“I can’t feel my toes.”

It was freezing inside the beat-up Honda, but Gabe wouldn’t run the engine. Chloe had asked him to turn it on, just for a minute, but he’d said he didn’t want to attract attention by idling the car, and anyways, gas wasn’t cheap. 

“Stamp your feet or something,” he said.

Like that would help. She scrunched up numb toes inside her four-inch heels and tried to think about how warm she’d be in a few minutes. 

She didn’t bother asking if she could wait inside the hotel lobby instead. The Four Seasons was a swanky place, they’d take one look at her flimsy, skin-tight mini-dress and plumped-up cleavage and think she was a hooker. She’d be out on her ass in two seconds, and then Gabe would really hit the roof. 

So she shivered, even in her faux-fur jacket, and looked over at him.

When he wasn’t watching the entrance, he was checking the photo on his phone over and over. They’d been here for twenty minutes already, and Gabe was getting antsy. Impatience plumed out of him like smoke in the icy air.

She took a chance. “You sure it’s this hotel?”

He gave her a look. “I’m sure.”

“Can I see the picture again?”

He leaned over and showed her the photo his buddy Dave had sent. The details were hard to make out through the cracked screen of his ten year-old phone, but Chloe got the idea: chubby guy in a tuxedo, dark hair and glasses, playing a violin in an orchestra.

Easier than falling down, she thought. Probably never even talked to a girl like her, let alone hooked up with one. Still, something didn’t feel right.  She glanced up at Gabe, but his eyes were back on the hotel. 

“And what’s our cut again?” she asked.

"Fifty large," Gabe said grandly. “Dave knows some rich guy who wants it.”

She thought for a moment, and bit her lip. 

"It's just," she said carefully. “I never heard of anyone paying that much for a fiddle. You sure you got that right?

He gave her one of his withering, at-least-you’re-hot looks. “It’s not a fiddle, it’s a Stradivarius, from 1775 or some shit.” He tapped the screen. “Some museum loaned it to this guy, it’s worth a million bucks.”

“But Dave screwed up last time—”

“For Christ’s sake, Chloe,” he ground out. The vinyl steering wheel creaked as his knuckles went white. “Just trust me, okay?”

She nodded. “Sure, Gabey.”

He reached over and she flinched, expecting a slap for being stupid again, but he only smoothed a finger down her cheek. 

“You got the .22 in your bag if anything goes wrong,” he said, his voice low and patient. Too patient, like any minute now he’d blow. “If the guy gets weird, just use it like I showed you, and call me.”

“Okay.”

"Good girl." His lips curved into a rueful smile. Then: "You'll be done in no time. One look at you and the guy’ll cream himself.”

Chloe blushed, ducking her head on a soft laugh. “Okay then.”

“Okay then.” He echoed. He turned back to watch the hotel again, and his body jerked. “Shit, that’s him!”

Her eyes flew to the hotel entrance, and then down the block to where a heavy-set guy was trudging up the snowy sidewalk, a violin case tucked firmly beneath his elbow. Despite the bitter cold, his coat was open and flapping lazily in the wind.

“That’s him, go go go,” Gabe urged, pushing her. “Remember, it was Beethoven tonight.”

"Beethoven?"

“The concert tonight. Just go for fuck’s sake, go!’

“Okay, okay.” She fumbled with the door handle and stepped out into the frigid night. 

She crossed the street, picking her way gingerly around ice patches, her eye on the violin guy the whole time. The trick to this was getting inside before he did. If she were already at the bank of elevators when Mark approached them (she called all of them Mark), he wouldn’t have any reason to think she was tailing him. 

Timing was key, though, since Gabe had refused to give the clerk an extra hundred for Mark’s room number. She’d have to follow him, and that meant taking the same elevator, which could be tricky.

She ducked into the lobby and moved quickly towards the elevators, resisting the urge to look behind her. Her heart was pounding, each solid thump knocking painfully against her cold
chest. She couldn’t fuck this up, Gabe would beat the crap out of her if she fucked this up. She prayed the guy would just come up to the elevators and press the button and not even notice her. 

