《Paint Me A Murder》


 1. Cocaine Cash

    Crimson painted the sink. Bloody tissues scattered across the counter and around Kazimir''s bare feet. Nosebleeds had become a part of his life after he''d gotten addicted to cocaine.


    Before returning to his room, he washed away the evidence. He scrubbed the sink until it sparkled and hid the bloody tissues under the piling garbage in the waste can. His secret was safe, but for how long?


    He thought a change of scenery would help, but his addiction followed him like a traveling companion. Being separated from the root of his problem solved nothing.


    Kazimir sat down on his old but reliable art stool and started working on a new piece. When he was younger, he used to think art was pointless. Sometimes people judge things too quickly in life and put labels on them before giving them a chance. Painting started as a way to earn cash for his drug habits, but it became so much more than that. With his paintbrush, he could imagine a place where he could be free.


    Countless teachers who saw nothing but another troublemaker in their class never tried to help Kazimir discover his passion. They all assumed the worst for his future. But then, he met his high school art teacher, and he changed his outlook on art.


    Rhett Lamphere had been a wild soul. He sported blue hair and a perpetually peppy tone of voice. Kazimir''s initial impression of the art teacher was, where the hell did they find this fruitcake? That was before Mr. Lamphere opened up about his own history with drug addiction and offered Kazimir support. Kazimir tried denying he had a problem, but his former art teacher saw straight through his lies. Mr. Lamphere helped him stay clean for a few days before he''d mess up and relapse.


    The day their principal barged into the classroom to tell Kazimir and his peers that Mr. Lamphere had died in a drive-by shooting on his way to work no longer felt as shocking. Three years had passed, but the memory remained vivid.


    Vengeful thoughts had played through Kazimir''s mind about harming the teen responsible for killing his mentor. But he knew Mr. Lamphere would''ve been disappointed in him if he''d gone through with it. Mr. Lamphere believed in giving all his students second chances. If he hadn''t, he never would have gotten through to Kazimir.


    A knock on the door interrupted Kazimir''s daydreaming. "Hey, man. Open up."


    "The door''s unlocked," Kazimir told his roommate before he pushed it open. "Watch your step."


    Tiptoeing on the huge white sheet Kazimir laid out across the floor, Jordy avoided stepping in any paint splotches. Kazimir looked up at his dark-skinned friend, who carried his Chromebook under his arm.


    "Did you need something?" Kazimir asked, laying his paintbrush down.


    "Your room is a mess." Jordy crinkled his nose. "It looks like Picasso''s afterparty in here."


    "Sorry. After I finish here, I''ll clean up."


    "You''re fine. Art can get messy. If you''re almost done, you wanna head over to Chipotle with me and my friends?" Jordy asked.


    "Sorry, but I already made plans. Maybe next time?"


    "Sure, no problem."


    Kazimir smiled at him. "Have a good time with your friends."


    "Thanks, I''ll see you later." Jordy grinned back at Kazimir and walked out of the room.


    Kazimir was grateful to have bumped into Jordy in a Facebook group for young artists. They talked all the time about Kazimir moving to New Syracuse from his hometown in North Dakota, and he finally got enough money saved up two weeks ago. Kazimir had a lot of problems back home, and Jordy needed a roommate to help with rent. It was the perfect plan.


    After an hour passed by, Kazimir pushed himself off his perch, taking in the painting poised upon the shabby easel. His projects tended to take a few days to finish, but he''d gotten a good start on that one.


    It was a piece of abstract impressionism of a heart in a cage. If Mr. Lamphere could see him now, Kazimir was sure he''d be proud. He had a nasty habit of disappointing almost everyone in his life, but never his mentor.


    Strumming the soft bristles of his paintbrushes, he slipped his fingers down into a mason jar on his rolling cart full of paint supplies to retrieve a plastic baggie. He had enough coke to get by until tomorrow, but he couldn''t let his stash get that low.


    If Kazimir couldn''t be high, he didn''t want to be alive.


    The artist sent a text to his dealer that he''d be on his way. He slipped an old camo hoodie on and fetched his keys off the nightstand before heading out. His shiny blue motorcycle awaited him in the parking lot of the apartment complex. He''d saved up forever to buy the spiffy cruiser, and it was worth every penny.


    It wouldn''t be long until a police car came snooping around, and he wanted to leave before it arrived. The owner of their apartment had a friend on the force who did him the courtesy of making sure no sketchy business went on around his buildings. After looking both ways, Kazimir pulled out of the bumpy lot and sped off.


    Old buildings clung to the ground for dear life. Most of them were foreclosed or had condemned signs up. But even amid such atrocity, he still found beauty in their town. Trees danced in the wind, scattering maple and crimson leaves all around. Nothing was more lovely than foliage in the fall.


    When Kazimir first moved to New Syracuse, the ginormous boots planted on the walkways confused the hell out of him. A local artist created three of them and had different stories painted on them. The one he drove by depicted a little boy in a sunhat walking through a garden of roses. He thought it was a sweet reminiscence of the artist''s childhood.


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    Caraway Drive was notorious for gang fights and arrests. Kazimir knew he shouldn''t be anywhere in that part of town. It was dangerous, but he couldn''t help himself. Nowhere else in New Syracuse could he buy cocaine so cheap.


    As he approached the Black Vipers gang hideout, a voluptuous young woman blew him a kiss from the sidewalk. A pimp parked on the curb watched his prized possessions bring in the big bucks.


    When the parlor came into view, Kazimir reduced his speed and pulled off onto the gravelly entry. Clients'' cars filled the front of the old hair salon so he parked in the back lot, where a security camera filmed his every move. The Black Vipers used the place as a front for their drug business.


    A small bell dinged to signal his arrival when he stepped inside through the back entry. The lobby reeked of freshly sprayed Lysol. He removed his glasses to wipe away the fog that gathered on the lens.


    Kazimir was used to the invasive pat down by the burly guard. Their precautions were understandable, but he still tensed up at having a strange man grope him as he searched for a weapon. Once he was allowed in, he hurried down the familiar pathway to his dealer''s makeshift office.


    When he opened the door, the sweet smell of cinnamon greeted him. It reminded him of the delectable cinnamon rolls he used to bake himself for breakfast as a child.


    Closing the door behind him, he stepped closer inside, taking in the familiar setup of Samantha''s new office. Why didn''t she hang any paintings up on the boring beige walls? Her colorful notes of clients were stacked up neatly alongside her red pens, and her laptop remained on the center of the desk with her stuffed penguin perched on top. The artist took a seat on the salon styling chair and propped his feet up on the metal bar at the bottom.


    Samantha turned her swivel chair around, revealing ghastly bruises on her face. She smiled at Kazimir as if nothing was wrong. It looked like someone had beat her again.


    Kazimir gasped. "What happened? Are you okay?"


    "Just another run-in with those damn Voiceless Rebels. You know how it is with their greed for territory." She twirled one of her purple pigtails around her finger. "They think they own the whole world."


    He grimaced. "You need to stay away from them. I hate seeing you get hurt like this."


    Reaching across her desk, Kazimir trailed his fingers across her bandaged arm. It was another injury she''d gotten from fighting with those reprehensible gang members. She rested her soft, warm hand over his, reassuring him that she was fine. Kazimir wished he had the courage to stand up to them and protect her.


    "Remember when Jordy''s brother, Luca tried to leave the rebels? They murdered him, made it look like he got hit during a gang war. Cops didn''t give two shits about him. Just saw another troubled man," Samantha said. "When I take control of the Black Vipers, I won''t let that happen to me."


    "That''s insane. Don''t even think about that. You''re already in too deep here by accepting this office," Kazimir told her. "Jordy would be so devastated if he knew what you were doing."


    "I have to do this. It''s too late to turn back now. Jordy will never find out as long as you keep your mouth shut. You wouldn''t want him to find out about your coke addiction, would you?"


    Kazimir gulped, shaking his head. "No, I wouldn''t. But I''m worried about you too. I''d be devastated if something ever happened to you."


    "You don''t have to worry about me. I know how to take care of myself. I''ve even figured out the identity of one of the Voiceless Rebels." Pride shone in her emerald eyes. "You wanna see a photo of the dickhead?"


    Samantha handed him her iPhone. The photo depicted a tall, slim yet buff guy he didn''t recognize. He sported a denim jacket with the hood pulled up, hiding most of his blond hair.


    "His name''s Emmett. Him and his little bitch were the ones who attacked me," she explained.


    Kazimir returned her phone, shaking his head. "That''s why you shouldn''t get involved. This Emmett guy could kill you."


    "You''d be lost without me, wouldn''t you? Where would you get your precious coke?" Samantha unlocked her desk drawer and dropped the eight ball in front of him.


    Kazimir snatched the plastic baggie without hesitation. "Could I get a quarter ounce this time, please?"


    "Why do you need so much?" she asked. "This is what you always get."


    He pushed the bridge of his thick-framed glasses up his nose. "I just want it to last longer."


    "Alright, but it''s gonna cost you extra."


    "I know." He pulled out his wallet and handed over the cash. "Thank you so much."


    "No problem." Samantha reclined back in her chair. "So, do you plan on painting any today?"


    Kazimir grinned as he stood up to leave. "I''m doing a graffiti piece downtown. I got the perfect image too."


    Figuring out where to spray paint it would be the tricky part for him.


    ??


    Kazimir''s chosen location ended up being in a grimy, narrow slit between two walls, barely big enough to be called an alleyway. The dumpster reeked, just like the rest of Hell''s Hollow. No wonder the kids called it Devil''s Butthole. He missed the smell of Samantha''s office already.


    The wind roared in his ears when he removed his helmet after parking his bike. It rustled up his dark brown hair. The sun shined down on the artist as he unzipped the backpack dangling against his back. It contained all his precious spray paint cans.


    Finding his ideal position was difficult, but he was always up for a challenge. That piece deserved to hit the heavens, so he hopped on top of the dumpster and climbed up the roof ladder attached to the bar. He always kept his grappling hook in his backpack in case he decided to spontaneously climb a building and spray paint, like today.


    Once he got himself situated in the middle of the brick building, he directed the different colors against the wall to produce the realistic image of a dick. Kazimir planned to center the gangster''s face right in the middle. He couldn''t avenge Samantha by attacking Emmett, so he did the next best thing. He painted him as a dickhead.


    Dark clouds covered the sky, shielding him far away from the truth. New Syracuse was drowning in mystery and misery. Kazimir was an outsider, but even he could tell there was something terribly wrong with the town. The gangs and drugs played a substantial piece, but no one was brave enough to venture closer to uncover the facts.


    Kazimir shivered at the abrasive gust and clenched his spray can tighter. If he had known how windy it would be, he would have worn another hoodie. The gale only fought back harder and tried to pull him off the building, yanking his spray can from his hand.


    Thankfully, he almost completed it before he lost the can. He wanted to make the balls bigger, but the small ones would have to suffice. He needed to get down before the wind blew him away.


    He planted one foot precariously on the ladder then the other and unhooked himself from the building when he thought he was safe. The wind worsened as Kazimir tried to reach the bottom, but his left foot missed the next step. Instead of easing his way down gently, he dropped to the pavement below.


