Misfire

Copyright © 2022 Rachel Robinson All rights reserved. ISBN-13: Cover by Allison Martin at Makeready Designs Editing by My Brother’s Editor Editing by J. Wells Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. For anyone who has ever viewed their imperfections as flaws. Chapter One Jesse The way the record spins on the player reminds me of her ass while she’s riding my dick. Uneven, but still steady, jerky, the same warble seeping out with each revolution. It’s damaged, broken beyond repair, like all the things scorched inside the walls of my house. I have no clue how the record player continues spinning. Why it survived but everything else burned, is maddening. Staring at it through a blood-tinged haze, the only thing I can think of is her riding my dick, thick lips smiling down at me. It’s as if she’s taunting me. Look what I did. I burned your house down. I left you with nothing. But you still can’t get me out of your head. I step over the ash pile that used to be a sofa, and my hands shake as I pick up the record player and slam the fucking thing against the ground. It stops. It’s dead. There aren’t any moving parts. I wish it would bleed, give some weak attempt to come back to life. I want to kill it again, but it remains silent, receiving its fate—a grave in a pile of thick ash. The remnants of my life. Every memory, the collection of everything that meant anything is now simmering in an exposed heap for the world to gawk at. A sharp pain cuts me through my stomach, and I double over, folding into myself. I have to get the fuck out of here. I want to leave and never return to this dusty fucking town that’s nothing but trouble. They’ll let me leave without hassle because I lost everything. This fucking devastation will be my ticket out. I inhale the scent of charred electronics, wincing, and I think about Bethany again. That bitch. She has ruined me. I have to leave. I have to get out or this goddamn misery will chain me to this place for the rest of my life. There’s nothing left for you here, run. If only it were that easy, if only I weren’t in it for life. Turning, I walk toward the street. There isn’t a front door to open or close, nothing to lock up to secure, no keys I’ve forgotten on the counter, only a yawning black hole where my life used to be. Gawkers outside cover their mouths as they gape at my loss. The closest trailer is a mile away, so their cars litter the sides of my dirt road like trash. Fucking assholes. The whole town is trash, a burning heap of the forgotten, but it’s the only place I’ve belonged. I pull my hoodie up, and glare at the piss heads feeling sorry for me, aching for me. I recognize some of them now that I’m closer, but that’s not surprising in a shit town this small. They look away, like feral animals that know what’s best for them. I’m the predator. I remind myself that not even an animal as lethal as a lion can keep coyotes from circling when they sense a moment of weakness. I push down the urge to fight as my anger rises. This is not the time to fight. Not here, not now, not when I am this broken. Ronnie slides his arm around my shoulders. His musty leather jacket smells like beer. Mixed with the remnants of the fire, the scent makes my stomach roil. “I got a job for you, Jesse,” he says. I turn my face from his, my eyes falling to the scorpion tattooed on his left hand. The tail wrapping around his wrist, its pinchers reaching out with his thumb and first finger. He has better placement, but I had a better artist. “Now?” I pull out of his grasp, disbelief washing over me. Surely, he’s not serious. “Why not now? You wanna kill somethin’, don’t you? I know what the look on your face means. They know what the look on your face means. Use it, my friend. Use it.” He’s not my friend. I don’t have any of those. He’s in it just like I am, so we keep each other close. We’re the favors. The strength. The threat looming on your doorstep if you owe our bosses. “Bethany is long gone. She took off right after she…” Ronnie gestures to the foundation where my house used to be. “They let her just go?” I can’t keep the incredulous shock out of my voice. Is that all it takes to get the fuck out of here? I’ll burn this whole fucking place down if that is the way out. He shakes his head, smiling on one side. “Nah, different chapter. You know how it works, man.” We’re in it for life. I swallow down the lump in my throat and nod. “So, about that work,” he says. “It’s just one fight, at The Grot and after this mess, odds will be in your favor.” The odds are always in my favor with fights. Always. No one has rage like me. No one has less to lose, and it’s the one thing I can count on. It’s why Bethany burned my house down like a psychotic bitch. I beat her brother in an unplanned match.