As she pretended to look through her evening bag, one of the elevators dinged and a loud family filed through the open doors. Just as they passed by, she caught sight of Mark waiting on the other side. He stepped into the empty car and she slipped in behind him just as the doors swished closed. 

She tried to smile at him as he pressed the button for the twenty-eighth floor, but he didn’t look at her. At least he was on a high floor, she thought. She had a bit of time. 

After a minute, after catching his eye once before he looked away, she finally spoke. 

“I’m sorry to bother you,” she said, putting on her cutest, anime-girl voice. “I just wanted to say you were terrific tonight.”

He looked startled. “Excuse me?”

“I saw you play tonight,” she said, inching closer to him, shy but starstruck. “You were so good. With your violin, I mean. So good.”

Shit, that was stupid. What did people say about violin playing? She had no clue. 

“Really?” His eyes swept her quickly. “You were at the Philharmonic?”

His voice was deep and whiskey-warm, like a jazz station DJ, which took her by surprise. She hadn’t expected him to have such a nice voice. It didn’t match his plain, chubby face, even though up close she noticed how pretty his eyes were, a kind of coppery brown that matched his hair. 

“Oh sure, I love it,” she said, nodding. “Who doesn’t?” She remembered just in time. “And I really love Beethoven.”

His smile was hard to interpret as he looked down again. “Well, thank you. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

Before she could sidle closer to him, the elevator dinged again and the doors opened. Something to keep in mind about ritzy hotels, she thought: zippy elevators. 

Mark glanced over at her briefly with a polite twitch of a smile, and stepped out of the car. She followed. 

“You must practice a lot, to be that good,” she said, trailing behind him. “Do you practice a lot?”

He stopped before a smooth oak door a few feet from the elevator — Room 2803, she noticed — and turned to her. 

“Uh…look, miss, I appreciate the offer, but I’m not interested in…buying anything,” he said uncomfortably, withdrawing a key card from his pocket. “Have a good night.”

She stiffened, and teared up. It was easy to cry on demand, she just had to think about any of the thousand shitty things that had happened to her and bingo, waterworks galore. 

“I’m not a hooker,” she said, making her bottom lip tremble. “I saw you play tonight and I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw you walk into this hotel. I just wanted to talk to you, is all.” 

His features softened. Female tears were a powerful weapon, at least on soft guys like Mark. 

“I’m sorry,” Mark said, his cheeks colouring. “I’m just not used to…” his eyes dipped down to her cleavage and flew back up. He cleared his throat. “Someone so pretty wanting to talk to me.”

“Well, I do,” she said, wiping at her eyes and hoping her mascara didn’t run.“I’d like to get to know you.”

“Would you…like to come in for a drink?” he asked, his face full tomato now.

She smiled, bright and shiny through her tears. “I’d love to.”

*

After a few belts from the mini-bar, Chloe started to relax. The warm buzz made her giggle more, made her flirt more, made the consequences matter a little less. Curled up beside Mark on the suite’s couch, she lazily played with his hair and tried to send out green light signals. He was
visibly nervous, no matter how many mini-bottles she opened and urged on him, no matter how obviously she was coming on to him. It was starting to be a problem.

Most guys would be slobbering all over her by now, pressing their cocks against her,  begging her for head. In fact, by this point, almost an hour after meeting, she be gyrating on top of the guy already, sliding up and down on him and fake moaning like it was the best dick she’d ever had. But not this guy. This guy didn’t seem to know what to do with her at all. 

It was starting to be a very big problem.

He was supposed to be in a post-nut coma by now, zonked out from the booze and the sex. But here he was, awake and alert and sitting stiffly on the couch next to her like this was 1958 and he was her dry-mouthed prom date. 

Worst of all, she didn’t know what he’d done with the violin.

Somehow, in the commotion of coming in and hanging up their coats, he’d put the case somewhere without her noticing. She figured he must have snuck it into the bedroom while she’d raided the mini-bar. Where the hell else could he have put it? 

“So what did you think of Olle-Jonas tonight?” Mark asked.

She laughed at the name. “Who?”

“Olle-Jonas Karlsson. The conductor.”

“Oh, right.” She let her head fall onto his shoulder. “He was great.”