    Kazimir''s life flashed before his own eyes as he fell. Was this how it all ended for him? He tried to prepare himself for the excruciating death of busting his head open on the concrete below when rugged arms reached out and caught him. When the wooziness faded, Kazimir realized there was someone under him and quickly rolled off.


    His golden hair resembled a halo and his eyes were a heavenly spring-green shade. Kazimir reached down to stroke his cheek, watching his lips curl in confusion at his touch.


    Was it forbidden to touch angels? Kazimir wondered.


    "Are you here to take me away from this horrible life?" Kazimir asked him.

 2. Painted in Blood

    When Kazimir stood up, his vision twirled in circles like he was performing an intense ballet. The blond guy was quick on his feet to keep Kazimir from stumbling over like a fool.


    "Hey, are you okay?" His savior rose an eyebrow, scanning Kazimir''s small frame from head to toe.


    Legs trembling, Kazimir swayed when he stepped away from the stranger. Something deep inside his soul screamed to run away. His savior looked so familiar. Had he met him before? Looking down, Kazimir noticed some scrapes in the ripped holes of his Wrangler jeans. His bruised hands stung from bracing the rough concrete.


    "I''m good," Kazimir replied. "I-I didn''t mean to fall on you. Um, thank you for saving me."


    "No problem. You''re the painter, right?" His lips twitched, forming a half smirk. "Your art popped up in Voiceless Rebel''s turf about a week ago."


    "What?" Kazimir froze. His breaths quickened, heart pounding with each intake of air. "Who are you?"


    Kazimir''s delirium slowly faded into a mild confusion and then recognition of the face before him. He was the man from the photo. His porcelain skin had easily fooled Kazimir into believing the guy could be some ethereal spirit. Sullen green eyes with heavy bags underneath gave him a fragile appearance. Nothing like the frightening gangster Samantha made him out to be.


    Brushing some dirt off his black trench coat, the gangster exposed his bruised knuckles. His savior then bent over to pick something off the ground. A gun protruded from his trench coat pocket.


    "Name''s Emmett," he replied, revealing a little plastic baggie of cocaine. He opened it and took a whiff. "Where''d you get this?"


    Kazimir''s gaze darted from the mysterious man to the alleyway opening. He''d gotten himself into some deep shit. Digging through his hoodie pocket, he mentally cursed himself. Emmett had his coke. Without hesitating, Kazimir snatched it from his hand.


    "So rude. Didn''t your parents teach you any manners?" Emmett scoffed. "I would''ve given it back. You just needed to ask politely."


    The bizarre expression of joy that washed over Emmett''s face confused him. What was with this weirdo? Kazimir took another step back, stuffing the baggie back in his hoodie pocket. He needed to get the hell out of there.


    "So, where did your latest muse come from?" Emmett pointed at the brick wall. "Why''d you paint my face on a dick?"


    Kazimir failed to hide his grin. "Someone must think you''re a dickhead."


    "What the hell did you say?"


    Instead of answering, Kazimir bolted, shoving Emmett aside as he made a run for it. Emmett reached out for Kazimir as he pushed passed him, but the artist ducked down to avoid capture. Kazimir knew what those gang members were like and had no intention of experiencing a bullet wound or a beating.


    "Hey! Where are you going?" Emmett shouted.


    The pounding soles of his shoes echoed over his heartbeat as he splashed through the puddles. But in his hazy state, he wasn''t very coordinated. One moment Kazimir was running for his life, then the next he was in a head-on collision with a ginormous green recycling bin.


    He regained a piece of his dignity when he pulled himself together and reached his motorcycle. Revving the engine, he drowned out Emmett''s laughter and let it carry him far away from the Voiceless Rebels territory.


    Kazimir couldn''t help but peek over into the rearview mirror at the sight of Emmett on the street corner. While staring at the guy, he almost crashed into the yellow pedestrian crossing sign, but with a swift swerve, he avoided it.


    ??


    Miraculously, Kazimir made it back to his apartment in one piece and didn''t damage any street signs. He knew Samantha would get a kick out of the graffiti piece he created, so he sent her a text with the location of it. He wanted to send her a photo, but that frightening gangster had showed up out of nowhere. He warned her about that Emmett guy too.


    Jordy put his Xbox controller down when Kazimir stepped in the living room. "Didn''t realize you went out. What pulled you away from your art?"


    "Sometimes I need to get outside for some inspiration. It gets boring staying inside all day." Kazimir dropped his backpack down on the floor. "How was lunch?"


    "It was fine," Jordy replied. "How''s your day been?"


    Kazimir closed the window curtains after taking a gander around outside. He worried that frightening gangster followed him to finish him off. "I ran into one of those gang members you warned me about."


    "Oh shit. For real? What happened?" Jordy reached over for his fountain coke on the table, taking a sip.


    Kazimir took a seat on the couch beside Jordy, folding his arms across his chest. "The guy showed up out of nowhere. I was painting in an old alley. He said he''d been keeping up with my art. He had a gun too."


    Jordy''s eyes widened. "A gun? Did he threaten you with it?"


    "No. I fled on my motorcycle before he could do anything." Kazimir fiddled with his bruised hands in his lap. While his heart no longer felt like it would explode in his chest, paranoia held his mind hostage. He kept glancing toward the door, expecting the gangster to come break it down.


    "That''s good. I''m glad you''re okay, man." Jordy patted Kazimir on the back. "You gotta be more careful though."


    "I''ll try. It''s just... You''ve never told me much about the gangs. Just that I should stay away," Kazimir said. "How long have they been around?"


    "It all started with the shithead of the Voiceless Rebels a few years ago," Jordy explained. "There''re some rumors about who he might be but nothing''s for sure. Some say he''s from Chicago but I''ve heard Mexico too."


    Kazimir furrowed his brows. "Their leader wasn''t raised here?"


    Jordy shook his head and resumed his game. "I don''t think so."


    Virtual gunshots rang through Kazimir''s ears as he flinched. Jordy shot the staggering zombies that appeared on the screen, attempting to attack his avatar.


    "It takes guts to operate a gang. I''m surprised people would follow an outsider," Kazimir said.


    "Someone should send him back to wherever he came from in a body bag." Jordy shot a bullet into one of the zombies. "Our town will be a peaceful place when they''re all gone."


    "Body bag? That''s extreme. Locking them up in prison would be best, I think." Kazimir leaned closer, eager to learn more about how the gangs operated.


    "Nah, they''d just deal from behind bars. The gangs frighten their neighbors and blackmail businesses into silence by doing trade with them. It''s like nobody''s safe from them." Jordy kept his gaze glued to the television screen.


    Kazimir gulped. "That''s terrible. Aren''t the police doing anything to stop it?"


    "They''re everywhere. They''re like rodents feeding on our fear. Vigilantes have come together to help put an end to them too, but it''s still not enough. I''ve heard they pay the cops hush money, but I don''t have proof of that either."


    "Everywhere?"


    "They pretend they''re normal, just like us. They''ll hold steady jobs and act like they fit right in. They could be anybody in town."


    Kazimir fidgeted on the couch. "That''s... frightening."


    "Remember what I told you when you first moved here? Gangs usually go after big companies or people who threaten them. Just mind your business and keep away from their sides of town," Jordy replied. "Enough of all this gang talk. Are you stoked for tomorrow? You''ve been going on nonstop these past weeks about the art gallery."


    "It''s like a dream come true." Kazimir gleamed. "I''m beyond excited for this. I can''t believe our neighbor convinced his manager to showcase my works there."


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    Jordy nodded. "That was really nice of him."


    "I hope people like the paintings I''ve chosen to sell. I''m actually afraid I won''t hold a candle to some of the other masterpieces."


    "You''re just as talented as they are," Jordy said. "Are you gonna do any more painting today?"


    "Of course. I''ve had a lot of inspiration lately. I like to paint when I''m in the mood."


    "Artists are so strange." Jordy powered his game down after saving where he left off. "Well, I''m gonna study for a while. I have a big test tomorrow morning."


    "Alright. Good luck."


    "Thanks."


    When Jordy went off to his room, Kazimir returned to his own bedroom and locked the door. He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled the baggies of cocaine out. He stuck one in his art supplies for his emergency stash and lined the other out on the dresser.


    He fished out a straw from the box he kept hidden in his underwear drawer, then crushed the coke up, ensuring the straw was deep enough in his nostril, but not too deep. He didn''t want to lobotomize himself.


    Slow and sweet, Kazimir inhaled his blissful coke before leaning back against his bed in relief.


    ??


    Kazimir was giddy for the exhibit. He could barely sit still long enough to eat supper. It had been a dream of his to have his artwork presented in such a glorious place for people to purchase. It was on a whole new level from his meager trade at the flea market.


    With the weather being in the low thirties that night, Kazimir made sure to bundle up in his gray wool coat. He shivered beside his roommate Jordy, who wore a puffer coat and beanie to keep warm. When they approached the colossal art gallery building, Jordy hurried ahead to open the glass door for them, allowing Kazimir to bathe in the warm heat that furnished the inside.


    Combing his fingers through his tousled dark brown hair, Kazimir did his best to fix it. The artist dressed his best that night, donning a nice dress shirt and new pair of black denim jeans. He wanted to make a good first impression on the art gallery''s manager and the buyers.


    A chandelier hung above them, and a ceiling mural of clouds and angels floated in the painted sky. It was beautiful. Making their way toward the showcasing room, Kazimir pulled out the laminated card from his pocket that the owner had gave him. It provided him access to other rooms in the building if needed and helped employees recognize him as one of the artists versus a potential buyer.


    "Welcome back, Kazimir. Jordy." The polite older gentleman guarding the door greeted them.


    "Thanks, Nelson." Kazimir smiled. "I can''t believe this is really happening."


    "Oh, you''ll be fine." Nelsen waved a dismissive hand. "I''ve seen your works. They''re amazing."


    "Right?" Jordy chimed in. "Kazimir''s art is so cool."


    Kazimir blushed. "Thank you both."


    "Y''all have fun tonight. Don''t get into any trouble now." Nelson winked playfully.


    "Don''t worry, we won''t," Kazimir told him.


    Inside the spacious room, Kazimir admired the hundreds of beautiful paintings the galley held. Kazimir''s setup was next to an older woman who created landscapes of a farm and barn animals. Jordy had helped him mount his artworks up earlier, before the buyers would arrive. Examining each individual piece he''d chosen, Kazimir couldn''t help but worry about people not being fond of his artworks, even after Jordy and the security guard''s praise.


    Every painting told a story of love or heartbreak, capturing the beauty and sadness in their world. One piece depicted a couple ice skating together while another brought love to life with a young mother holding her son''s hand as they crossed down a beach. She reminded Kazimir a lot of his own mother, with her long curly brown hair and dimpled smile. Most all of his works focused greatly on detailing landscapes but lately he''d enjoyed creating fictional couples as his muse.


    "You really think they''ll like them?" Kazimir asked Jordy, gesturing to the canvases they''d hung up on the wall.


    "Of course, they''ll love it," Jordy told him. "This is where art like yours belongs."


