Jessie Humphries - Killing Ruby Rose

The red Harley Davidson, the blue Kawasaki, the silver BMW, or the black Ducati. After a full minute of needless indecision, I chose the Ducati in memory of my dad (and to match my outfit). I found a shiny-charcoal helmet that fit well enough and tucked my braided ponytail inside.

To avoid the roar of the engine, I walked the bike out until I hit an overgrown patch of ivy on the side driveway. Then I turned her on and thought about a few dirt-biking trips with my dad to remember how to make her go. Soon, I was peeling out in the direction of Mr. Violet’s video game lair twenty miles down the Pacific Coast Highway.

The wind felt cleansing as it whisked past me at 90 miles per hour. For a while, the adrenaline erased everything. The emptiness and regret for a life without my father. The sadness for Martinez and his grieving family. The frustration toward my mom and her silent evasion. The guilt for Liam alone in his eight-by-eight cell. All of it was temporarily replaced with blind speed and mindless exhilaration. Until I realized that getting pulled over for a simple speeding ticket could set off a disastrous chain of events.

I slowed down and tried to focus, finally exiting the highway and turning onto a private drive right up the cove. Didn’t need GPS directions for this one—I’d been here before.

A while ago, I’d followed Mr. Violet back here after a gamer conference he’d attended in San Diego. I’d watched him with binoculars, waiting for the moment he’d pull someone out of the trunk of his Ferrari. But when it never happened, I went home.

This time, I wouldn’t be going home until we’d had our little chat. I knew he would recognize me, and at a minimum be curious why the infamous Ruby Rose was on his doorstep.

Not to sell Girl Scout cookies. Certainly not in this getup.

I slowed down and parked the Ducati in a patch of oleander bushes two houses away, hanging the helmet on the handlebar. Violet’s place was too secure to sneak up on him, and I had no time for any drawn-out tactics. Instead, I was going to walk right up and ring the doorbell.

Over the cobblestone drive, through the ivy-clad entryway, and under the portcullis into the courtyard. Two large wreaths hung on the double doors, but instead of red ribbons or holly berries, the painted black sprigs boasted a silver snake and miniature swords. Where’d he buy this—HolidayDecorationsForCreeps.com?

I looked down to make sure that if I rang the bell there wasn’t some booby trap under my feet that would land me in his dungeon forever.

A video intercom sprang to life before I could touch anything. Violet’s shiny face leered down at me from a screen on the pillar.

“Who are you? What do you want?” His voice sliced through the speakers, surrounding me like I was in a cave.

“My name’s Ruby Rose. I need to talk to you,” I said, checking that my gun was still there. “It’s a matter of life and death.” That was the first time I’d ever used that clichéd phrase, and it was actually true.

He paused, and I heard the tapping of a keyboard. It sounded like he was playing one of his video games. Or maybe he was using face-recognition software to confirm my identity. Or putting in the command for his portcullis to fall and trap me—who has a portcullis anyway? This was Orange County, not Scotland circa 1400 AD.

“Ruby Rose, eh? Whose life and death are we talking about?”

“Yours.” I tried not to blink.

Another pause. He started typing again, and I braced for what he might do. He could send a 911 text and have my own dad’s SWAT team come take me out.

Instead, the remote-controlled double doors swung open. “Then by all means, come in.”

As soon as I crossed the threshold, Violet rounded the corner and held out his small hand to formally introduce himself like a perfect gentleman—which I knew he most definitely was not.

His moist fingers wrapped around my hand, and it felt like I was being forced to shake tentacles with a dead octopus. It took everything I had not to throw him and his greasy ponytail into one of his antique swords and make him feel the pain he’d forced on too many innocent girls. I would have if it didn’t involve touching more of his skin.

“Come.” He motioned for me to join him in a strange sitting room full of skulls and serpents. “May I offer you something to drink?”

Yeah, so he could drug me and make me more compliant . “I don’t think so.”

All the windows were covered in black curtains, blocking out any late-afternoon light. I had to get this over with—and get out of here as soon as possible.

“Listen, I need your help,” I said, hating the taste of the words on my tongue. “And you need mine.”

“Oh… kay ,” he said, awkwardly sitting down on a claw-like couch—the back rose up in four sharp talons, so it seemed like any minute he could be crushed within his own living room. “Help with what, exactly?”

I took a long breath, searching for the best way to answer. “Your life in is danger, and I want to protect you.”

“Right.” He released a stifled laugh that was tinged with nervousness. He was scared of me. And the poorly concealed pistol in his track pants didn’t seem to make him feel any better.

I paused, seeking the line between telling him as little as possible (to prevent him from going to the police with any information), and as much as possible (to prevent Silver from pulling off the fifth kill by my hand).

“Has anyone contacted you lately about ‘product’ you may be interested in?” I asked.

“Listen, Ruby—may I call you Ruby?”

“That’s fine,” I lied. “But you didn’t answer my question.”

“OK, Ruby, I know who you are.” He pulled at the hem of his thin V-neck to expose scar tissue on his shoulder. “After all, it was your sharpshooting dad who gave me this.”

He stared at me like I owed him an apology.

“You deserved it,” I assured him.

“So is that why you’re here? To give me what I deserve?”

“I told you, I’m here to help you. I swear.”

“Help me like you helped that LeMarq fellow? With a bullet between the eyes?” He placed a pale forefinger to his oily brow, as if I needed a visual.

I clenched my jaw and decided to respond in kind. “OK, Mr. Violet, here’s the truth, plain and simple: Someone has been setting me up to take out killers .” I watched his eyes flinch. “I don’t know who’s doing this to me, and I’m not even sure why. But I do know that you’re next.”

I took a few steps toward him to make sure he understood me with perfect clarity. “He is going to try to make me kill you, and I don’t want to do that.”

A twisting silence slithered between us while he absorbed the truth. He stared through me with the eyes of a racked soul.

My head swiveled around just in case someone else was here. I put my hand inside my hoodie to grip my gun.

“Yes, someone has contacted me,” he finally admitted.

“OK, then,” I said, relieved he might actually cooperate. “I have a plan.”

I flung my backpack off my shoulder and reached inside to grab my dad’s vest.

“This is an Ultralight Concealed Goldflex/Kevlar Level IIIA Bulletproof Vest.” I held it out to him. “Wear this day and night. I don’t know when you’ll need it.”

He sat forward on the heel of the claw-couch and took the offering, inspecting the impossibly thin design.

“Wear it with sweatshirts to maximize the concealment,” I said, channeling my father. “And you need to start thinking about other methods of protection. Hire more security, stay armed, and above all, resist any kind of bait he lays for you.”

“Slow down, sweetheart, slow down—”