“Kids who are related to Skin! We didn’t come this far to do half a job, did we? How do you think that’ll go over with Shady? Besides, this bitch just spit in my face. She deserves to see them die.”
With a curse, Pointblank sheathed his knife. “Fine. They can’t be far. I’ll find them. But don’t make a production out of this.”
“What does that mean?” Ink called after him.
“Kill her now and be quick about it. Who cares if she spit on you? This is a job.”
That was the difference, Pretty Boy realized, the reason he put up with other members of The Crew but not Ink. Violence and crime weren’t a means to an end for Ink. He enjoyed inflicting pain on others.
To make sure Pointblank didn’t find those kids, Pretty Boy started into the hall. But before he could reach the door, Ink thrust the gun he’d been waving around into his hands.
“What the hell?” Pretty Boy tried to give it back. “I’ve got my own weapon.” He hadn’t taken his semi-automatic from where he’d shoved it in the waistband of his jeans, and that was telling, but he’d spoken the truth—he did have one.
“Hold it for me.”
“What for?”
Ink was lifting his shirt and undoing his pants, which made his intent clear.
“Come on, man. Don’t be a loser.”
“She deserves this. And I want Skin to see it. Take out that fancy-ass phone of yours and video it.”
“Oh, that’s smart. If the video falls into the wrong hands, they’ll put your ass back in prison and throw away the key.”
He whirled around. “And who’s going to give it to the wrong people? You?”
“I’m just saying you don’t create shit that can prove you’re guilty of a crime like this, man.”
“Which is why you won’t get my head in the frame, jackass!”
“Fuck you! Here, take your damn gun.” Once again Pretty Boy tried to return Ink’s pistol, but Ink wouldn’t take it.
“Film it!” Throwing her on the floor, he started pulling up her nightgown.
Laurel wasn’t going down without a fight. She was frantic—scratching and clawing and biting—but she didn’t scream. She was probably afraid that would draw the children to her, if they were still within earshot.
Pretty Boy felt just as horrified, enraged and helpless as she did. No way was he filming this. He’d seen a lot of sick shit in his life, could tolerate almost anything—except a man beating up on a woman or a child. Being part of The Crew wasn’t supposed to be like this. In prison, they targeted ra**sts and child molesters, punished them for their actions. Now they were becoming just like them?
“You getting this?” Ink grunted. She’d hit him, connected with his stomach, but it didn’t really faze him. He ripped her panties while trying to get them off her.
Pretty Boy opened his mouth to try and talk Ink out of what he was doing, but before he could make up his mind about what to say, Pointblank yelled from the front door.
“Found the little bastards!”
Crying filled the house. Pointblank was coming through the living room, bringing the kids to the bedroom—probably so Ink could do the honors. Pretty Boy didn’t believe Pointblank wanted to hurt those children any more than he did. But Pointblank had a better position in The Crew, greater authority, and he’d follow any kind of order before he’d lose that.
“They were standing out on the neighbor’s porch, shivering,” he explained with a laugh as they came closer. “No one was home, but they didn’t have the sense to go somewhere else. They just kept pushing the doorbell.”
What’d he expect? They were kids, man. Little kids.
God, he was in the middle of some messed up shit.
A bead of sweat rolled from Pretty Boy’s temple, stinging his eyes. He couldn’t let this happen, didn’t want any part of it or the kind of people who could do this. Ink and Pointblank—neither of them could measure up to Skin, no matter what Skin had done since being released from the joint.
Ink didn’t seem to care whether or not Pointblank had found the children. What Pointblank said, all the crying, none of it seemed to register. Now that he had Laurel’s panties off, he was too busy trying to force her legs apart to care about anything else.
From what he’d seen so far, Pretty Boy thought Ink should thank him for not filming. Ink was too stoned to do much more than punch and fumble.
“It’ll hurt less if you quit fighting,” he panted, and began to choke her.
She did what she could to free herself, but it was no use. In another second Ink would be pumping away—
A child’s voice, full of fear, broke through the melee. “Mommy? Mommy!” And that was the last thing Pretty Boy heard before he pulled the trigger.
His right arm jerked with the recoil, his ears rang from the blast and the smell of gunpowder burned his nose and throat.
Trying to convince himself that he’d really shot Ink and not just imagined it, he blinked several times to clear his vision. There was no blood, nothing like when Pointblank used his knife on the marshal, but Ink lay slumped over Laurel, motionless.
Pretty Boy expected to feel instant remorse, or maybe fear for what his actions would set in motion. Instead, he experienced a rush of satisfaction, a sense of resolution that put the conflict tearing him up to rest. He’d made his choice. Maybe he’d regret it later, but he didn’t regret it now.
“That’s what you get,” he muttered to the inert Ink. Ink was no better than all the other scumbags who’d been in the hat while he was in prison.
Pointblank came charging into the room, dragging the children behind him. “What’s going on?”
There was more blood on Laurel, who was shaking and crying, than on Ink. Pretty Boy wasn’t sure how that’d happened. The bullet must’ve gone all the way through him.
It took Pointblank a second to realize that the gunshot he’d heard had resulted in Ink’s death. When Laurel managed to escape from under his limp body, Pointblank did a double take. Then he gaped at Pretty Boy. “What did you do?”
“What I had to do.” Somehow Pretty Boy felt calmer, more like himself, than he had in weeks. But that calmness disappeared when Pointblank released the kids, who’d been tugging to get free and ran crying for their mother. “Are you crazy?” His voice ominous, Pointblank went for his knife. “Shady will kill you for saving her. He’ll kill me, too!”