Chapter 9: Finally dead

But my arm would not move.

The old man saw me stop. In a sudden, desperate move, he jumped forward. He grabbed the bottom of the ladder. He shook it hard. “Get out! Get out of my shop!”

I screamed as the ladder shook. The heavy box slipped from my hand. It fell. It hit the concrete floor with a loud BANG. The lid burst open. Dozens of small, clear plastic bags spilled out. They were filled with white powder. It was not money. It was drugs.

The old man stared at the spilled powder. His face was a mask of horror. “No! You have ruined it! He will kill me!”

He looked up at me. His fear turned to a wild rage. “You stupid girl!”

He shook the ladder again, harder this time. I lost my balance. I fell from the top. I landed hard on the concrete next to the spilled drugs. The gun skittered away from my hand.

Pain shot through my side. I gasped for air.

The old man was on me in a second. He was not strong, but he was desperate. He grabbed my shoulders, trying to pin me down. “I will show you! I will show you!”

We fought on the dirty floor. He was scratching, hitting. He grabbed at my face. His fingers hooked under the edge of my mask.

He pulled.

The mask came off.

The old man stopped, stunned. He was looking right at my face. He saw me. He knew exactly who I was.

“You…” he whispered, his eyes wide. “You are just a little girl…”

In that moment of his shock, I shoved him off. I scrambled across the floor. My hand closed around the cold metal of the gun.

I turned, raising it. My arms were shaking.

The old man was getting to his knees. He saw the gun pointed at him. He saw my unmasked face.

“Please,” he sobbed, holding his hands up. “I will not tell. I promise. I will not tell anyone!”

My breath came in ragged sobs. I could hear Jaxon’s voice. “You cannot be seen.” I could see Victor’s cold eyes. “Cracks get people killed.”

He had seen my face. It was him or me.

My finger tightened on the trigger.

Just then, a woman’s voice, frail and sleepy, called out from the apartment above the shop.

“Leo? Leo, is everything okay? I heard a noise.”

The old man—Leo—turned his head toward the sound of his wife’s voice. “Martha, stay—”

BANG.

The gunshot was deafening in the small room.

Leo’s eyes went wide. A look of pure surprise froze on his face. He crumpled to the floor. A dark red stain spread across his chest.

I stood there, the gun smoking in my hand. The world was silent except for the ringing in my ears.

I heard the old woman’s voice again, closer now, worried. “Leo? Leo, answer me!”

I did not move. I just stared at the body on the floor. At the man I had just killed.

He was dead. Because of me.

I heard a faint creak on the stairs. The wife was coming down.

Panic finally broke through my shock.

The drugs.

I shoved the gun into my waistband. I dropped to my knees. My hands shook violently as I picked the small plastic bags off the floor. I did not think about what it was. I did not let myself think. I just grabbed them and shoved them back into the black box. I slammed the lid shut. I grabbed my mask from the floor.

I was about to run when the door swung open.

The old woman stood there. She was small and frail, wrapped in a robe. Her eyes went from me, to the gun, to Leo’s body on the floor.

For a second, there was no sound. Then, a scream started to build in the old woman’s throat. A raw, terrible sound of grief.

Our eyes met.

The old woman had also seen my face.

My mind went blank. There was no more thought. No more choice. There was only a cold, simple rule. No witnesses.

As the woman’s scream finally tore through the air, I raised the gun again.

“No! Please!” the old woman cried, holding up her hands.

My face was stone. My hand was steady.

BANG.

The second gunshot was louder than the first. The old woman stumbled back, a look of shock on her face, and fell silent.

I stood in the sudden, terrible quiet. Two bodies on the floor. The smell of gunpowder and blood filled the air.

I was breathing hard. My heart was a rock in my chest.

I turned. I picked up the black box. I walked out the back door into the alley. I did not run.

Jaxon saw me walking toward him. He saw my face, cold, empty, a stranger’s face. He saw the box in my hand.

He did not say a word. He just started the bike.

I put on my helmet and climbed on behind him. I did not look back.

As we sped away, I knew.

The girl I was before was not just gone. She was dead.

I had finally killed her too.