Free Where The Devil Won't Go: A Lucas Peyroux Novel by E.J. Findorff Page A

smell of stale beer
and weed. Her nose sucked in air through a sour-smelling pillow while one arm
hung off the side of the bed. Her other hand scratched at the panties riding up
her ass, a reminder of the night before.
    The advancing drug dealer invaded her
memory and she pushed it away like an evil daydream. Shit . She lifted her head with a moan, releasing a pulse of blood
to her brain that almost rendered her unconscious. However, she had to piss.
    Blood tinted the majority of her body,
with streaks staining the sheets. She wiped away drool residue and looked at
the nightstand where she left the note. The paper next to the alarm clock gave
the promise of a trail to follow. She reached out, unlocking stiff joints and
stretching tight muscles. She read the note softly while rubbing her eyes.
“Molly.”
    Titus hadn’t clarified, saying that she’d
have to ask around on Bourbon Street and that way he wouldn’t get any heat.
Little did he expect that retribution from the higher-ups would never transpire. Haley’s alligator pendant sat near the lamp. She
kissed it and then secured it around her neck.
    Her eyes snapped to the bathroom door as
last night’s events clicked, making her stomach knot again. She balanced her
weight onto each foot and stepped onto the chilly tiled floor, but only glanced
at the tub. Just a few hours ago she had stood nearly paralyzed on that cold
floor as Titus’ blood dripped to her toes. That same blood now dried to her
skin.
    She
looked at the horror again. Titus sprawled in the crimson-stained tub with the
knife planted deep, sticking out of his chest like a vampire stake. Her body
went numb and her eyes rolled back, but she fought away the lightheaded feeling
of faintness.
    The sight immediately brought back that
afternoon with her father, when she had basked in the relief his death had
brought. She remembered fragments of sitting on the bed next to her father with
her legs crossed, watching his blood glimmer as it stopped pulsing out onto the
mattress, his surprised expression frozen in death. She could still see Haley
cowering in a ball after having scurried from her bed where the beating had
started. Her balance faltered and her knees gave out. She fell next to the toilet
in a fit of hyperventilation, calming herself with the thought of preventing
her own rape.
    Oh,
Titus… Titus… Titus .
    She closed her eyes to force out the
tears. Get the crying over with , she
thought with an almost detached clarity. She turned onto her butt in order to
ease her pounding headache. Clear thinking would be critical now. Clear thinking. Breathe. Think. Breathe .
There was a dead drug dealer in the tub.
    “Gut you like an alligator. I warned you,
didn’t I?” Alligator – drug dealing
pimp, not so different. If either one gets a hold of you, you’re fucked .
    Saliva buckshot from
her mouth in a full sob. She put her head between her knees for ten minutes. At least she had enough of
her senses to push his legs, and his blood-soaked pants gathered at the ankles,
the rest of the way into the tub. She imagined mounting Titus’ head above the
apartment door.
    She used the toilet to pull herself upright
and opened the medicine cabinet for more ibuprofen, downing three capsules with
a cupped hand of water. She had taken a human life… Again. But, he was a bad
man, a rapist. Titus contributed to Haley’s demise and got what he deserved. A
towel saturated from the faucet did a fine job of cleaning the blood off her
skin. But that was just the start.
    A drug dealer like Titus would need to
carry cash. Cozy pulled at the right pocket of his jeans as his body lay
contorted in the tub. His shocked face seemed to be made of wax. She slid her
fingers deep within the tacky wetness when a loud ring tone from his pants sent
her reeling backwards. Some rap song echoed in the tub until cutting off a few
seconds later.
    “Jesus Christ.” She held her heart as she
approached the tub again. Her face grimaced as her