Lie, Baby, Lie ✔️

chapter seven- wade

Chapter Seven

My mother used to joke about me being psychic. She said I had a sense for people and situations before they even fully revealed themselves. She thought I had a talent for seeing what others didn't. So when Thomas sends me to do his dirty work later this night, just after eleven o'clock, I know what's coming. I feel it at my core, in my bones.

One of the dispensaries, a place in a low-income neighborhood that specializes in selling hardcore drugs to teenagers, has been keeping some of its profit from Thomas. The funny thing is, people are naive enough to believe he'd never catch such a huge mistake. Underestimating Lucifer is a rookie mistake and one that won't be repeated at that.

    He always gets even. Always. I'm not sure anything trumps his need for vengeance once he gets the idea in his head. It's the sort of thing that consumes him until all the blood rushes to his head and makes his vision go red.

    The music is on in my car, a station with all the tracks it plays in Spanish. My mother loved this one because she saw it as a connection to our people. When I listen to it, I see it as my connection to her.

    Marco and I were born in the United States, meaning we were granted full citizenship from the beginning. When she was caught by immigration and sent back to Mexico, she wouldn't take us with her. She was always going on about how the place she came from was too unsafe for children, and that she could never forgive herself if she took us away from America. We lost contact soon after, and my anger keeps me from reaching out again. She left us, left us here to fend for ourselves, and Marco and I ended up caught up with the worst kind of people. It got him killed, and it got me trapped.

    And now, I'm about to get my hands dirty for the devil. Again.

    I'm alone in my car, but I've got two close behind me full of demons. There's a weight on my belt from the loaded gun I'll be emptying. Thomas says the plan is to ask for the money they've been stealing. If it's not in my hands in a minute, we've been instructed to kill everyone in sight.

    Thomas holds nothing back when it comes to matters like this. Anyone who works for him should know that, and it's a wonder they chose to cross him despite it.

    Somehow, kids live here. There are toys in yards, sneakers outside of front doors. It's out of place for this kind of block. Drug deals take place in a house away from where they play. Ten feet from a worn basketball hoop is a meth lab. Innocence comes here to die.

    I climb out, running my fingers along the grip of my pistol. I'm flanked by a couple of other guys. We don't say anything, but we move in harmony. There's work to be done, choices to be made. We know what we have to do, and there's no conversation needed.

    I'm the first to knock, and a kid with a grill covering his bottom teeth answers the door. He's young, but he definitely acts tougher than he is. His gaze is defiant and he stinks like he's been smoking all night. He's high out of his mind, which gives him the courage to open his mouth.

    "The fuck do you want?" he asks.

    I raise an eyebrow. "Critt wants his money, and he knows damn well you've been stiffing him."

    The bravery falters for a moment. The recognition of Thomas's last name puts fear into the boy. He knows what's coming, and his face whitens a little.

I go on, "Get me Rodney before I put a bullet in your face."

    "Is that a threat?" the kid asks.

    "It's a promise," I reply. "Now scram."

    He does, he hustles as fast as he can in his ridiculous pants that are a few sizes too big. His voice raises. "Rod! We got demons at the damn door!"