Read Online Vengeance Bound by Justina Ireland - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Justina Ireland
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cooperation. It’s better than how things are when They have full rein.
They sigh in relief as They return to Their space in my subconscious. We have completed our justice.
Yet I am the only one still standing in the parking lot.
I slowly withdraw the blade, and Hank falls onto his face. There is no blood or torn clothing, no sign at all of what I have just done. When the newspaper reports his death, if they even bother to report on it, they’ll say he died of a massive heart attack. Natural causes. I release my grip on the sword. It and the chains wrapped around my arms dissolve into nothingness.
I bend down and pull Hank’s wallet from his back pocket before I step over his body and head to his truck. There is $680 in his wallet. Today must have been payday. I stick the money into the hip pocket of my jeans before wiping my prints off the battered leather, just to be sure. I toss the wallet onto the floor of the passenger side. Rent will be due soon.
Besides, it’s not like Hank needs it where he’s going.
The keys are in the ignition of the truck, and the engine is still running. I drive back to my car in a fog of lazy satisfaction and park a little ways down the road from Loose Lucy’s so no one asks me why I have Hank’s truck.
I’m taking a risk, leaving Hank’s truck so far from where he died. But it’s cold and snowy, and I’m feeling lazy after last night’s trek through the snowstorm. The smart thing would’ve been to leave the truck near the ATV repair shop. But chances are that the cops will just think that Hank was robbed after picking up a hitchhiker, the heart attack the result of his panic. The snow is still blowing around. It should hide my footsteps well enough.
I run to my car. The afterglow wears off during the short sprint. I shake uncontrollably by the time I start up my battered Toyota, the euphoria of justice fading into bone-deep fatigue. The drive home blurs into stops, turns, and starts. By the time I crawl into bed, I’m exhausted and ready for sleep.
Even though I’m tired, I lie in bed staring at the ceiling for a long time. I will my brain to still, to stop thinking about Hank Meacham and the terror in his eyes. It’s done. There’s no taking it back now.
My breathing finally slows, and as I drift off, my thoughts aren’t on what has just happened. Instead I think about going to school in a few hours, and seeing Niko. His blue eyes and mussed hair fill my mind’s eye. Deep in my chest there’s a tingle of excitement, and my heartbeat picks up just a little. He makes me look forward to school.
I don’t know whether that’s a good thing or not.
SLUMBER’S END
The final bell rings. It feels like the governor calling with a stay of execution. Thanks to the rotating schedule, my last class of the day is English, and the teacher has droned on about the tragedy of King Lear for the past hour. It’s beyond boring. My tastes run more to Hamlet.
I dump my books into my backpack and stand up to leave. I want to run out of the classroom, pushing people aside until the doorway is clear. It has been a few days since I handed down Hank Meacham’s sentence, and I still feel stable, but I hate waiting for the herd of exiting students to thin. Too bad the Cory everyone knows here—the one who’s fitting in surprisingly well—would never shove, so I smile and politely wait for people to file by until I can squeeze out the door.
“Cory. Hey, Cory!” Reluctantly I stop and turn around. Adam hurries down the hallway, not exactly a run but definitely faster than could be considered cool. I give him a smile.
“Hey there, hon. What’s up?”
His cheeks pinken at the casual endearment, and he clears his throat. “Uh, nothing. Where’re you headed?”
I roll my eyes. “Home. My parents are being totally crazy about unpacking. My mom said it’s slovenly to live out of boxes, so it’s only school and home until everything’s moved in.” The lie rolls off my tongue
They sigh in relief as They return to Their space in my subconscious. We have completed our justice.
Yet I am the only one still standing in the parking lot.
I slowly withdraw the blade, and Hank falls onto his face. There is no blood or torn clothing, no sign at all of what I have just done. When the newspaper reports his death, if they even bother to report on it, they’ll say he died of a massive heart attack. Natural causes. I release my grip on the sword. It and the chains wrapped around my arms dissolve into nothingness.
I bend down and pull Hank’s wallet from his back pocket before I step over his body and head to his truck. There is $680 in his wallet. Today must have been payday. I stick the money into the hip pocket of my jeans before wiping my prints off the battered leather, just to be sure. I toss the wallet onto the floor of the passenger side. Rent will be due soon.
Besides, it’s not like Hank needs it where he’s going.
The keys are in the ignition of the truck, and the engine is still running. I drive back to my car in a fog of lazy satisfaction and park a little ways down the road from Loose Lucy’s so no one asks me why I have Hank’s truck.
I’m taking a risk, leaving Hank’s truck so far from where he died. But it’s cold and snowy, and I’m feeling lazy after last night’s trek through the snowstorm. The smart thing would’ve been to leave the truck near the ATV repair shop. But chances are that the cops will just think that Hank was robbed after picking up a hitchhiker, the heart attack the result of his panic. The snow is still blowing around. It should hide my footsteps well enough.
I run to my car. The afterglow wears off during the short sprint. I shake uncontrollably by the time I start up my battered Toyota, the euphoria of justice fading into bone-deep fatigue. The drive home blurs into stops, turns, and starts. By the time I crawl into bed, I’m exhausted and ready for sleep.
Even though I’m tired, I lie in bed staring at the ceiling for a long time. I will my brain to still, to stop thinking about Hank Meacham and the terror in his eyes. It’s done. There’s no taking it back now.
My breathing finally slows, and as I drift off, my thoughts aren’t on what has just happened. Instead I think about going to school in a few hours, and seeing Niko. His blue eyes and mussed hair fill my mind’s eye. Deep in my chest there’s a tingle of excitement, and my heartbeat picks up just a little. He makes me look forward to school.
I don’t know whether that’s a good thing or not.
SLUMBER’S END
The final bell rings. It feels like the governor calling with a stay of execution. Thanks to the rotating schedule, my last class of the day is English, and the teacher has droned on about the tragedy of King Lear for the past hour. It’s beyond boring. My tastes run more to Hamlet.
I dump my books into my backpack and stand up to leave. I want to run out of the classroom, pushing people aside until the doorway is clear. It has been a few days since I handed down Hank Meacham’s sentence, and I still feel stable, but I hate waiting for the herd of exiting students to thin. Too bad the Cory everyone knows here—the one who’s fitting in surprisingly well—would never shove, so I smile and politely wait for people to file by until I can squeeze out the door.
“Cory. Hey, Cory!” Reluctantly I stop and turn around. Adam hurries down the hallway, not exactly a run but definitely faster than could be considered cool. I give him a smile.
“Hey there, hon. What’s up?”
His cheeks pinken at the casual endearment, and he clears his throat. “Uh, nothing. Where’re you headed?”
I roll my eyes. “Home. My parents are being totally crazy about unpacking. My mom said it’s slovenly to live out of boxes, so it’s only school and home until everything’s moved in.” The lie rolls off my tongue
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