    "I agree with Jordy."


    Kazimir turned around at the sound of the familiar, friendly voice. It was their neighbor, Hank and his wife Barbara beside him. Barbara''s curly hair barely reached her dark-skinned shoulders. She wore a sleeveless white jumpsuit and high heels that made her seem much taller. Hank wore his regular old blue jeans and shaved his bushy mustache.


    They were the first ones to welcome them to the neighborhood when they first moved into the apartment two weeks ago. Barbara even baked them some cookies to snack on while her husband helped unload some of their heavier belongings into the apartment.


    "You''ll be one of those famous artists they''ll talk about for centuries in history textbooks," Hank said. "I''m sure of it."


    Kazimir grinned. "Thank you so much."


    He loved when people noticed the talent he had with a paintbrush. He aspired to become a famous artist someday. He just had to keep pushing his art into galleries and other noteworthy places for people to discover. That was why he painted graffiti in New Syracuse. He needed to be noticed by someone, even if it was with a vague tag a local came up with for him: The Painter.


    "This wall here has the best paintings in the entire gallery." Hank gestured around the small space. "They must be worth like, thousands."


    "Five hundred for the landscapes and four-fifty for the abstract pieces," Kazimir told him.


    Hank theatrically gasped, gazing over at his wife. "Did you hear that, honey? A prominent artist is selling his paintings for such a cheap price? What a bargain."


    Barbara smiled. "It is. One of the landscape pieces would look lovely in our living room, don''t you think so?"


    "Absolutely." Hank paused to check his phone then slid it back in his pocket. "Sorry, just one of my friends calling."


    "If it''s important, you should step out for a moment," Kazimir said.


    "He''s probably just drunk off his ass again and needs a ride home. Nothing to worry about."


    Hank and Barbara settled on purchasing the sunset painting Kazimir created. While the fall colors were picturesque, the silhouettes of lovebirds on the branches weren''t a personal favorite of his.


    There were so many things he could buy with five hundred dollars, but unfortunately, he wouldn''t receive all of that money. Everything in life came with a price, and since he really wanted to showcase his work, he had to sign a gallery contract agreeing to forty percent of the sale. But Kazimir knew it would all be worth it. All great artists started out small and unknown.


    After they purchased the piece, Hank went to sit down. He rubbed his temples like he had developed a migraine. Kazimir suspected it was caused by the person who kept bugging him. Hank''s phone continued to ring throughout the rest of the night, and Kazimir noticed the mounting irritation on his neighbor''s face after the fifth time he dismissed the call.


    "I''ll be right back," Hank said suddenly. "I just need to make a quick call. I''m so sorry for this."


    "No need to apologize. I understand," Kazimir replied.


    "Is everything all right?" his wife asked.


    "Yeah, I just need to see what he wants so he''ll leave me alone. I promise I''ll be right back, honey." Hank got up and kissed her cheek. "Why don''t you check out some of the other paintings while I''m gone?"


    Barbara seemed reluctant to let him walk off, but she didn''t chase after him. Instead, she turned to Kazimir and Jordy with a fleeting smile then wandered around the gallery like her husband suggested. Kazimir could tell she was a little on edge about whoever Hank kept disregarding.


    The two of them made their way over to a little table that had wine and snacks. Jordy poured himself a glass of wine while Kazimir munched on a piece of cheese.


    "That was strange." Jordy took a sip of his wine.


    "Yeah, I know. Who do you think was calling him?" Kazimir asked.


    "Dunno." Jordy shrugged. "It was clearly someone he didn''t want to deal with tonight."


    By the time the gallery was closing, Kazimir managed to sell half of his paintings. It was a good start. Most of that money would go toward more art supplies. Canvases, oils, and turpentine weren''t cheap. He had to keep enough saved up for his precious coke too. While he was going over the inventory report, he thanked the manager, Fraser Gallagher for letting him show his art there.


    "It was a pleasure having you here tonight, Kazimir. I look forward to working with you in the future." Fraser looked down at his Apple watch. "Well, I best be going. You have a goodnight now."


    "Thanks. You do the same," Kazimir replied.


    Once he left, Kazimir and Jordy prepared to head out too. Just as they walked toward the entrance, Barbara hurried over to them.


    "Have either of you seen Hank?"


    "Not since he left to take that call," Jordy replied.


    "Maybe he''s still talking to that person?" Kazimir suggested.


    Barbara frowned. "For this long?"


    "Is it possible he drove somewhere else?" Kazimir asked her. "Maybe he had to go pick up that friend he mentioned."


    "He would have told me," she insisted. "I tried calling him but it goes straight to voicemail."


    "He''s probably still outside," Jordy assured her. "Let''s go see if y''all''s truck is still in the parking lot. If it is, then we''ll know he''s still somewhere around the art gallery."


    Mist swallowed the buildings like smoke from a withering fire. The moon was obscured behind the thick stormy clouds. Wind rustled against Kazimir as they walked past the decrepit buildings. It was despairing how so many places went out of business.


    When they reached the truck, Hank was nowhere to be found. Barbara tried calling him again, but it went to voicemail. Kazimir suggested they cross the street and check over at the community park, so they did.


    Silhouettes of trees blended into the inky night. Leaves rustled underfoot as they crossed the path. Kazimir frowned at the weird historical statue of a man holding a book and feeding a pigeon. Even though it wasn''t real, it still unnerved him. Birds scared the living daylights out of Kazimir.


    The artist drew his attention to the water fountain that had been shut off, studying the unclear shadow of a person from a distance. He blinked and it was gone. It had to be his eyes playing tricks on him. Or maybe it was the dim park lamps messing with his vision. They barely provided enough light for him to see.


    Ahead, someone slouched up against the bench at the very bottom. Kazimir squinted his eyes as he tried to make out the figure sitting on the bench beneath the flickering park lamp. Barbara hurried ahead of them, assuming it was her husband. Had Kazimir known what lied ahead, he would have stopped her and held her back. But it was too late. The piercing agony of her screams sent chills against Kazimir''s skin.


    "Hank!" With a shaky hand, Barbara reached down to feel his pulse, but it was apparent to Kazimir that Hank was already gone ¨C the concrete was stained in large, dry pools of blood. Hank''s face as pale as Kazimir''s shirt.


    Seeing the blood drain from his lifeless body paralyzed Kazimir, bringing back old memories he didn''t want resurfaced. As Barbara frantically wailed for help, he saw his own mother''s heartache in her painful expression. He could still see his mother weep over his father''s bleeding body, begging God not to take him away from her.


    "Call 911!" Jordy''s voice seemed to be miles away, yet he was so close. "Kazimir! Call for help, now!"

 3. Deal with the Devil

    While Jordy led Barbara away from the gruesome scene to wait for the police, Kazimir spent a moment alone with Hank. He was gone, consumed by the darkness of death''s embrace. All Kazimir had left of him were his memories.


    New Syracuse wasn''t filled with many cordial people, so making friends had been difficult for Kazimir, but Hank treated him like they''d known each other for years. Four days ago, Hank had saved up enough to take Kazimir out to his first concert for a band they loved. He''d always cherish that day, especially the roadtrip. They''d never see another concert together again.


    Guilt pricked at Kazimir''s heart as the blood trickled down Hank''s neck. Had they not came to the art gallery, maybe Hank would still be alive. A knot in Kazimir''s stomach tightened, but he couldn''t look away from his friend. Hank couldn''t be dead. Seeing him slumped over on the bench should''ve been convincing enough, but Kazimir didn''t want to believe it.


    Kazimir knew he had to stay strong, if not for himself, for Hank. Who would do something so heinous? Could a gang member be responsible? Memories of Mr. Lamphere¡¯s death came to mind. Hank didn''t have any reason to have enemies, let alone have someone who would want to kill him. Kazimir didn''t want to disturb his body, but he needed to know who had been calling him. Behind him, Barbara sobbed in Jordy''s arms. The poor woman just lost the love of her life.


    Crouching down, Kazimir carefully searched Hank''s pockets for his cell phone. He couldn''t find it. Whoever sliced Hank''s neck must have taken it with them. That only made Kazimir more curious about the calls and what else might have been on that phone. He wanted to search more, but he knew it would look suspicious if he stayed near Hank''s body. He needed to move away before the cops arrived.


    As he walked away, he couldn''t help but look back at his neighbor. A tear trickled down his cheek. Kazimir started to wonder if he was cursed because everyone he cared about ended up dead. He pulled his coat tighter around his body. He couldn''t get Hank''s soulless expression out of his mind. It reminded him too much of his own father.


    "You okay?" Jordy asked.


    Kazimir shook his head then wiped his nose with the sleeve of his hoodie. "I couldn''t find his phone. Remember how someone kept calling him? Maybe that''s who did this."


    "Yeah, you might be right." Jordy dabbed under his eyes with the collar of his shirt, jaw tightening. "Looks like his killer was smart enough to take it with them too. Who could''ve done this? You think it was one of those gang members?"


    Swallowing the lump in his throat, Kazimir removed his glasses to wipe his tears. "I don''t know."


    Sniffling and whimpering, Barbara pulled away from Jordy, who tried to console her. Bright blue and red lights swallowed up the park, followed by a couple of officers with flashlights. Barbara hurried over to them, frantically gesturing to where her dead husband was on the bench.


    Kazimir faded into the background like a shadow when nosy people and police gathered around like vultures. They moved Barbara into the back of an ambulance to try and console her, but not even the blanket they gave her stopped her shivering. While she spoke with one of the cops, Jordy called their son to gently explain what had happened. Kazimir stayed near the front of the ambulance away from them but close enough to know what was happening.


    With shaky hands, Kazimir reached down into his pocket for his Bic lighter and a cigarette. He exhaled a heavy breath, hoping to calm his nerves. A red-headed cop made eye-contact with him as he smoked. Gripping his lighter tightly, he tried to calm his pounding heart. He didn''t want the police to get suspicious of him.


    The cops secured procedural crime scene tape around the area along with a white tent to keep inquisitive citizens out. Deputies in blue scattered about like little beetles, and a crime-scene tech went to examine Hank''s body. Police made Kazimir squeamish for many reasons. Drug addicts didn''t have a good rep with them.


    Moving away from the ambulance, Kazimir caught the red-headed cop in his peripheral vision. He''d gotten closer. To test his theory of being watched, Kazimir made his way down to one of the trees. Just as he expected, that red-headed cop followed him.


    "Hello, I''m sorry to bother you." The lanky, ginger cop approached him. "You''re Kazimir Vass... Vassa..."


    "Vassiliev," Kazimir corrected him, readjusting his glasses. People pronounced his Russian surname wrong all the time. "What do you want to know?"


    "I just have some procedural questions to ask you. I''m sorry about your loss tonight. Was the victim a close friend of yours?" From the flickering bright lights, Kazimir made out the nametag on his uniform. C. Bailey.


    "Hank''s my neighbor," Kazimir replied. "Or, was my neighbor."


    Detective Bailey retrieved a small notepad from his pocket and a pen. He scribbled something down.


    "What happened here tonight?" he asked. "Just talk me through the events leading up to finding your neighbor."


