L.L. Foster - The Kindred

“But . . . ”

“I want to kill him,” Gaby explained, and it was only a partial lie. She didn’t want the boy’s death on her conscience, but the need for violence churned within her. “Be smart and don’t push me.”

The guy blanched. “We . . . we used to buy from some dude named Bogg. But someone ’bout killed Bogg and left him for the Five-O. They hauled his sorry ass off to some high-security hospital hellhole. His brother stepped up to handle the biz.”

Clarity burst inside Gaby. This was why she’d ended up here, tackling these boys today. She glanced heavenward, shook her head at the subtlety of the message, and the fog of murderous rage cleared as a gust of determination washed in.

Oh yeah. Now she felt more like herself, like the Gaby she knew and understood.

The Gaby with a specific purpose.

Clenching her jaw, she tucked her chin in with gleeful anticipation. “Give me the dealer’s name.”

“I don’t know. I swear it. He was handing out stuff free, looking for any word on who got his brother. We took the shit and split. That’s all I know.”

“All right. Then tell me what the asshole looks like, and where I can find him. I’ll take it from there.”

His gaze going to his brother’s purpling face, the guy swallowed and rushed into speech. “He’s tall, a real skinny fucker. But mean, ya know? He shaves his head and has this bitchin’ tat on the back of his skull. Like a demon or some shit. He was hanging out on Race Street.”

“Near where the kids play?”

“Yeah. Where the cops nabbed his brother. You might be able to find him there again tonight.”

“Oh, I’ll find him. Count on it.”

Drowning in his own strangling fear, he begged, “Please don’t tell him you heard it from me. He’d kill me for sure if he knew I sent you.”

“And you think I won’t?” Gaby stood, allowing her prey to suck in a strangled gulp of air. He rolled to his side and promptly puked around his gasping breaths.

She paid no mind to his struggles. The numb-nuts would live, and maybe now he’d think twice about who he tried to bulldoze.

Stalking over to the other boy, she locked eyes with him. “Listen up, shithead. You’ll never know when I’m around, but believe me when I tell you that I see a lot. Everything that’s important.”

Something in her gaze convinced him, because he nodded fast and hard. Gaby knew that sometimes an otherworldly light shone through her eyes. Luther had told her she morphed some, just as her evil prey did.

She fucking hated that, but what the hell. For now, it worked to her advantage.

“If I catch you bullying anyone else, if I see you hopped up, if I see you so much as eyeball a dealer, I’ll not only kill you, I’ll fucking well take you apart piece by piece. You got that?”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it.” He walked a wide berth around Gaby and, anxious to be on his way, helped his brother to his feet.

“You’d better.” Looking at them both, seeing how terror had replaced their cocky attitudes, Gaby felt devilish and pretended to lunge for them.

They scrambled away, hobbled by painful injuries.

It almost made her snicker, but laughter was so contradictory to her existence that she didn’t quite know how to get it out.

If she stuck with Luther long enough, would she turn into one of those twittering fools who found humor everywhere, regardless of the suffering that existed in everyday life?

Did she maybe . . . want that? Did she want to conform and become like every other mundane person in life, oblivious to the reality of iniquity?

If it meant keeping Luther, then she would try.

Now that he had shown her something so special, the thought of losing him left her hollowed out with an invasive sense of despair.

Despite the conflict she’d just concluded, she still twitched with an abundance of energy. And no wonder, considering that she needed to destroy a cannibal, shut down a drug dealer, and save a child.

And she needed a way to do it all without alienating Luther.

She touched the choker around her neck. It was a gift from him—the first gift she’d ever received in her entire life.

Replacing the earbuds in her ears, she turned on the music Luther had chosen for her.

So many remarkable ways that he’d influenced her. He’d shown her a side of life that she’d never before experienced. In a way, that cognizance of everyday normalcy helped her because now she could understand why people chose to remain oblivious to the truth of their own frailty.

With every step, Gaby felt her newest gift from Luther, a narrow cell phone, which was wedged into the back pocket of her jeans.

He’d taken over, changing her irrevocably, and the awful truth was that she craved the changes, scary as they might be.

But could she change enough to make it all matter?

A pale sun attempted to peek through gray clouds as Gaby finished her stroll to Mort’s. The old neighborhood lent her a moment of serenity. The debris-covered walkway felt familiar beneath her feet. The smoggy air smelled the same, and the depressed people hadn’t changed much.

More than anywhere else, this was her home.

Here, in the apartment above Mort’s, she’d found her first friendship—and recognized her own humanity in the bargain. Before Mort, she hadn’t felt human.

She hadn’t even felt real.

She located him on his front stoop, sitting there with legs stretched out, propped back on his elbows, doing nothing.

Many times she’d sat in that exact same spot, waiting for duty to call, suffering her own existence.

At the sight of Mort, something warm and mellow spread throughout her.

She liked him. Hell, she probably loved him, though she couldn’t be sure. Caring was a very new concept for her and she wasn’t sure what it felt like. The only strong emotion well known to her was the driving, all-consuming need to destroy evil.

And lately, her profound desire to be with Luther.

Frustrated by that, Gaby kicked a rock, and Mort looked up.

When he saw her approaching, his face lit up with pleasure. Good old Mort. His devotion to her left her humbled and befuddled.

She was the creepiest person he had ever met, and yet he revered her.

Good old Mort—the impetus that had set her on an unknown track.

She owed him much, more than she could ever repay.

Now on his feet, he hailed her with a wide smile and blooming energy. “Gaby! I didn’t know you were coming to visit.”

It didn’t make any sense, considering what an utter putz Mort used to be. But he looked good. For a man who had previously presented himself with stoop-shouldered insecurity, a paunch, and loads of desperation, he now exuded good health, confidence, and maybe even sex appeal.

Why else would women give him second glances? Men eyed him with respect. Hookers did their best to entice him.

But Mort had eyes only for Ann.

Ann, the miracle worker. Ann, the savior of all pathetic souls. Ann, of beauty and grace, a woman who accepted the faults and lacking nature of others, including Bliss and Mort and . . . Gaby herself.

The woman should be canonized. Her presence made Gaby’s faults and shortcomings more conspicuous than ever, and for that, Gaby resented her.

Thanks to Ann’s influence, Mort’s body was more fit now, leaner and harder than ever before, and his self-assured demeanor gave him a striking edge.

She waved him back to his seat. “You didn’t have to get up.”

“Of course I did.” Laughing, he reached for her and dared to draw her into a tight, friendly hug.

Solid, that was the word to describe Mort: solid in form and in friendship.

“It’s always great to see you, Gaby, you know that.” He let her push out of his arms, and added, “Especially today.”