"His pacing is superb,” Mark replied, his voice rich and smooth and so warm she wanted to curl up in it. “He really gives the phrasing room to breathe, you know?”

“Sure,” she nodded. 

Mark fell silent then, and looked down at the drink in his hand. 

Chloe wanted him to look up at her. If she could just meet his eye she knew she could communicate an invitation to him. But he just kept staring at his glass.

“Hey,” she finally said, lowering her voice to a seductive whisper, “There’s something I’d really like to do.”

She took his glass and put it on the table in front of them, leaned down and kissed him, lightly at first, tentatively, in case he didn’t respond. Too late she wondered if maybe he was gay, something Gabe would never have even considered, but relief washed through her when she felt his lips move against hers, returning the kiss. 

She led the kiss, slowly, resting her palm on his chest. His heart was thundering and she smiled against his lips, enjoying the quickening of his breath and the tensing of his body. She deepened the kiss, enjoying the silken heat of his lips on hers. He tasted like whiskey and honeysuckle, rich and darkly warm, just like his voice.  

His tongue tangled with hers with surprising sensuality, and she felt a small twitch of arousal. It was kind of nice to feel a guy getting excited over her. It helped her do what came next. 

“You don’t mind, do you?” She broke the kiss and slid off the couch onto her knees. She nudged back the coffee table and parted his legs, running her hands up and down his thighs, drifting close to his crotch before trailing back down to his knees.

“Jesus Christ,” Mark breathed, his eyes like dinner plates.

Are you married?” she asked softly, reaching for his zipper. 

He swallowed. “No.”

“Girlfriend?”

“Not lately.”

“Good.” She smiled. “Then you can enjoy this guilt-free.” She tugged down his zipper. 

“I don’t even know your name,” he managed, staring at her hands as she worked to free his cock.

“No names tonight,” she whispered. “It’s hotter that way.”

Before he could respond, she lowered her lips to his cock and took the head in her mouth. His whole body went rigid and she knew she had been right; the poor guy had probably never had a blowjob in his life. 

“Just relax,” she cooed, swirling her tongue around and around his head, teasing him, tasting him, until the swollen crest shimmered.

 He whimpered with pleasure, and his eyes grew wider with every languid pass of her tongue. His cock surged and twitched, and his hips spasmed once, twice, as though desperate to drive his cock towards the pleasure. She smiled and took her time, wanting to prolong the tease. 

She fondled his balls as she flicked her tongue across the head, and let out a little moan of pleasure to sweeten the sensation. Guys loved knowing she was getting off on this too, and Mark was no exception. He groaned and let his head fall back, but lifted it up again to meet her gaze. His eyes were heavy-lidded with pleasure, but flared with arousal as he watched her take the whole head between her lips.

“You want me to suck you?” she asked, low and throaty. It wasn’t really a question; no one had ever said no.

God, yes,” he said, reaching down to stroke her hair. 

She closed her eyes and began to lower her mouth down his shaft, imagining how her lips would look as they parted and stretched to accommodate him. Sometimes that visual alone was enough for some guys, and she was prepared for a little premature surprise.

The surprise, when it came, was not what she’d expected at all.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he said urgently. “Please, just stop for a minute.”

She opened her eyes and withdrew from him. She sat back on her haunches and looked at him curiously.

“Why don’t you get off the floor and come back up here,” he said gently. He was frowning, and for a wild moment, Chloe worried that she had somehow lost her blowjob skills. 

“What’s the matter?” she asked, and heard the uncertainty in her voice. “I’m usually really good at this, if you just give me —”

“No, no, Jesus, that’s not it,” he said. “You’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, and what you did just now…” he huffed out a wordless expression of disbelief. “It felt incredible. I mean, absolutely incredible.”

She warmed to his compliments, feeling ridiculously relieved that he had enjoyed it. 

“I can keep going,” she offered. “I don’t mind.”

He looked at her for a long moment, and then silently guided her up off the floor and back onto the couch. She settled next to him and waited for whatever it was he wanted to do instead.

“Look,” he said, his face flushed. When he smiled he was actually pretty nice looking. “As much as I loved that - and I really, really did - I just don’t feel right about it. I just met you, and to let you do that…well…it’s just not…gentlemanly.”

