Infernal: Bite The Bullet (6 page)

“Must be inherited from my father, so.” I ground
my teeth, determined not to let her get to me.

“We do not speak of that monster,” she snapped.
“No cigarettes? Those bastards. They treat me like a criminal.”

I folded my arms across my chest. “You killed a
man.”

“Not a man. A demon,” she said, plucking lint from
the fabric of her leggings.

Demons and devils. That was what had earned her an
insanity verdict and landed her indefinitely in the forensic psychiatry unit. And
clearly the increased medication dosage wasn’t having the desired effect. She
was making no more sense than she had on the day of her arrest.

“I came to ask you something. It’s about Daniel.”

“Oh Lord, my baby boy,” she said in that gravelled
voice, rocking on the bed. “They put a demon inside me. He was my punishment.”

Anger swelled, as always, when she launched into
this crap. “The only demons inside you are your addictions, mother. Your demons
are heroin, and alcohol. Daniel wasn’t a devil. He was gay. Get over it.” It
was bad enough having a psychotic mother, but the homophobia was a step too
far. “You made a show of us at the funeral, calling that poor man an
abomination of nature.”

 “You know nothing!” my mother shouted. She stared
knives at me, her once full lips puckered up by age and years of relentless
chain-smoking.

I hated that the little girl I’d once been cringed
from her mother’s rejection. I was stronger than that. “I didn’t come to make
small talk, mother.” I leaned forward and tugged up the sleeve of her left arm,
revealing a flash of blank ink. “I saw this tattoo, exactly the same, on a man
who works at the studio where Daniel auditioned for that music video. Tell me
what it means.”

“That’s no business of yours,” she said, yanking
her sleeve back into place. “You stay out of it. Stay away.”

“How can I, when Daniel’s killers are walking the
streets?”

She’d had the ink as long as I could remember,
though she’d always taken great care to hide it, wearing long sleeves, even in
the heat of summer. I had memories though, early ones, before she gave us up to
care, of the three of us sharing a bath. I’d seen it then, and it was the kind
of image that stuck in a child’s memory: the circular dragon eating its own
tail had been like something out of a fantasy story.

“Is it a drugs thing?” I asked. “I need to know.
Did you have Daniel buying drugs for you?”

Her spittle sprayed my cheek, but I wiped it away.

“What then? Is it this cult? The people you ran
from, before I was born?”

That sparked her attention, and hawk-like eyes
narrowed on me. “Who spoke to you of that?”

“Your psychiatrist mentioned it. I guess they
pulled your immigration records to help with your insanity plea.”

“They had no right.” She growled, her face contorted
with anger.

“I want the truth, mother. You never gave us anything.”

“I gave you everything,” she said hoarsely. “When
it happens to you, then you’ll understand.”

“I will never be like you. I’d die first.”

“You think it’s that easy?” she sneered. “You
should be grateful I got you away from them.”

“Away from whom?”

“Your fathers. Perhaps you’re right. I should have
aborted you, or taken my own life when you were in my belly.”

Damn, but the woman used razor blades for words.

“But you didn’t,” I said tightly, “you gave birth
to us, and all we ever wanted was your love. Yet you did everything in your
power to push us away. You owe us this much. You owe it to Daniel to help me.”

She reached out, squeezing my hand until the
knuckles hurt, and she had tears in her voice when she spoke. “I am trying to
help you, child. You stay away from them, you hear me? You see the Devil’s
mark, and you run, far, far away.” Her nails cut into my skin, marking me with
bloody crescents, and I could see the whites of her eyes as her speech became
more pressured. “You shouldn’t be here. The demons have eyes everywhere. They
found me, and you’re not safe.”

She was right. Coming here had been a huge
mistake. The woman was delusional, and about to break every bone in my hand.

I squeezed the button, and true to the nurse’s
word, the room was suddenly swarming with staff and security.

“Are you okay, Miss?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” I said, covering up my
bleeding hand. “She’s just… I think my being here upset her. I should go.”

