Jessie Humphries - Killing Ruby Rose

“Look, Alana, thanks for coming. I know how complicated all this is, and there’s probably nothing I can say to explain—”

“Then don’t,” she broke in. “You don’t have to explain anything to me. I only came to make sure you’re OK. I see your picture on the news. I hear your name in the halls. Everyone has a theory on your involvement with another murder. They’re saying the craziest things. Like you put Liam up to killing that cop, that maybe you had something to do with your own dad’s death.”

Ouch.

“That you’re going to go after me next,” Alana continued. “And I just couldn’t take it anymore. I almost punched Taylor in her big ol’—”

“Oh, I am so sure, Alana,” I said. “You and what army? I won’t be there to back you up, so don’t go getting yourself into any trouble because of me.” I couldn’t bear to think of putting Alana in any more danger. All I had ever wanted to do was protect her. Even from that first day on the playground when I found her crying in the corner.

“I’m really worried about you, Rue,” she said, looking me directly in the eyes. “Things just seem to go from bad to worse. When is it going to stop?”

“I don’t know.” My shoulders slumped. “Maybe never. Honestly, I don’t see me coming out of this one unscathed, Alana. There’s too much I can’t explain. And my mom…” I searched for the words to describe the great divide between us. “I don’t know if she’s going to be able to stop me from going to prison for a very long time. Even if she wanted to.”

“What are you talking about?” Alana tipped my chin up to face her. “Who is this person sitting here? And what have you done with Ruby Rose?”

“It’s not that simple. My mom promised me she’d help exonerate Liam, but then behind my back she seems intent on using him as a scapegoat for Detective Martinez’s murder. I’m getting desperate. I’m almost to the point of confessing myself even though I didn’t do it. I swear, Alana, the man responsible for this is the same guy who made me kill LeMarq and…” I stopped there. I didn’t need to bring up the laundry list of other bad dudes I’d killed.

“Shut up, I know you guys couldn’t have done it,” she said. “Not only do I believe you, Ruby, but I believe in you.”

“But it’s not over. He’s going to find a way to lure me out again. I can’t stop him, he’s too smart—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa—have you forgotten how freakishly brilliant you are? You are smarter than this guy. You are totally capable of beating him. And you don’t have to rely on your flaky mom to do it.”

Alana didn’t get it. She didn’t have all the facts. She was too naive and ignorant of the truth to understand that even if my mom came through on Liam, I couldn’t let all those murders (that Alana didn’t even know about) get swept under the rug. No amount of her Rah-Rah-Ruby cheerleading would change the fact that I would eventually have to confess to having killed these men, and my story was too unbelievable for redemption.

“You don’t understand.”

“Stop it, Ruby.” She raised her voice and grabbed my hand. “Stop it with your glass-half-empty bull-crap. All is not lost. Your dad, Mr. Badass Jack Rose, didn’t train you for all those years so you could give up.”

“My dad?” I sat a little straighter at the mention of his name.

“That’s right. Don’t forget what he taught you. I used to think he was psycho—the way he made you his little Barbie Soldier. Turns out, he was psychic or something. He must’ve known this could happen.”

I stared out the window, digesting her totally un-naive, non-ignorant wisdom. I had underestimated my incredibly loyal best friend, just like I’d underestimated Liam.

“He wouldn’t let you give up, and neither will I. So tell me you’re going to fight,” Alana demanded.

The strength of my dad’s soul surged inside me. Memories of us sitting on our surfboards past the break came crashing back. Days at the shooting range and nights at the dojo. It was true: My dad wanted me to be ready. He prepared me for the time my shoreline would be tested. I’m sure he never imagined it would be quite like this. But he knew someone was a threat to his family. He’d made sure I was strong enough, smart enough, and prepared enough to endure it.

And in all that time, he never let me hang my head.

So I lifted it. “I promise, I’ll fight.”

And suddenly, I knew exactly how to do it.

Before Alana left, I assured her that if my plan didn’t work, I unofficially bequeathed my shoe collection to her. In the meantime, we agreed that it would be best for her to keep her distance. She needed no further convincing of how dangerous it was to be my friend. Maybe one day soon we’d get back to working on our tans together.

But for now, I knew what had to be done: Get to Filthy number five—Mr. Stanley Violet—before Silver did. Or at least before Silver put me in the impossible position of killing him. I needed to warn him that if he did what Silver said, he would end up like the other four. I needed to make Violet my ally, not my victim. I needed him to help me not kill him.

Ha, I was insane. I was about to sneak out of my nice safe home and go looking for a rapist to convince him to help me. Real smart, Ruby. Best idea ever .

“Oh shut up,” I said to my inner self, then went upstairs to get ready.

Within fifteen minutes, I had my mom’s minigun holstered under my hoodie, my butterfly blade in The Cleave—and I’d scrawled a note to my mom:

I’m sorry that I did something “stupid,” but I just couldn’t sit here. I went to see the last man on my list, Stanley Violet. If I don’t come back, you’ll know where to start looking for me.

I left it on my desk, not hers, just in case I got back before her and she didn’t need to know.

I cracked my window and threw the hook of my dad’s Ranger Rappelling Rope around the tree branch nearest me. I’d done this kind of thing before at the SWAT training center, and once on a NorCal camping trip with Dad’s team (including Mathews), I’d done it down the face of a mountain.

The adrenaline kicked in as I gripped the rope with gloved hands and steadied myself outside of the sill. I shut the window behind me and let myself down little by little, using my feet to slow the descent. I hit the ground softly with the balls of my feet and tugged at the rope from a 45-degree angle to get it to slide off the branch right. But it didn’t. The line was stuck on something. I couldn’t just leave the rope dangling. Soon one of the guards would make his rounds back here and see it.

I only had one other option since I didn’t have time to climb the tree and untie it. I had to throw the rest of the rope back up into the branches and hope the guards didn’t look up.

When I heard a man cough, I chucked the rope like it was a viper and ran. This time I’d thought ahead and was wearing my Dr. Martens combat boots—aka The Doctors.

I tore across the yard and jumped the wall behind my house. No paparazzi hanging out back here. Good thing, because the way I was dressed—black skinny jeans, black boots, black hoodie, my mom’s little black gun hiding in my black shoulder holster—didn’t speak highly of my intentions. I wasn’t going to church, that’s for sure.

Dr. Fenton, the anesthesiologist who lived behind us, had a Ducati motorcycle my dad drooled over. He used to tease my mom that one day she’d have to bail him out of jail for stealing it because “Dr. Brilliant” always left the keys in the ignition. Little did he know it would be me doing the stealing.

I padded around the Fentons’ gazebo and pool waterfall, making sure not to be seen, and I slid into the dark garage. I flipped the switch to find not just one shiny beast, but four—all lined up.