She smiled. Gentlemanly. That made a first. 

But listen, I don’t want you to think…I mean, I’d like you to stay, if you want to. Maybe we can order some room service. Get to know each other a little?”

“Okay,” she said, faltering. Dinner instead of sex? Well, what do you know, another first. 

“Just give me a minute to clean up, but please, don’t go anywhere, okay?” He stood and headed towards the bathroom. 

“No problem, take your time,” she said. 

Yes, please, take your time, she thought. I need to find that goddamn violin. 

As soon as the bathroom door clicked shut she got up and dashed into the darkened bedroom. She switched on the lights and looked around frantically, but found nothing. She looked through the dresser drawers and under the bed just to be safe, but the case just wasn’t there.

She heard the toilet flush and the water running, and so hurried back out to the lounge area. Her phone was buzzing, muted and low, from the depths of her purse, signalling the arrival of texts. Gabe was probably losing his shit outside, wondering what was going on. 

She dug out the phone and lowered the volume, reading the all-caps “CALL ME NOW!” messages that cluttered her screen. She barely had time to slip the phone back into her purse before the bathroom door opened. 

“The shower is just gorgeous,” Mark said, leaning against the doorframe in a hotel bathrobe. “It’s one of those walk-in ones with the rainfall showerhead. Maybe we can try it out later?”

“That sounds great,” she said brightly. “But…um…could I just use the bathroom first?”

“Of course,” he said, pushing off from the door. “I’ll order us some room service.”

“Actually,” she said, her heart beginning to pound. “Maybe it sounds nuts, but before we get comfortable, could I just see the strad?” She couldn’t remember the last part of the name, and hoped just saying strad was enough. “I just want to take a peek.”

He paused on the way to the phone. His eyebrows rose. “The Strad? You want to see it? Right now?”

She shrugged. “I heard it’s really old. I’ve never seen anything old and famous like that.”

He laughed and picked up the phone. “How about tomorrow night. I’ll give you a private concert if you like.”

“Oh, I’d love that,” she said. “But couldn’t I just take a quick look now?”

He shook his head. “It’s late, and there’s a whole form to fill out if we even want to open the case. Insurance, you know. Tomorrow, I promise.”

She frowned, and couldn’t think of anything to say. She smiled weakly. “Okay. I’ll just use the bathroom quick.”

She ducked into the bathroom with her purse, ran the water to obscure the sound, and quickly phoned Gabe.                 

                                                     *

“What the fuck, Chloe?” Gabe said by way of greeting.

“I can’t find the violin,” she whispered harshly. 

“What do you mean you can’t find it?”

“I mean I can’t find it. He had it when we came in, but I didn’t see where he put it.”

"Jesus Christ,” Gabe muttered. “Just get him to show it to you, then.”

“He won’t, I already asked him. Tomorrow, he said.”

“Fuck, Chloe. Give him a blowjob.”

“I did.”

Gabe’s voice grew fainter as he swore heartily, and she could tell he had moved the phone away from his mouth in frustration. When his voice came back it was extra loud.

“Just look around the room and find the fucking thing. It has to be there somewhere.”

“I’ve looked, I don’t see it,” she protested. “You’d better get up here, it’s room 2803.”

A knock on the bathroom door made her jump.

“Are you okay in there? Are you talking to someone?”

“I gotta go,” she hissed, and then put the phone to her chest so she could call out. “Be right out.”

“Don’t fuck this up, Chloe,” Gabe’s voice was tinny as she brought the phone back to her ear. “Don’t you dare fuck this up.”

“You gotta get up here,” she pleaded. “I’ll wedge the door open for you.”

"Find that fucking—" Gabe’s voice cut off as she hit end and slipped the phone back into her purse. Her hand brushed the .22 nestled in the bottom of the bag, and she took it out.

“Hey…” Mark’s voice was growing more concerned. He tapped on the door. “What’s going on in there?”

With a start, she realized she hadn’t locked the door behind her. The handle turned, and as the door swung inwards she quickly raised the gun.

"Fuck!” Mark cried, ducking his head and throwing his hands up in defence. He backed away from the door. “What the hell—"

“The fiddle,” she said, moving out of the bathroom, making him back up. “Get it. Now.”