Crap, I was running so late. First, my boss held
me back for another bollocking about falling class-numbers. Then the Tube had
been overcrowded with rush-hour commuters, and a self-righteous prick of a
stockbroker in a pinstripe suit elbowed me out of the train. Seemed like it was
meet an asshole day.

I stumbled into the studio, breathless after a
rapid change of clothes, my shoes squeaking loudly on the polished floor just
as the clock struck seven. The entire class turned to look at me, and I felt
like Cinderella, caught on the hop after the stroke of midnight. I smiled
awkwardly, taking position beside Gracie. Weird, she seemed surprised to see
me. Raider shot me a look that said I was there by the skin of my teeth. Good,
at least I was there.

Unfortunately, so was Konstantyn, and his
trademark glare was in place, along with an added layer of pissed off. The warm-up
went off without a hitch. My body felt loose and relaxed, and I was so
preoccupied with my proximity to Konstantyn, I was able to ignore Gracie’s
stony silence.

When the music started, he crooked his finger in
my direction, and without thinking I stepped forward.

“Not you. Her.” He singled Gracie out.

“I want that one gone,” he said, looking to
Raider, but pointing at me.

What?

I must have looked like I’d been slapped, but I
couldn’t fix my expression, not with the way Konstantyn’s face looked so
serious in profile. He wasn’t joking.

Even Gracie, who clearly wasn’t speaking to me,
threw me a confused look that darkened to a mixture of sympathy and surprise as
his words rumbled through the studio.

Raider shot a questioning glance in Konstantyn’s
direction. When the Queen of dismissals was hesitant, something was very wrong.
“But he asked for her, specifically, when I showed them yesterday's footage.
There’s not enough time to teach a replacement the routine,” he said,
fluttering his hands nervously.

“You heard me.” Konstantyn growled and snapped his
fingers in my face. “I want her gone. Now.”

I refused to let his terrifying imitation of
Raider reduce me to tears, but as I stared into his remorseless gaze it was a
struggle. How I’d ever thought those stupid green-flecked eyes were beautiful,
I’d never know.

I left with as much dignity as I could, furious
and battling with the brim of angry waterworks. In a race to get out of the
locker room before I lost the war with my tears, I changed back into my street
clothes and contented myself with slamming the door loudly on my way out.

All I’d worked for, gone, because some asshole was
embarrassed about his job moonlighting as a sex-worker. I fumed my way in the
direction of the Underground, cursing Lazarenko for taking away the only
connection I had to my brother’s death. He’d dumped me right back where I’d
started.

Headlights flashed along the pavement and I stepped
away from the curb as a car drove up alongside me. Inside my pocket, I laced my
house keys between my knuckles, just in case. Probably someone just got lost, I
hoped, but no, I wasn’t that lucky, and it was meet an asshole day after all.

The driver rolled down the window and a cloud of
marijuana smoke assaulted my senses. A heavy trance beat pounded from altered
speakers, vibrating the air. Not a lost tourist. The car was full of
gang-bangers. I discreetly tucked my bag under my right arm. They’d really
picked the wrong time to mess with me. The mood I was in, I was tempted to
self-defence the crap out of them.

“Hey pretty lady. You out here all alone?”

I ignored them and kept on walking, but the car
crept along, keeping pace. The circular Underground sign was lit up in the
distance, and the underpass was completely deserted.
Shit.
I kept my
eyes front, and concentrated on not looking like a victim.

“Need a ride? I got a seat for you, right here.” I
cut him a glance but immediately regretted it when I saw his hand was cupping
his crotch. He pumped his hips, leering, his mouth split in a wide grin. They
were hardly more than kids, but some of the kids on these streets were feral. I
knew, I’d grown up with their older siblings, many of whom were doing time.

I quickened my pace, spine stiff, tensely waiting
for them to park and make good on their lewd suggestions. They didn’t. Their
laughter howling, the engine cranked over in a rumble of revs and they sped
away in a cloud of stinking exhaust fumes.

I slumped. Idiot kids.

Still, I watched until the tail-lights of the car disappeared
before I slowed my pace to something less like speed-walking.