    Kazimir relayed everything that unfolded before they discovered Hank. He got teary-eyed while talking about his murdered neighbor.


    "And, did you or anyone else touch his body before we arrived?" Detective Bailey asked.


    "I did," Kazimir admitted. "I''m sorry, I didn''t know what else to do. I checked for a pulse and for his cell phone. Someone kept calling him all night. We thought maybe that person had something to do with this."


    Detective Bailey frowned. "Do you have his cell phone?"


    "No, I couldn''t find it on him. I think his killer might''ve took it."


    "I see. Interesting. Okay, thank you, Kazimir. You''ve been a big help. Another officer will be over here shortly to ask you some follow-up questions and maybe even repeat the ones I did," Detective Bailey replied. "Again, all standard procedure. If you need anything, come get me. I''ll just be over there." He pointed near the fountain.


    Kazimir didn''t have faith in the New Syracuse Police Department to find Hank''s killer. Murderers walked away as free men and cases went cold all the time. The police stowed their files away, only to possibly be reopened some twenty-odd years later. If Kazimir wanted justice for Hank, he''d have to investigate matters himself.


    Barbara''s son, Jerome, soon arrived to comfort his mother. Their family hadn''t expected such a tragedy to occur, but death could be just as unpredictable as the weather. Grayness stretched across the sky, covering them in a veil of misery.


    Amid the curious crowd, a news crew van pulled up into the parking lot. Hank''s murder would be paraded around on the networks for a few months before a new topic fell into their grubby paws.


    There was nothing Kazimir could do to console the family or take away their heartache. He let them grieve together and kept his distance.


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    As the night bled into the early hours of dawn, Kazimir noticed that Detective Bailey kept a close eye on him no matter where he went. While he tried to ignore the feeling, for the life of him, he couldn''t help but wonder why.


    ??


    It was surreal not seeing Hank around the apartment complex. Kazimir almost expected to find him chatting with one of the downstairs tenants. They used to come out and smoke all the time on the stairs. That man could make friends anywhere he went, which was why Kazimir couldn''t understand how someone could kill Hank so ruthlessly.


    Kazimir''s cigarette reached the filter, so he tossed it on the ground. Gripping the stair railing, he pushed himself off the step and made his way across the parking lot. He needed more smokes and snacks. The gas station down the road always had plenty in stock for a cheap price too.


    Cold gusts of wind swept across the barren street he crossed. He tugged his hood over his head and stuffed his hands in his pockets. The gas station was almost dead. Only a man with his backed turned to him pumped fuel into his truck. The two cashiers didn''t even bother to look up when Kazimir stepped inside, making his way over to the snack section.


    Kazimir gathered some little cakes, potato chips, and beef jerky for Jordy in his arms. Before heading up to the checkout, he grabbed a strawberry Slurpee too. The cashier with neon blue streaks in her hair blew a bubble with her gum as she rung him up.


    "This all for you, sweetie?"


    "I''ll take a pack of Marlboro Reds too," Kazimir told her.


    "Sure thing. I''ll just need to see some ID."


    Just as he pulled his driver''s license out and slid it across the counter, someone walked up beside him. Kazimir almost dropped his wallet at the sight of the blond gangster, donned in a fancy suit and baggy black jacket with the hood pulled up.


    "Looks like we smoke the same thing," Emmett said with a smirk. "Make that two of those, dear. I''m paying for all of it."


    The cashier grabbed another pack and rung them up. Kazimir hadn''t even realized he''d walked into the gas station. Where did he come from? Was he the guy with the truck? Kazimir couldn''t help but be suspicious. Random gangsters you paint insulting graffiti of typically don''t buy you snacks and smokes afterward.


    "Uh, thank you."


    Emmett picked up his ID card, taking a quick look at it before handing it back. "You''re very welcome, Kaz."


    They headed back out into the crisp night where stars danced amid the dark sky. Kazimir gripped his bag of snacks tightly as he took a large sip of his strawberry Slurpee. The gangster didn''t leave his side as he made his way back down the deserted road. Kazimir suspected the parked Chevy pickup truck belonged to Emmett, so why didn''t he get in it and leave the gas station?


    An anchor of dread sunk in Kazimir''s chest as he considered the endless possibilities of how Emmett could torture him to death. Maybe he wanted revenge for creating the graffiti that traduced him. He thought Emmett would cut him up into tiny Kazimir pieces.


    "Are you going to kill me?" Kazimir asked softly, clutching his bag tightly in front of him.


    "I wouldn''t dream of hurting my favorite artist," Emmett said, eyebrow craned and his lips curved in a mischievous smile. It didn''t seem hostile. "I''ve wanted to meet you in person ever since I saw your first graffiti piece on Third Street, downtown in that alleyway."


    "You keep up with my street art?" Kazimir fixed his narrowed-eyed gaze on Emmett, who gently brushed his shoulder against his.


    "Of course. How could I ignore it when you shove it right in my face, right in our territory?" Emmett asked. "It didn''t take me long to figure out you were the guy behind the art. I wanted to talk to you back then but you ran from me on your motorcycle."


    "I was afraid you wanted to beat me up," Kazimir admitted. Amber light from a streetlamp guided them down the poorly paved road. His apartment complex wasn''t much further.


    "I''d never hurt you, Kaz. Is that what Samantha told you?" Emmett scoffed. "Typical of her. She spreads rumors like STDs."


    "Wait, you know Samantha?" Kazimir''s brows furrowed.


    "Yeah, the crazy bitch tried to blow me up once. Swore I was a goner when the fire shattered the windows. The impact sent me flying across the room." Emmett made a playful exploding gesture with his hands. "Thankfully, a handsome fireman saved my sorry ass."


    "What? No way." Kazimir shook his head. "Samantha would never do something like that. She''s a sweet girl."


    "Sweet my ass. Be careful around her, Kaz." Emmett''s expression darkened, teeth clenched behind his pursed lips.


    "Samantha isn''t a danger to me," Kazimir insisted. "You must have her mixed up with someone else."


    "She''s your dealer, isn''t she?" Emmett changed the subject, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "I heard the Black Vipers are outrageous with their prices. At least, that''s what their former clients tell me. I''ve heard they cut their coke with nasty shit sometimes too, and that''s not good for you. So let me make you a counter offer to join the Voiceless Rebels instead. You can be our personal artist." He winked.


    "Are you serious?" Kazimir jumped back, putting distance between them. "No way. I''m not joining any gangs. I appreciate you buying all this for me, but you can''t use it to butter me up."


    "You can have an unlimited supply of cocaine." Emmett stepped closer, smirking. "No fees or gimmicks. All you have to do is forsake the Black Vipers. You''re not even a member, are you? That means they wouldn''t hurt you if you came to our side."


    Unlimited coke? The offer was too tempting and too good to be true, right? If he accepted and it was genuine, then Kazimir wouldn''t need to worry about his financial problems as much. He''d be able to pay Jordy his share of rent and still have a couple bucks leftover to spend on himself.


    There was also a chance that Emmett was trying to pull the wool over his eyes. Maybe the coke he offered would be laced with something bad like Fentanyl or some kind of poison to kill him.


    Kazimir couldn''t betray Samantha like that either. He cared too much about her to abandon her. He didn''t trust Emmett either, despite how nice he acted.


    "I''m sorry, but my answer''s still no." Kazimir stood his ground, trembling on the sidewalk.


    "Maybe a sample would change your mind?" Emmett retrieved a plastic baggie from his breast pocket. "Consider it on the house. A gift for a new friendship."


    Seeing the crystal white powder made all logic soar up into the dark clouds. Kazimir''s heart throbbed in his chest as he considered the gangster''s generous offer again. Emmett didn''t seem to pose a threat to him and it wasn''t like Samantha would figure out about the sample, right?


    Glancing up at the apartment he shared with Jordy, Kazimir fidgeted with his bag. He weighed his options carefully. Emmett had some kind of hidden agenda. It was likely this would come back to bite him in the ass later, but could he really turn down such an opportunity? Kazimir was torn between what to do.


    "People don''t just give out free coke like candy on Halloween. There must be something you want in return."


    "Nothing at all. I just want to help a fellow addict out." Emmett rested a hand on his shoulder, leaning closer. "I hope this will convince you to join our side. You''ll never have to worry about when you''ll get your next fix or how you''ll afford it."


    Kazimir accepted his cocaine. "Thanks. I should get inside now, before my roommate gets worried about me."


    It took all his willpower not to dump the contents out of the baggie and snort it all right there. Kazimir couldn''t show his desperation to the gangster and let him see how much control he had over him. Tightening his coat closer around his shivering body, he hurried toward the stairwell to his apartment. He underestimated how cold it would be.


    Kazimir just hadn''t expected a little demonic beast to emerge from the bushes and peek its head up on the stairs. The raccoon hissed at him, glaring with beady red eyes like it wanted to steal his soul. Jumping away, Kazimir let out a small yelp as Emmett''s strong arms wrapped around his waist before he fell. He pressed the back of his head against the gangster''s tuxedo jacket, catching a whiff of his musky cologne.


    Goosebumps rose on Kazimir''s arms as his heart echoed amid his chest like a siren. The raccoon scampered away, leaving Kazimir looking like an idiot to the gangster, who snickered. Heat blossomed in his cheeks.


    "You must be more careful." Emmett released him. "You have a good night, Kaz."


    As Emmett walked back down the road to the gas station where he left his truck, Kazimir ascended the stairwell. He gazed back, stopping dead in his tracks as someone darted across their apartment''s parking lot. The shadow weaved between his motorcycle and Jordy''s truck. It was too dark to make out any distinguishable features. He couldn''t even tell if it was a man or woman. But someone was there and they were in a rush to leave.


    Had someone been watching him?

 4. Bike Ride

    Two days after Hank''s murder, Jordy suggested that they get out of the apartment. Kazimir was tempted to stay at home, but Jordy insisted that wallowing in their pain alone wasn''t the healthiest way to cope. With a killer still on the loose, Kazimir worried that they''d be the next targets.


    Kazimir was so lost in thought, he almost missed his turn. When they respectively pulled up into the parking lot of a diner called the Wallflower, Kazimir''s dealer and crush, Samantha Gresham waited for them beside her rundown jeep. She hadn''t answered any of his texts yesterday, but seeing her again made his worries float away like the clouds.


    It was rare to find individuals who walked around comfortably in their skin, but Samantha did. Her purple hair flowed freely in the breeze. She hid her bruises perfectly with makeup. Not a blemish could be found on her pretty face. She wore a black blouse and mini skirt, accompanied with some knee-high cat ear socks.


    Kazimir fell for Samantha after she showed him some of her graffiti pieces. She used her art to paint their hideous town, always focusing on themes of death and love. But she didn''t aspire to become an illustrious artist like he did. Her true passion was hair-styling.


    Learning she dealt drugs only strengthened his desire to be with her. Part of Kazimir wondered if she''d join the Black Vipers to help with her career, but he never asked.


    They both hid their secret lives of dealing and abusing drugs from Jordy. She made Kazimir swear on his life to never tell a soul about her working with the gang. Samantha had a plan to take down the Black Vipers, but she kept him in the dark. Despite how Samantha assured him she was in control, he still worried about her.


