Up in Smoke (King #8)

“Now.” He leans down, his putrid breath on my face. He holds a gun to my temple. He talks through his teeth, spraying his spit on my face. “I’m going to make you feel all the pain.”

I’m so dizzy. The room is spinning. The bloodied and rusted concrete finds its way in and out of my vision over and over again. Wes is tearing at my clothes. My shirt is open. Even with the gun to my head, I’m fighting and fighting him, but I don’t feel myself moving.

This is what it means to be all out of fight.

I thought I had seven more days.

I was wrong.

An explosion booms through the cell. It’s so loud it temporarily replaces all other sound. All I hear is a high-pitched ringing in my ears. Wes’s weight leaves my body, his gun drops from my head. He disappears into a mist of red and pink, falling lifeless against the iron bed frame. His mouth is open, and so are his eyes but he sees nothing.

Wes is dead.

I try to catch my breath but can’t get off the floor. I watch motionless as Wes’s blood seeps into the dingy yellowed mattress, staining it a deep red.

Smoke walks over to him, gun in hand. He crouches down and smirks.

“How’d that feel, motherfucker?”





Chapter Fourteen





Smoke’s shadow in the moonlight covers every inch of my body and blocking every bit of the light from the window. I heave again, but there’s nothing left in my stomach.

And nothing left of my hope.

There’s only so much one person can take, and I fear I’m nearing the point of no return.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “You…You killed him,” I whisper.

“He interfered,” Smoke answered. “No one interferes.” He lights a cigar and takes a puff, blowing smoke rings into the cell.

I spot Wes’s fallen gun. It’s within reach.

I have an idea. It’s a stupid and reckless one, but it’s all I’ve got.

Dr. Ida Tip: If you see an opportunity to escape, take it.

I pretend to heave again and stretch my fingers, connecting with the gun. My mouth is inches away from bits of Wes’s skull. My fingers brush over soft chunks of his brain, and if my stomach wasn’t already empty, I really would be heaving again. I can smell the copper in his blood and feel the heat escaping his freshly opened skull as it rises from his corpse.

My fingertips contact the gun. I wrap my hand around it and place my finger on the trigger. Smoke’s standing behind me, I can feel his eyes on my back. I sit up slowly onto my knees only to be met with the barrel of his gun on the back of my head.

“You going to kill me, hellion?” Smoke asks, sounding amused.

I’m glad my torment and agony is so entertaining for him. I don’t see how I can save anyone right now. Let alone myself. I feel all hope draining from my body, from my soul, like someone has pulled the bath plug.

I make a decision.

A vengeful spiteful stupid decision.

One I won’t be around to regret.

“No, I’m not going to kill you.” I say, shifting the gun into position. I turn around slowly so he can be rest assured it’s not pointed at him.

It’s in my mouth.





Chapter Fifteen





Impatient bitch.

This girl would rather kill herself then wait for someone else to do it.

I’m pretty sure the asshole with his brains scattered all around the cell is one of Griff’s men. He’s checking up on me and I won’t fucking tolerate that kind of bullshit. I told Griff I’d bring him Frankie in a week’s time I’ll make good on my word.

I’ll also bring him this motherfuckers head in a box.

But first I’ve got to deal with the issue at hand.

I think it’s safe to say that boredom isn’t a problem of mine. Not anymore.

Not where Frankie Helburn is concerned and not since I’ve seen her body back in the motel room.

And what a fucking body it is. Even scraped and cut up, maybe even because of it, I was rethinking my plans for her.

A week isn’t nearly long enough when I think of how much pleasure I could get from taking my revenge out on the body of Frank Helburn’s only daughter. I could hurt her. Her body. Her mind. I could destroy her and hand him back an empty fucking shell only capable of retelling the stories of what I’ve done to her over and over again. I could ruin that beautiful body of hers in every single way possible. Frank Helburn would get the message loud and motherfucking clear.

Fuck with me and suffer the consequences.

But my revenge plans are ruined and so is my deal with Griff if the bitch is dead.

I lean against the wall with one leg raised, my boot flat against it as if she’s about to sing me a song instead of threatening to blow her fucking brains out. No matter what I can’t let her pull the trigger. It will destroy all my plans and I won’t fail. Not at this. As much as it pains me to rely on something or someone else, I need this crazy bitch.

I try to appear as calm as I can, but my blood is boiling. I’m angry, and I’m irritated. She could ruin everything on one pull of the trigger. “You’re gonna let this shit-bag be the reason for the end?”

She closes her eyes, and I can see by the way the hand holding the gun is shaking that she’s trying to grow the balls to pull the trigger.

“I’ll give it to you. You’re creative, but in this situation, suicide is the coward’s way out. I didn’t take you for a coward,” I tell her.

That part’s true. She’s not the shy meek girl I thought she was while watching her. She’s stronger than I thought. Defiant.

Wild.

Not to mention, out of her god damned mind.

Frankie’s breathing heavy. Her t-shirt is ripped down the middle exposing her taut stomach.

Her waist is small and trim and the way she’s breathing so erratically I can make out the shadows of her abs beneath her bruised skin. Her thighs and calves are shapely. I’ve never seen her workout in all the time I’ve watched her, but there’s no doubt the girl does more physical work than just walking to and from school every day.

Her banging body isn’t the only thing that throws me. Well, besides her complete lack of self-preservation. It’s her eyes. Originally, I thought her eye color was just another distortion in that grainy picture on my phone, but it turns out it was the only accurate thing about that picture. Bright yellow-gold with spots of orange. I’ve never seen anything like it. She’s got fucking flames in her eyes.

Fitting.

“If you wanna take the coward’s way out, go right on ahead. Pull the fucking trigger. I’m not gonna fucking stop ya,” I make a large sweeping motion with my arm.

She opens her eyes and slowly removes the gun from her mouth only to place it against her temple. My gun is still in my hand, but only in case she decides to swing hers my way.

“How is this the coward’s way out?” she asks. Her pupils dilate. Her bottom lip is bruised and swollen, a dried patch of blood in the corner.