“W-what?”

She went to the door and wedged it ajar with her shoe, careful to keep the gun aimed at Mark. He was frozen in place, his hands half up, as though he didn’t know whether to lower them or raise them higher. 

“Just give me the fiddle and I’ll go,” she said shakily, and felt her hands begin to tremble. She’d never once fired this thing. Gabe had showed her how to squeeze the trigger, but hadn't trusted her enough to actually fire it. She wasn’t even sure it was loaded.

“It’s in the closet.” He gestured to the small wardrobe beside the front door. She glanced at it, and then back at him, and with one hand slid open the mirrored door. All she could see was his black overcoat and a cluster of empty hangers. 

“Where?” she demanded. “I don’t see it.”

“It’s under the coat,” he gestured with his hand again, and then lowered it uncertainly. “Hanging up by the strap.”

She fumbled with his overcoat until her hand brushed over the case, and with quick, furtive glances she saw that he had hung it up, just like his coat. It was suspended from the neck of the hanger by a slender strap, just as he said. To free it she’d have to take the whole thing off the rail and lift the strap from around the neck — almost impossible to do one-handed. 

“Goddammit,” she whispered, and felt her eyes go blurry with tears. Gabe would be furious with her, and any minute now she expected Mark to lunge for her, and then what would she do? She thought about undoing the locks on the case and just grabbing the violin, but the
mechanisms looked too fussy to manage one-handed. Besides, it was probably locked, if this thing was as valuable as Gabe said. 

“I can…I can help you,” Mark offered then, cautiously stepping forward. His voice was low and soothing. He stopped and held up his hands, palms forward. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt. I can take it off the hanger for you and you can just go.”

She stared at him, her eyes watery now and the gun visibly shaking in her left hand. She wasn’t left-handed, and the gun was heavy, and all she wanted to do was just throw the thing down and run.

“Stay right there,” she managed, sounding like a frightened kid. “Don’t move, I mean it.”

“What’s your name?” Mark asked then, gently. 

The tenderness in his voice, the sympathetic look on his face — it was too hard to resist.

“Chloe,” she said.

“Chloe,” he echoed, and somehow her name didn’t sound cheap and stupid like Gabe always made it sound. It sounded beautiful on his lips. “I’m Neil. Listen to me, Chloe, you can put the
gun down, I’m not going to stop you. You can take the violin, okay? For your boyfriend, right? The one you were talking to in the bathroom?”

Chloe blinked, and tears spilled down her cheeks. With her free hand, she wiped them away and sniffled. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” Neil said. “So we have a deal then. You put the gun down, and just take the violin and go.”

She hesitated, unable to look away from his pleading eyes. He was looking at her so strangely. Not angrily, like she would have expected, not terrified, but almost like he was pitying her. In that moment she felt the weirdest impulse to run over and hug him. 

"I know this wasn't your idea," Neil said gently. "You're a lovely woman, Chloe, I know you don't want to do this."

She didn't. God, how she didn't. She was sick of this shit, sick of fucking all the Marks, sick of hearing them grunt as they slammed into her from behind, sick of thick cocks choking her til she gagged, sick of the acid taste of their cum coating her throat. More than anything she was sick of Gabe taking her to a burger joint and buying her a milkshake after she was done. You did great, babe. Five hundred this time, not bad at all. Are you sure you checked all his pockets when he passed out? 

Sick of his cold silence and drunken rage, and the blows that would make her ears ring for days when she'd only manage to score a credit card. Fuckin' useless to us, he'd spit. Stupid bitch.

You're a lovely woman, Chloe. 

It wouldn't be…gentlemanly.

Had anyone ever said those words to her? Even once? Back home, before she'd taken the Greyhound to this Godforsaken city and wound up with Gabe? Before he'd somehow convinced her to support them both by fleecing Marks he lined up for her? 

When she'd believed, for all of five minutes, that he actually cared about her?

Neil was still standing there, his hands still up, his eyes still warm and worried. Gabe had never looked at her like that. Not even once. 

She faltered, and was just about to lower the gun when the door behind her banged open and suddenly Gabe was inside, his eyes wild, his face contorted with rage. 