    "Why didn''t you guys ride together?" Samantha asked.


    "I rode my bike here," Kazimir replied, gesturing to his blue motorcycle. "And he''s too much of a scaredy-cat to hop on."


    "I''m not riding that death trap. I value my life," Jordy scoffed.


    "I love your bike. I think it''s pretty badass." Samantha brushed up against him, letting her fingers touch his.


    "Really?" Kazimir grinned like a fool. "Thank you."


    "After supper, we should take a spin on it." Samantha''s warm breath trickled against his ear. "Sound like fun?"


    "Yeah, I''d love that."


    Jordy walked ahead of them. "Come on. Let''s eat. I''m starving."


    Once Kazimir entered, he let the aroma of freshly brew coffee and sizzling bacon embrace him. It reminded him of home as a child, when his father would cook a big breakfast for their family during the holidays or just for a special occasion. It was strange how the place brought back memories of when his cousins would visit from Russia with their babushka. Kazimir always loved when they flew into town to visit.


    The Wallflower was a vintage family-owned diner designed like something plucked straight out of the eighties. They crossed the black and white checkered floor to reach the bar, where a server led them to a table near the window. A jukebox in the back corner played an older tune Kazimir wasn''t familiar with. The daily specials were written out on a chalkboard swathed in lovely carnation lights, casting a delicate glow on the waiters and waitresses.


    "Wow," Kazimir murmured. "This place is so cool."


    "I knew we had to bring you here," Jordy said. "Their burgers are great."


    "Don''t forget the milkshakes. They''re the best in New Syracuse." Samantha chimed in.


    After being seated at one of the plush booths, Kazimir admired more of the delightful little diner. He knew he had to try the delectable strawberry milkshake when he saw it on the flip menu near the condiments.


    "I can''t believe your neighbor was killed outside the art gallery. That must have been so awful for you guys to find him. You both have my sympathies," Samantha said.


    "It was awful. Hank didn''t deserve to die like that." Kazimir cringed at the memory of finding his neighbor. "I don''t know who would do such a horrible thing to him."


    "It was someone from one of those fucking gangs." Jordy pounded his fist on the table. "I just know it was. I bet it was one of those Voiceless Rebels."


    "Those gangs don''t belong here." Samantha picked at the dark purple polish on her nails. "They''re too dangerous. Someone needs to stand up to them before it''s too late. I don''t want to see anyone else get hurt or killed."


    "It has to end. Both of the gangs need to be disbanded and imprisoned," Jordy said.


    "You really hate them, don''t you?" Kazimir asked him.


    "I do. They''re the reason why my brother''s dead." Jordy gazed out the window. "Luca got involved with the Voiceless Rebels, thinking they were like some kind of family that would protect him."


    "I''m so sorry. You never told me it was the rebels who did that to him." Kazimir slouched in his seat, propping his arms on the table.


    Jordy sighed. "It''s not your fault, man. I just don''t want anyone else to end up like Luca. Nobody deserves that. I should''ve told you sooner. Dunno why I didn''t."


    "They should be in prison for what they did to Luca." Samantha clenched her fists, turning to Kazimir. "So, how do feel about the gangs?"


    "He hates those bastards just as much as us." Jordy playfully wrapped an arm around his shoulder. "Isn''t that right?"


    "Definitely," Kazimir lied. "The Voiceless Rebels are the worst."


    Samantha smiled. "Glad we''re all on the same page then."


    Kazimir didn''t hate anybody. The gangs were a nuisance, but they weren''t the sole cause of New Syracuse''s disintegration. Something happened before they took control. Kazimir was so sure of it, but he didn''t have the slightest clue what it could be.


    Getting rid of the gangs also meant getting rid of the drugs. While that sounded like a perfect solution, any drug addict like Kazimir knew chaos would ensue. They couldn''t resist their cravings. They''d turn into ravenous beasts and stop at nothing to get what they needed to survive. People would kill themselves to get rid of the festering pain inside. Maybe they would even start to kill each other when paranoia kicked in. He didn''t want to imagine the horrors of what would happen.


    There wouldn''t be enough room for everyone at the detox center. Not everyone would try to get in either. Many addicts gave up on trying to fix themselves long ago, like Kazimir did.


    "Recently some college students have been helping the police spot out areas where they lurk the most," Jordy said. "Wanna help out, Kaz? I''m sure you could kick some ass if you needed to."


    "I''m not sure about that." Kazimir rubbed the back of his neck. "I want the gangs gone just as much as you do, but I''d rather be a silent supporter."


    "You haven''t lived until you''ve watched them get hauled off in handcuffs, or better yet, get shot down in the street." Samantha gleamed.


    Blood filled Kazimir''s vision as Hank''s bleeding body came to mind. He tried to shake aside the gory images of his dead neighbor. Kazimir couldn''t understand why Samantha said such a horrific thing about the gang members, considering she associated with the Black Vipers gang. That could easily be her blood spilled in the street if things went south.


    "Shot down?" Kazimir shivered. "Can the police legally do that?"


    "If the gang member is a threat to their personal safety or other people, then yeah, they can," Jordy replied, drumming his fingers against the table. "They have gang wars over their territory a lot too. The police try to get them under control before anyone gets hurts, but it doesn''t always end peacefully."


    "Why do they fight over that?" Kazimir questioned.


    "They wanna steal their dealing spots," Samantha explained. "If you ask me, the only place they belong is in a prison cell or six feet under."


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    "Good evening." The waiter intervened. "I''ll be your server for the rest of your night. What can I get you folks to drink?"


    That voice, composed of both melancholy and menace, sounded so familiar to Kazimir. He made eye-contact with the gentleman who would be their waiter for the evening, trying not to gasp. Samantha nodded her head at Kazimir, briefly looking over at their waiter.


    Emmett was donned in such a ridiculous uniform; a lime green button up, black apron, and bow tie. The gangster retrieved his handy little notepad and pen, flipping to a fresh page for the order. Everyone told him their desired drinks as Kazimir studied him.


    Emmett looked over at Kazimir. "And, for you, sir?"


    Kazimir told him what he wanted, watching as he jotted it down then walked back to the kitchen. He gazed around the room like a cat perched in a room full of rocking chairs. Anybody could be working for the gangs. Were there other gang members masquerading as waiters?


    Fiddling with the flip menu, Kazimir tried to get his restless leg to stay still. He tried to think back on the days he got high, but he couldn''t remember. Yesterday, maybe?


    Emmett returned shortly with their drinks, managing to balance all four on a single silver tray. He handed each out, saving Kazimir for last.


    "Your food should be out in twenty minutes." Emmett turned to walk away, but Jordy called him back.


    "How do you feel about these pathetic gangs, man?" Jordy asked him. "Like the Voiceless Rebels. Isn''t that an ignorant name? Sounds like some kinda wannabe rock band."


    Emmett shrugged. "It''s different, I guess. I try to keep to myself. Don''t wanna get involved with those people."


    Kazimir took a ginormous sip of his strawberry shake, taking it down in one gulp. There was no way he could tell Jordy to zip it before he got them all killed.


    "I think it''s inspirational," Kazimir spoke up. "I mean, if you think about it, the name is pretty cool. I don''t condone their actions. I just think they have a badass name."


    "Artists find inspiration in everything." Jordy groaned. "I bet you could find inspiration in that wad of napkins."


    "You''re an artist?" Emmett asked, as if he didn''t already know.


    Jordy intervened, "He sells his paintings but he usually ends up burning the money on art supplies."


    "I''d love to check them out." Emmett grinned. "You busy tonight? I get off work soon."


    "Tonight?" Kazimir didn''t know how to respond. What did the gangster really want from him?


    "Sorry, but he''s busy tonight. Remember? You promised to take me on that bike ride." Samantha swooped in to his relief.


    "I did, didn''t I? I can''t just cancel my plans. You understand, right?" Kazimir asked, biting on his lower lip.


    Emmett frowned. "Rain check then?"


    "Sure. How can I contact you?"


    "Can I have your phone number?" Emmett pulled a cheap android phone out of his pocket and handed it over to Kazimir. Emmett patiently stood by their table as Kazimir saved his contact. He was surprised Emmett''s manager didn''t chew his head off for lingering around so long.


    "Are you a college student too?" Jordy asked him.


    "I earned my associate degree in business this past summer," Emmett replied. "I graduated with high honors, nothing less."


    Kazimir was surprised. "Really?"


    "Why are you a waiter?" Jordy asked. "You have a degree. Go out and pursue the career of your dreams."


    "It''s not that simple." Emmett scratched at his cheek.


    Kazimir didn''t understand that weirdo at all. Why work at the diner if he graduated college? Out of any artist in New Syracuse, why did he want him in his gang? Sure, he had talent with a paintbrush and spray can, but so did many others. What kind of hidden agenda did Emmett have? What did he really want with him?


    Emmett brought their orders out soon enough. While Kazimir ate, he couldn''t resist keeping an eye on the gangster. He failed to keep his focus on his friends'' conversation as they talked more about the gangs.


    "Jordy''s gonna eat all of your fries if you don''t stop spacing out," Samantha muttered.


    Pulling his gaze away from Emmett, he realized Jordy had eaten almost half of his basket of waffle fries.


    "Stop it." Kazimir swatted his hand away.


    Jordy shrugged. "I didn''t want you to waste food."


    Their banter echoed throughout the diner. No one would suspect any of them associated with the nefarious gangs.


    Emmett gave Kazimir a sly smile as he cleaned a table across from them.


    ??


    They returned to the parking lot of the Wallflower diner, crossing under fake little spiders dangling from the awning of the restaurant. Kazimir put his cigarette out in the handmade ashtray, smiling at Samantha as he admired the festive Halloween decorations. Black was her favorite color. When she dyed her hair purple, he was so happy. It was like she was starting to open up to all the other lovely colors of the world.


    Heat rose in Kazimir cheeks when Samantha met his gaze and grinned back at him. Imagining those pretty pink lips of hers pressed against his own made his heart almost burst out of his chest. His feelings for Samantha had developed around the time they started painting graffiti together in an old tunnel she showed him, and then when she helped him with his drug fix. Kazimir loved being around her, no matter what they were doing.


    Samantha swiped some candy from a plastic jack-o-lantern. "I need to grab something from my jeep real quick. Then we can get going, okay?"


    Kazimir nodded. "Okay."


    Jordy nudged his side when she was out of earshot. "Are you finally going to ask her out?"


    "Keep your voice down," Kazimir whispered. "I don''t even know if she''s interested in me like that."


    "Oh, come on. It''s obvious she has the hots for you," Jordy insisted. "Take a chance on her. Trust me. She''s a wonderful person. Why do you think we''ve been best friends since middle school?"


    "I can''t argue with that. Samantha''s amazing and everything I''d want in a girlfriend."


    "You won''t know how she feels about you until you try. So, go over there and get your girl." Jordy patted him on the back. "I''ll see you when you get home."


    As Jordy walked off to his car, Samantha and Kazimir headed toward his bike. She fell in step with the artist, brushing close enough to him that their shoulders touched. They were close to the same height, with Samantha just a tad bit taller than him.