For a Friday night, it was quiet. There were no
stumbling drunks, just a few sleeping homeless people who didn’t bother to stir
as I passed. With the cool London evening biting at my exposed skin, I gathered
my sweater around me and hustled towards the entrance to the Underground.

As I turned the corner, I was expecting the draft
of cold wind that buffeted me. I was not expecting the large hand that clapped
down on my shoulder. A scream lit from my lips, adrenaline surging through my
blood as a strong grip spun me around and backed me into a graffitied wall. The
face of my attacker dropped the scream from my throat and anger bubbled up
instead.

“Jesus Christ, you scared the hell out of me, you asshole!”
My hands pushed at the brick wall of his chest, punching when he didn’t budge.
“If you’ve come to apologise, you can just fuck right off. I am not letting you
make my day any worse.”

Of course, the alternative was that he’d come to
kill me, but I refused to think about that.

“You walk home alone, at night?” Konstantyn
gruffed at me, catching my fist before it could hit him again.

I wanted to punch the disapproval right off his
face. “What business it that of yours?” I glared at him, and lowering my voice
to mimic his accent, I reiterated his words, “I want that one gone.” I
shrugged. “Those were your exact words. Excuse me for obliging you.”

He had the gall to pin me in a surly, irritated
stare and I flexed my fist in his grip.

“I’m trying to do you a favour,” he said. His
accent growled all his r’s and I absolutely did not like the way that sounded.

I was the one growling now, annoyed at myself for
liking his voice and annoyed at him for being an ass. “A favour? You had no
right to take this away from me. I earned my place.” I prodded him with my free
hand, punctuating each point. “So I caught you moonlighting in that club.”
Poke
.
“So I humiliated you.”
Poke
. “Guess what? You deserved it. That’s no
reason to kick me off the crew.” All my earlier fury came flooding back as I
remembered what he’d really cost me.

“
Chort
! If the devil is powerless, send him
a woman,” he muttered.

I ignored him, refusing to flinch when he braced
his impressive arms either side of my head. “Why are you here?” he demanded.

“I’m attempting to go home, if you’d just get the
hell out of my way.” I tried, unsuccessfully, to push past his brick-house
muscle bulk.

“No,” he insisted. “Why are you
here
?”

I tipped my chin up and sounded like I meant it.
“I want to dance.”

“Bullshit.” His nostrils flared like he could
smell the lie on me. “You followed me to the club last night. Why did they send
you?”

“Why did who send me?”

“Your bosses.”

Bosses? What the hell?

“Why do they send a woman into the wolves’ den?”

“You have a problem with my gender? A misogynist
as well as an asshole, then. Well that figures.”

He shook his head, those dark irises glinting with
green as he got in close. “You want to see woman-haters? Go back to that club,
Neva. They will fuck you ‘til you bleed and they will dump your broken body on
the street like the garbage they think you are.”

His intimidation techniques couldn’t work on me,
but those words made my soul flinch.

“What are you saying?” I stammered, cursing the
wobble in my voice. “You know something.” The description was too close to home
for me to ignore, and I was jumping on him for information.

“As I say, I do you a favour. Go. Far away from
here. Tell whoever sent you that their little rat was flushed out of the
sewer.”

“Nobody sent me. I’m on my own.” That was the
truth. Detective Dalton had been clear, he would never condone what I was
doing, but I regretted the admission even as it left my mouth. This man was bad
news. Revealing I had no back-up was a dumbass move, and now my talent at
blurting out thoughts under pressure was liable to get me killed. Speak in
haste, repent at leisure. “I’m not afraid of you,” I lied.

“No?” His brow arched, his arms flexing either
side of my head. “Then you are a fool. I am a dangerous man.”

That, I didn’t doubt. Lazarenko knew something,
though, and I was rattling along the track of my own adrenaline and
desperation.

“Did you kill my brother?” Tensed to duck and run
at his reaction, I pulled out the photograph and thrust it towards him like an
accusation.

His brow furrowed as he snatched the picture from
my hand and straightened to his impressive height. This wasn’t the direction
he’d expected our conversation to take.

There was recognition in his eyes as he stabbed at
the image with a fingertip. “This man is your brother?”