surprise, smiled a warm and genuine smile as he looked at the weapon, his eyes filled with love and gratitude. He hugged the shotgun to his chest like it was a long-lost friend, and thanked her politely.

Miss Banshee, her gaze shifting to me, mouthed something that sent a chill down my spine. "Keep him safe, or you're dead."

I nodded, though at the time I didn't understand how serious she was, how heavy those words truly were. How everything from that moment on would be tied to those simple instructions. I didn't know what was going on, and I sure as hell didn't know the full weight of what I had agreed to.

But deep down, I felt it. Our destinies were tied together, whether we liked it or not. And somewhere in that dark, unforgiving world we called home, we were bound to cross paths again and again. I didn't know how it would play out, but I knew one thing for sure: this was only the beginning.

As I sit here now, I can say this with complete certainty—no regrets. Not a single fucking one.