    "I''ve never rode on a motorcycle before. I trust you to keep me safe."


    "Just hold on tight." Kazimir interlocked their fingers together. "You know I''d never let anything happen to you."


    Kazimir handed Samantha his spare helmet when they reached his motorcycle. He expected her to be nervous once they hit the road, but she seemed to enjoy it.


    New Syracuse was swathed in silence that evening. Kazimir steered aimlessly through the labyrinth of streets, passing many dilapidated buildings. Streetlamps guided them down the narrow road as he drove them downtown.


    Viper Lounge, an LGBTQ nightclub, was the only place that glowed with life. A drunk couple staggered across the street, giggling and paying no heed to the traffic light.


    "I think we''re in Black Viper territory," Samantha whispered, tightening her arms around Kazimir''s waist.


    She was right. Kazimir was supposed to take a left turn a street back to circle around. As long as they didn''t encounter anyone, they should be alright. What would the gang members want with them anyway?


    "Snakes never scared me."


    "You''re so brave, Kazimir. Can we pull over there for a minute? It''s just... I need to ask you something. It can''t wait."


    Kazimir pulled over into the vacant parking lot of an old drug store and killed the ignition. His heart thumped in his chest as they both pulled their helmets off.


    "Is something wrong?" Kazimir asked as he climbed off.


    Samantha hesitated when she rose from the seat and brought her hands to Kazimir''s face. She took a moment to stare into his eyes before pressing her lips against his. They felt so soft and warm to Kazimir amid the chilly fall night. He loved the way Samantha''s body melted into his as their kiss deepened. Wrapping his arms around her, Kazimir savored the sweet moment of their first kiss.


    "Mmh, Kazimir. Do you want in on a little secret?"


    "What is it?" He pressed his lips against her neck.


    "I really like you. A lot." She arched her back slightly. "That''s why... I hate having to do this."


    The pain that sliced Kazimir''s upper arm was unpleasantly warm. His eyes watered as he blinked fiercely at Samantha, focusing on the bloody knife she''d sunk into his shoulder. Her sweet smile morphed into one more sinister. She yanked the knife out and sprinkled his blood all over them.


    "Why..?" Kazimir clutched his bleeding shoulder as tears stung his eyes.


    Samantha pushed herself off his bike then grabbed his chin, tilting it up toward her. She kissed him again and bit down on his lip until he could taste his own blood. When she pulled away, she brought the bloody knife to his mouth as if she desired to shove it down the back of his throat. Kazimir pressed his lips tightly together and squeezed his eyes shut until she moved it down to his chest.


    "Don''t play stupid. You''re working with the Voiceless Rebels!"


    "What are you talking about? No I''m not. I-I thought you liked me."


    "You''re a cute little horny bastard. I know what you were planning to do. Thought you were clever with this bike ride. You were gonna kill me for that bastard."


    Kazimir kept pressure on his bleeding shoulder, wincing. "What? You''ve got it all wrong. Samantha, I''d never hurt you. I really like you. That''s why I brought you out here. I-I wanted to ask you out..."


    "Don''t fucking lie to me. One of the vipers saw you plotting it out with Emmett." Samantha pulled her backpack off and retrieved a zip tie. "Just admit it. You stabbed me in the back for that fucker!"


    "I swear, I didn''t. I have no idea what you''re talking about. This is insane. Please, you have to believe me."


    "You''re better than this." She seized both of his arms. "Hold still. Liars like you deserve to be punished."


    The zip ties stung Kazimir''s wrists as she tightened them to ensure he wouldn''t escape her. Only the moon and stars borne witness to the artist''s sudden kidnapping. Kazimir tried to pry the zip tie apart by tugging it, but that didn''t help.


    "What are you gonna do to me?" Kazimir whimpered.


    "I''ll force you to confess." Samantha led him toward the old drug store. "You''ll learn to never betray me again."


    Emmett had been right all along.


    As Samantha wielded her bloody blade, she laughed like a maniac. A new personality seeded from the lovely young woman Kazimir had fallen for. Samantha was a Black Viper, and he was her feeble mouse to prey upon.

 5. Escaping the Grim Reaper

    Blood painted the pavement. Holding onto what Kazimir thought would be his last breaths, he screamed into the darkness for someone to save him. Had Hank done the same thing before death claimed him? Would Kazimir''s own desperate pleas go unheard in the night?


    Samantha slapped him across the face to shut him up, her eyes so merciless, Kazimir was surprised she didn''t just stab him again. She yanked the drug store door and pulled him inside. Kazimir almost knocked over a dusty display of old sunglasses.


    A foul metallic tang lingered on the tip of his tongue. His shoulder pulsed with pain when Samantha pressed down on it to guide him across the mucky floor. Drops of blood formed a path of poinsettias behind him. Kazimir struggled with the zip tie. If he broke free, he had a chance of escaping with his limbs attached.


    Kazimir scanned the area for anything to help free him from his restraints. There was nothing useful, aside from the knife in Samantha''s hand. Pigs would fly before he could steal it from her.


    Mildew wafted in the air. Threatening graffiti painted the walls, clearly done by amateurs. Stale snacks still lined some of the shelves and drug paraphernalia littered the floor. If Kazimir could get his hands on a dirty needle, he could jab her with it and try to make a run for it.


    Samantha pushed him behind the register counter, where he stumbled onto the cold, grimy ground. A piece of candy attracted a swarm of black ants on the shelf behind him. Shivering, Kazimir stepped back toward the wall, trying to figure out how he could escape.


    Did she plan to kill him? Who told her that he''d planned to kill her for Emmett and why''d she believe them so easily? Kazimir couldn''t figure out Samantha''s agenda. She''d lost touch with reality. No sane individual would do something like this. Kazimir was dealing with a lunatic.


    After climbing over the counter, Samantha towered over him with the bloody knife in her hand. Kazimir struggled not to hyperventilate. He didn''t want to die.


    "What do you want from me?" Kazimir rasped. "Why... Why are doing this, Samantha?"


    "Don''t do that. Don''t you dare try to play the victim here," Samantha said. "You''re a traitor. You''re associating with the man responsible for killing Jordy''s brother, for fuck''s sake!"


    Had Kazimir heard her right? Emmett killed Luca? She had to be lying. Kazimir couldn''t trust anything she told him.


    "I''m not a traitor. Emmett just showed up out of the blue," Kazimir explained. "He gave me an offer to join their gang, but I refused. I''d never betray you like that."


    "You''re lying. You addicts are all the same. I thought you were different, but I was wrong." She shook her head. "You''re just as fucking stupid as Luca was."


    "What does Luca have to do with this?" Kazimir asked.


    Samantha''s expression softened at the mention of Luca''s name, almost as if she let herself get swept up in a reverie. As long as Kazimir kept her talking, she wouldn''t stab him to death. Hopefully. She turned her back on him as she spoke of her deceased friend.


    "Luca lied, just like you," she said. "Me and Jordy found out about everything. He got so angry when we confronted him. I''d never seen him act that way before. Luca was always such a kind-hearted and loving man. He turned into a whole nother person... The Voiceless Rebels made him into a monster."


    Jordy never told Kazimir much about his brother. Maybe it was just too painful for him. Hearing Samantha talk about him made Kazimir realize how much she''d cared about him. They''d been in a relationship long before he moved to town. Kazimir couldn''t imagine how painful losing him had to be.


    While Samantha reminisced her former lover, Kazimir searched high and low for something that could save him. Cheap cigarettes and old sticky candy filled the shelves around him. He got a light bulb moment when his gaze landed on the metal display hooks for candies.


    Taking tenacious steps back, Kazimir raised his bounded wrists up high then brought them down on the metal display hook. The zip-tie snapped right off. He rubbed at his sore wrists.


    "What the fuck are you doing? Are you trying to escape?"


    "Please, I''m sorry. I''ll stay away from Emmett, okay? I won''t be like Luca." Kazimir backed away as Samantha got closer. "I don''t wanna die."


    In an attempt to stop the bleeding, Kazimir removed his hoodie and wrapped it tightly around his injured upper arm. Samantha didn''t stop him. Kazimir winced as more tears stung his eyes. A dizzy spell hit him, and he staggered back against the clunky register. He''d lost too much blood. Kazimir knew if he didn''t seek treatment soon, he''d faint.


    Cold chills bristled against his pale arms, checkered in faded track marks. His short-sleeved band t-shirt couldn''t keep him warm.


    "Only guilty men try to run away." Samantha trapped him in the corner like a wild animal in a cage.


    Everything seemed to pivot around him as he faced Samantha. If looks could kill, he would''ve been dead on the ground in seconds. Kazimir was about as steady as a baby learning how to take his first steps. He''d broken his zip-tie, so all he had to do was escape the devilish woman. That would prove to be difficult, but Kazimir wouldn''t give up.


    "Poshla ty na khuy, suka!" (Leave me alone, you crazy bitch) Kazimir spoke in his Russian father''s language, trying to stand his ground. He remembered how it always frightened bullies back in high school, but he was dealing with someone far more petrifying now. Someone who wanted him dead.


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    Samantha furrowed her brows. "What?"


    Kazimir put a plan into action when he snatched the empty mini display rack of energy drinks. He launched it at Samantha''s head and climbed over the counter, hunkering his small body down as she chased after him like a cheetah hunting it''s meal.


    "You''re making a huge mistake."


    A gunshot rang out when he got close to the door. When Kazimir turned back, he saw the pistol in her hand. His heart throbbed amid his chest. What else did she keep in that backpack? A whole set of torturing devices? She fired a random shot at the door in hopes it would force him to surrender.


    Glass shattered all around as Kazimir backed away from it, crouching down behind a rack of dusty, cobweb-covered sunglasses. He knew giving up meant he''d die. He had to hide.


    Taking flight toward the chip aisle, Kazimir skidded down to the filthy floor. Shielding his head with his arms, he scooted as far back against the shelf as he could. Bags of chips rained down on him with each radical shot she fired. He clamped a hand over his mouth, trying not to scream when he knew how close her bullets were.


    Kazimir fumbled for the phone in his pocket. He cursed his nerves when it took two attempts to get his passcode correct due to his trembling hands. He debated on calling the police. It would take too long for the cops to get routed to the rundown area. Kazimir would be dead by then. The police wouldn''t care to help a worthless addict like him either. So he called the only person he knew could help him.


    Ensuring his volume was turned down as low as possible, Kazimir pressed the phone against his ear. The soft ringing still made him agitated. He held his breath until Emmett''s voice came through the line.


    "Kaz, is that you? Where the fuck are you?" Emmett asked. "Is that gunshots I hear in the background?"


    "Old drug store," Kazimir murmured.


    "Speak up. I can''t hear you."


    Kazimir repeated his location again, giving the exact address as he raised his voice a little more.


    "I need help. Please, hurry."


    "I''m on my way."


    Kazimir hung up and stuffed his phone back in his pocket. Momentary relief washed over him. He had someone who could help.


    "I think I see you, Kazimir. You can''t hide forever."


    His heart almost gave out upon those words as he looked around for a weapon. Only rows of potato chips and soda pop surrounded him. None of those were the ideal fighting tool, but he had to be artful if he wanted to survive.


    Snatching a cola from the shelf across from him, Kazimir shook it up until bubbles fizzed. While it wasn''t the greatest defense weapon, he knew he could make it work. He needed to get his hands on one of the glass beer bottles on the back wall. He''d have to take the chance of being shot at to reach it.


    Kazimir held onto hope his plan wouldn''t backfire on him.


    When her purple hair came into view, Kazimir positioned himself back to the shelves so he could hide until the last moment. He barely heard her footsteps from the pounding of his heart in his head, but as soon as she stepped in front of him, he flicked the tab and pulled.


    Soda flew through the air into her face, and he slid past her as she rubbed the sticky mess out of her eyes, cursing from the sting. Kazimir stayed low as she regained enough of her faculties to shoot off more rounds at the open racks. Food exploded around him as he navigated the store for an exit or somewhere better to hide.


    When he reached the non-functioning fridge, he swung the door open. A plump rat popped out from behind some of the bottles and scampered across his feet. Kazimir didn''t even need the air to invoke shivers.


    The soda couldn''t fend Samantha off, but the beer bottle had the potential to inflict more damage. The gunshots were visible in the rickety shelves. They were so close to where Kazimir had been crouched down. Any one of them could have easily punctured his flesh. He was lucky to hunker down low enough to avoid them.


    Kazimir was so close to knocking on death''s door. He felt like he would faint.


    Remaining hunkered down, he listened for Samantha''s footsteps. Purple drew his gaze, but he snapped his head further back when she turned his way. She was still drenched in soda, and she stood still long enough for him to rise from his perch and sneak up behind her. It was an insane idea, but he knew he would never make it out alive by relying on his hiding skills.


    She hadn''t detected his presence yet, but it was only a matter of time before she did. Without analyzing another second of his crazy plan, Kazimir walloped her in the back of the head with the beer bottle. Glass shattered upon impact as Kazimir staggered back, dropping the broken half on the ground. It knocked her out cold, which gave him enough time to scamper out back.


    Endless sealed boxes covered the storage section he hurried out to. He was curious about the contents they contained, but didn''t have time to satiate his desire for knowledge. He avoided captivity so far. He had to get out while he still had the chance.


    When Kazimir maneuvered around the cardboard boxes scattered out across the floor, he accidentally got wrung up on the metal edge of a shelf. After a few rough tugs, he was able to break himself free. Boxes stowed above came tumbling down.


    He staggered back as white powder enveloped the air like shaken snowglobe. When the dusting reached his senses, he recognized the substance. It was cocaine. An endless supply of it.


    Even though his life was on the line, he stuffed as much of it in his pockets as he could. It was such a stupid move, but Kazimir couldn''t help himself. He wished he had his backpack with him. Just imagining how much he could have stolen made him salivate. Kazimir would just have to make do with what he snatched.


    With one final cast around the room, he took flight out the door. The light of day faded away and crickets chirped in the distance. Goosebumps rose on Kazimir''s arms as he got away from the old drug store. He made his way toward the road, hoping he''d find someone who could help him.


    Kazimir couldn''t even fathom how much money''s worth of cocaine had been stashed in that rundown store. It was probably thousands. Their drug trade could put the rebels out of business.


    The converted streets were like coiling snakes. He wasn''t as familiar with the neighborhood, so he walked blindly down the sidewalk. Despite how his shoulder throbbed, he pushed himself forward.


    He kept looking back, expecting Samantha to regain consciousness and be right behind him. Where the hell was Emmett when he needed him? Kazimir''s breaths became shallow as he reached out for a stop sign, grasping the pole to steady himself. Pain gnawed at his limbs.


    The coke wasn''t dulling the pain like he wanted. Maybe he needed more. Maybe he needed to lie down on the cold sidewalk for a moment and close his tired eyes...


    Giving up meant dying. If he closed his eyes now, he might never wake up again. Kazimir knew how severe his injury was, but he had to keep going. If he could find a public place, he could seek help from them. He crossed the street, grasping his injured shoulder tightly.


    A pair of headlights stopped him dead in his tracks. He raised a hand to his forehead, trying to shield his burning eyes. The truck came to a stop and the blond gangster climbed out, armed with a shotgun.


    "Who do I need to kill?"

 6. Safe and Sound

    In Kazimir''s darkest, most painful, moment Emmett was his glowing lifeline in a town swarming with snakes.


    Beneath the velvety night sky, Emmett''s piercing green eyes resembled a cat''s in attack-mode. The nippy wind tugged the gangster''s hood down as he rested his shotgun against his truck. Emmett gently touched Kazimir''s arm, taken aback when he flinched at the contact.


    Haunting images of Samantha''s kiss and sinister smile flashed through the artist''s mind. He expected Emmett to harm him too. He couldn''t trust anybody.


    "I won''t hurt you, I promise." The gangster gave him a crooked half-smile as he tried peeking at his injury again. Emmett carefully undid the hoodie wrapped tightly around Kazimir''s upper arm, exposing the bloody mess the fabric concealed. A soft gasp escaped his parted lips. "Shit, Kaz."


    A knot formed in Kazimir''s stomach as he sucked in his breath. Stealing a glance at his wound was a horrible idea. He wasn''t sure if he''d puke or faint. Trying to keep himself from spiraling into panic, he looked up at Emmett. He found no traces of malice in the gangster''s face. Emmett would help him. He didn''t need to be afraid.


    "It''s bad, isn''t it?" Kazimir asked softly.


    Emmett nodded as he rewrapped the blood-stained hoodie. "Who did this to you?"


    "Samantha.... she stabbed me." Kazimir winced as Emmett slid one of his long arms under his shoulders to ease him into the truck. After which, he came around, stuffed his shotgun in the backseat, and hopped into the driver''s seat.


    "That crazy bitch. Don''t worry. I''ll get you to a doctor." Emmett stomped down on the gas pedal and sped away from the residential neighborhood. The tires screeched against the asphalt as the truck flew them out of there like a bat out of hell.


    From the passenger window, Kazimir gazed out at the obsidian terrain that brushed by in a blur. He knew he had to keep pressure on his wound. If he allowed too much blood to leak out, he''d faint or even die.


    "We''re going to the hospital, aren''t we?" Kazimir asked. "It''s the other way."


    "Well, not exactly," Emmett told him, gripping the steering wheel. "Your wound is bad, but you''re not on death''s doorstep yet."


    "If you don''t get me to a hospital, the Grim Reaper''s going to jump out from behind those old buildings and drag me away into the night."


    "I''ll run him over then. I''m not letting you die."


    "Where are we going?" Kazimir asked.


    "The Voiceless Rebels has an underground doctor," he explained. "When we don''t want hospitals to ask too many questions, we pay him in cash and he takes care of our injuries."


    That didn''t sound ideal to Kazimir, but he had no other choice. He needed medical attention from whoever he could get it from.


    The clinic Emmett pulled up to was closed and dark. Kazimir''s confusion deepened as Emmett retrieved his cell phone and made a quick call. Seconds later, a bald man in blue and white duck pajamas hurried out from the front entrance with a wheelchair. Kazimir wondered what cuckoo''s nest he flew out of. He couldn''t be a licensed doctor, could he?


    The funny-looking man opened Kazimir''s door. "I want my money after I''ve checked this guy out."


    "Yeah, you''ll get it," Emmett replied. "Just hurry and help me get him inside."


    Strong arms came around to help him out of the passenger side of the truck. As Emmett eased Kazimir down into the wheel chair, he buried his face against the gangster''s black western shirt. He smelled like expensive cologne and cigarette smoke.


    The doctor in duck pajamas wheeled Kazimir across the parking lot, and Emmett stayed close beside him. It all felt like a surreal nightmare to the artist. All Kazimir wanted to do was go home to his apartment he shared with Jordy, who had to be so worried about him.


    Thoughts about bleeding to death raced through his mind. He had lost a lot of blood and jerked his injured arm around more than he should''ve when he dodged Samantha''s bullets. In his frantic state, he''d reached a hand out for Emmett''s, squeezing the gangster''s wrist tightly. He needed somebody to stay by his side. He didn''t want to die alone.


    Kazimir''s vision went hazy when they wheeled him inside the clinic. All he could focus on was the ceiling and the faint smell of bleach. Everything throbbed in his head as the weird man slipped a white coat over his duck pajamas. Kazimir tried to watch his gloved hands to see what he was doing. The so-called doctor cut the fabric of his hoodie so he could assess the bleeding wound.


    The artist hoped and prayed to a God he lost faith in so long ago to keep him alive. The bright lights hurt his eyes, and he swore his heart would explode.


    "What''s his prognosis?" Emmett asked.


    "Give me some space. I just got the guy in here. He''ll survive, but it looks like there might be some nerve damage in that arm. He''s lucky you got him here when you did."


    "When can I take him home? I don''t want anyone getting suspicious," Emmett said.


    "I''d prefer it if he stayed under my care for at least a week," the doctor said.


    "We don''t have that kind of time. How about a few hours?" Emmett followed up. "I''ll make sure he takes it easy."


    "That''s not up to you. I know you''ve left against my better judgment, but you have to remember that this is his body. Not yours. If his wound gets infected, he might not be so lucky."


    "If it gets infected, then I''ll bring him back here," Emmett replied.


    "Fine, but keep a close eye on him. Take him to the emergency room if ya see any signs of infections. Don''t bring him back to me," the doctor said.


    Their conversation got fuzzy. Kazimir couldn''t concentrate very well anymore.


    He barely heard Emmett''s voice. "What happens now?"


    "He should sleep like a newborn baby."


    ??


    When Kazimir sat up and rubbed his tired eyes, a sharp pain lanced through his shoulder. It was a painful reminder of Samantha''s betrayal, and he was tempted to snuggle back under the covers as the memories flooded in. His crush had stabbed him in the shoulder, but his heart ached the most.


    A slither of sunshine crept in from the dark, closed curtains as Kazimir took in his unfamiliar surroundings. There were two desktop monitors across from him on a curved desk in the corner. He found that really weird. It reminded him of Jordy''s gamer setup back at their apartment.


    To his left laid an ancient-looking vanity with a vase of roses perched on top alongside some little skull heads. How creepy. Kazimir turned to the nightstand at his bedside, gasping in horror at the little demon guarding his glasses. The taxidermy raven stared at him with soulless eyes.


    Reaching out with caution, he retrieved his glasses, accidentally knocking the disgusting creature in bed with him. Kazimir shrieked and flailed to get it away from him until the damn thing fell onto the floor. His heart throbbed in his chest as he slid his glasses up the bridge of his nose to get a better look around the room. He felt like he was in hell with the black walls trapping him inside and demon birds guarding him.


    Where the heck was he? He barely remembered leaving the clinic that Emmett drove him to. That doctor had drugged him up too good. Whatever he''d given him, he''d love to have more of it. He hadn''t slept that well in forever.


    When he stood up, he noticed white powder covered the bed sheet he laid on. He scratched at his itchy thigh before realizing what happened. Kazimir unzipped his blue jeans and shimmied them down. The cocaine he stole remained in his pants and in the pockets. Bits of coke stuck to his thighs and underwear too. Somehow, he even got some stuck to his butt cheeks.


    Kazimir wondered how the hell that happened. He collected all the cocaine in his pants and stuffed it in his back pockets. He brushed the bits off his legs and ass too. Kazimir loved cocaine more than life itself, but he wouldn''t snort the coke that had been on his ass cheeks.


    After wriggling back into his jeans, Kazimir kicked the creepy bird under the bed and made his way over to the window. He opened the curtains to brighten up the bedroom and shifted the window up. He needed fresh air.


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    Morning dew embraced him as he squinted against the golden sun ascending from behind the duplexes across the street. The chirping birds ruined the beauty of it all. He still wasn''t sure where he was though. The neighborhood didn''t seem familiar to him at all. Could it be Emmett''s house? He sure had an oddly creepy taste in design if so. Who wanted stuffed, dead birds near their bed? Kazimir shivered just remembering the thing.


    Kazimir gently touched the bandage around his wounded shoulder. He couldn''t believe Samantha was so willing to kill him. He had no doubt that wasn''t her first murder rodeo. She probably killed for the Black Vipers too.


    Just the thought of how many people she might''ve killed nearly made him upchuck. She''d betrayed Kazimir and broke his heart.


    The bedroom door creaked open and a dark figure stepped inside, closing the door behind him. Coming into the light, Emmett resembled the tall and slender angel he thought he''d encountered back in the alleyway. For a man, he was gorgeous. Especially those enigmatic, green eyes of his. Kazimir''s cheeks flushed with heat as he ogled the gangster.


    Emmett didn''t seem to notice, as he munched on a powdered donut from the store-bought pack in one of his hands and balanced a mug of steaming coffee in the other. White flakes speckled his black western shirt.


    Kazimir couldn''t deny his attraction toward the man, but he knew letting lust cloud his good judgment would be a horrendous mistake. Look where that got him with Samantha. Emmett didn''t save him just to be a good Samaritan.


    "How are you feeling?" Emmett asked.


    Kazimir shrugged, wincing. "Okay, I guess."


    Emmett approached the foot of his bed, pulling out another donut from his pack after resting his mug on the vanity. "The doctor said you''re supposed to take it easy for the next few weeks, so don''t do anything stupid."


    "I won''t." Kazimir fiddled with the collar of his shirt, avoiding eye-contact with the handsome, intimidating man.


    "Hey, where''d my raven go?" Emmett asked, gesturing to the nightstand.


    "Huh? Raven? I have no idea," Kazimir lied.


    While chatting with him, a dizzy spell hit Kazimir, and he staggered back onto the mattress. There was an irritating ringing in his ears, like a cicada latched onto his earlobe and buzzed away. His poor head throbbed liked it was being jabbed by a hundred woodpeckers.


    Emmett sat down beside him, gently resting his hand on his leg. "Are you sure you''re alright?"


    Looking up, Kazimir met his concerned frown and spring-green eyes. "Just got a bit dizzy. I''m fine."


    Kazimir resisted the urge to savor the warmth of Emmett''s touch. He gently shifted away from him, trying to calm his beating heart. He wasn''t sure if Emmett would try to strangle him or cop a feel between his legs.


    "You most certainly are not fine. You were stabbed, and now you''re trying to move around freely as you please. You have to take care of yourself," Emmett replied. "I''m not your enemy. I want to offer you protection from Samantha and the Black Vipers."


    "Why?" Kazimir asked, brushing his hand away. "What do you really want from me?"


    Pouting like a child, Emmett kept his masculine, bruised hands to himself. "I just don''t want you to get hurt. You can leave if you want. Your motorcycle''s outside. I had my guy, Alfie bring it here for you."


    Panic exploded amid Kazimir''s mind like a confetti cannon. He couldn''t believe he''d forgotten about his precious motorcycle. In the midst of chaos and confusion, it just slipped his mind. At least Emmett brought it back to wherever the hell they were for him. Nobody could steal it.


    Kazimir folded his arms across his chest. "I appreciate you doing that, but you never answered my question."


    "We need someone to create our tags for us, be our advertiser," Emmett explained. "I''ve been keeping up with your art and we feel like you''d be the best guy for it. When we learned you were a coke addict, we thought that could be the way we compensate you. Free drugs. I mean, who could say no to that?"


    Kazimir rubbed his chin. "I don''t know. It sounds too good to be true. There''s something you''re not telling me."


    "Why don''t you trust me, Kaz? Most addicts in your place would accept my offer right away."


    "Last time I trusted someone, I got stabbed."


    "I''ll just have to earn your trust then." Emmett smirked. "Anyway, I came up here to check up on you. Need anything?"


    Kazimir''s stomach rumbled. "Breakfast would be nice. Do you have any pancakes or bacon?"


    "Who the fuck do I look like? Betty Crocker? Here, you want one?" Emmett gestured his package of donuts out to him. "They''re not powdered with coke, so don''t try to snort it."


    Scowling, Kazimir snatched the package out of his hands. "So, what are we going to do about Samantha?"


    "I''m glad you asked. You see, I have a proposition for you. I''ll help you get revenge on Samantha if you agree to join the Voiceless Rebels." Emmett gave him a cheeky grin.


    Kazimir sighed. "Why are you so desperate to have me in your gang?"


    "I told you already. We need someone artsy like you to tag our locations to bring in buyers. My, ahem, our personal artist," he replied. "Being in the gang isn''t as dangerous as the media makes it out to be. We don''t go shooting someone on the streets every Saturday for fun. We stick to drug distribution."


    Kazimir was faced with a dilemma. White flakes dusted his shirt as he munched on the donuts. He couldn''t possibly consider joining a gang, could he? Kazimir knew he couldn''t stand there stuffing his face forever either. Emmett expected an answer from him.


    Wiping the powder on his jeans, he placed the pack of donuts on the nightstand and laid down. His head hurt so much. He didn''t know what to do. Would Samantha try to attack him again? Did he have the strength to defend himself? What if Emmett turned on him too?


    Trusting Emmett was like trusting gasoline to douse out a fire. Kazimir knew he needed to hightail it out of there and forsake the gangs. He needed to find his drug elsewhere. Perhaps he could travel into to another town.


    "Do you wanna get high?" Emmett asked out of the blue.


    "What?" Kazimir shook himself from his thoughts.


    "I think it''ll help calm you down and make a decision," Emmett explained. "You only do coke, right?"


    "Uh, yeah."


    Emmett rummaged through the nightstand drawer before pulling out a baggie of cocaine, a sealed syringe, and a blackened spoon. Kazimir found it coincidental how he happened to have all that prepared.


    "Just gotta get some water from the bathroom. Be right back," Emmett said.


    "Wait. I don''t inject it anymore. I just snort it.


    Emmett stopped mid-way to the door, turning back around, brows arched in confusion. "Really? I''ve never had anyone turn down shooting up. To each their own, I guess. Here ya go then." He handed Kazimir the baggie of cocaine.


    Kazimir wondered if Emmett was an addict too. Would it be disrespectful to ask him? Emmett seemed to know a lot about preparing injections and even had his own little kit in his bedroom. He wasn''t close with any other drug addicts, so he wasn''t for sure, but keeping a blackened spoon in the dresser was weird for non-addicts. He decided against asking such a personal question, not wanting to rub Emmett the wrong way.


    The strongest stuff his old friends back home ever tried was weed. They always thought he was so cool when he brought them a bong to smoke with, but in reality he was a desperate addict who got a bunch of teenagers high so he could rob their parents homes to pay for cocaine.


    "We have a candy dish in the kitchen full of pills too. Feel free to take some," Emmett told him.


    "No thanks."


    Tugging his wallet out, Kazimir retrieved a dollar bill and his debit card. He sat up and gently dumped the cocaine out on the little nightstand tray. He used the card to chop the coke up as finely powdered as possible. It took awhile to get it just perfect to snort. Leaning forward, he used his curled up dollar bill to snort the coke up into his left nostril.


    The pain in his shoulder faded away with all his concerns as he laid back down on the bed. The pillows were like fluffy clouds, embracing him in comfortable warmth.


    Emmett placed the syringe and ribbon on the nightstand beside him. He shivered just imagining the pierce of the needle penetrating his delicate skin.


    Needles made him too squeamish. Injecting cocaine brought back too many memories that Kazimir wanted to forget. Ghostly nails trickled against his arm as he shivered, remembering how good it felt to shoot up. Running away from home had been his chance at a new life, where he could start a clean slate. He thought he could abandon the drugs too, but the demon would never release it''s hold over him.


    A dip in the mattress made Kazimir look over. Emmett plopped himself down beside Kazimir, sitting up with a lighter and cigar he retrieved from his pocket. Smoke coiled above them like playful ghosts chasing each other around. The pungent smell drifted all around the room.


    Everything around Kazimir slowed down. His heartbeat echoed in a steady rhythm as he admired the smoking gangster beside him. A giddy grin spread across Kazimir''s face, causing Emmett to chuckle.


    "What''s got you smiling so much?" Emmett asked.


    "You," Kazimir replied without any shame.


    "Oh yeah?"


    Emmett would drag him straight to hell, but Kazimir didn''t care in his cocaine-induced high. All his worries vanished into thin air. Only Emmett''s chiseled face mattered to him. He swore the little glass skull heads on the vanity winked at him when he considered snuggling closer to Emmett. Something pulled him away though. Something deep inside warned him that Emmett wasn''t trustworthy.


    Being in a gang was dangerous, but he couldn''t fend Samantha off himself. He needed a strong, protective man like Emmett to keep his ass safe. Emmett promised endless cocaine too, so he''d never have to worry about finding a fix again.


    Every free sample he gave him hadn''t been cut with something nasty, unlike the Black Vipers. Samantha never cared when he told her how it burned his nostrils too much or gave him terrible nosebleeds. He was just another despicable addict in her eyes.


    He couldn''t trust Emmett. He couldn''t trust Samantha either. He couldn''t trust anyone. Kazimir looked over at the gangster laying beside him. It was best to keep enemies close, right?


    "Make me a Voiceless Rebel," Kazimir said.


    Emmett grinned, puffing another cloud of smoke in the air. "Oh, deciding so soon? I knew getting high would help."


    "Whatever initiation I have to undergo, let''s get it started," Kazimir told him. "Do you want to wrap snakes around my body? Or make me drink animal blood?"


    "What the fuck? No, this isn''t a damn cult, Kaz."


    "The Black Vipers do the snake one, I think. I just figured you would do something similar."


    "How close were you to the Black Vipers? Did you ever go to one of their stash houses?" Emmett asked him.


    "Stash houses?"


    "The place where they keep a big supply of drugs," he explained. "They might even sell it there too."


    Kazimir tilted his head before he realized what Emmett meant. "Like the old hair salon on Caraway Drive?"


    "Never would''ve guessed they''d use that. Thanks for the information." Emmett stroked his fingers through Kazimir''s hair, ruffling it up a bit. "I think I''m gonna enjoy having you around."