“Okay, where the fuck is it?” he demanded. Cold air swirled in with him, sharpening the smell of cigarettes and aftershave. He looked at Chloe and grabbed the gun. 

“Whoa, whoa, take it easy,” Neil said, raising his hands higher. “I just told Chloe you can take the violin, no problem.”

“Chloe?” Gabe turned to her incredulously. “You told him your fucking name?”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Let’s just get out of here, okay?”

“We can’t,” he said, his eyes darting between her and Neil. “He’ll be on the phone to the cops the minute we’re out the door, and he knows your goddamn name now, you stupid—”

“I won’t,” Neil cut him off. “I swear, I won’t call anyone. It’s not worth it, I can easily get another violin. Take it.”

“You can get another violin,” Gabe scoffed. “Bullshit. Don’t try to play me, asshole, I know how valuable a Stradivarius is.”

Neil blinked, and a crease formed in the middle of his forehead. “What?”

Gabe cocked the gun. “Just tell me where it is.”

“In the closet,” Neil answered. “Under my coat. But—”

“Get it,” Gabe nudged Chloe towards the closet. She lifted the coat up with fumbling hands and guided the strap up and off the neck of the hanger. 

“Chloe, listen to me,” Neil said, focusing his attention on her. “You’ve made a mistake. This isn’t the Stradivarius.”

Gabe narrowed his eyes at Neil. “The fuck you talking about?”

Neil spoke earnestly, but softly. “The Stradivarius is with Olle-Jonas tonight, he’s taking it to a chamber music festival tomorrow. I don’t know why you think I’d have it, anyway, and especially not just lying around—”

“I have a picture of you playing the fucking thing," Gabe cut him off. "Tonight.”

Neil shook his head. “I wasn’t playing the Strad.”

Gabe swore and handed the gun to Chloe. In two strides he was in front of Neil, his arm cocked back to deliver a punch. Neil tried to duck out of the way as Gabe swung, but he wasn’t fast enough. Gabe’s fist connected with the side of Neil’s jaw and he reeled back, losing his balance and crashing to the floor. Gabe straddled him, and pulled his arm back again, waiting to strike.

“Where the fuck is it?” Gabe shouted, one hand grabbing Neil by the lapel of his robe. “Tell me where it is or you’re fucking dead.”

Chloe’s hand shook as she held the gun, staring through teary eyes at the scene before her. Neil’s jaw looked sickeningly dislocated.

“I told you,” Neil slurred, blood and drool spilling out of his mouth. “I don’t have it. I didn’t play it tonight.”

“Then what’s this?” Gabe reached into his pocket and shoved his phone at Neil. “That’s you, right? Playing a fucking violin.” He emphasized the last four words with sour sarcasm. “So don’t give me some bullshit you weren’t playing tonight.”

“You don’t understand,” Neil gurgled. “The Stradivarius is…on loan to the first violin.”

“Yeah, and?”

"I play second.”

“What?”

“I play second violin. You have the wrong guy.”

Neil gestured feebly to the image on the phone screen, his finger landing on a tuxedoed shoulder half out of the shot. “This guy, sitting beside me” he said, wetly, the esses forming a bloody lisp. “Warren Babski. He’s first chair.”

The silence that fell over Gabe was somehow more terrifying than the commotion of raised voices and crashing bodies that had come before. He loomed over Neil, blinking rapidly, thinking. 

“You said some other name before, Ollie or something. You said he had it.”

"The conductor. But it’s in a special safe, you can’t just go to his room and take it,” Neil said.  His eyes rolled around in his head, and each word came out slowly, with effort. “Look, just take mine and go. You could probably pawn it for a thousand or—”

“Shut up, just shut up!” Gabe shouted, striking Neil across the face again. And again. And again. 

Chloe stepped closer, the gun shaking in her hand. “This is too messed up, Gabe, let’s just get out of here."

"Shut the fuck up!” Gabe roared and twisted around, his face ashen. Blood dripped off his knuckles, and it looked to Chloe like two fingers were broken. “Don’t use my fucking name, you goddamn cunt. I swear to God if you open your mouth one more time I’m going to shut it for you, you hear me?”

Chloe nodded mutely, her bottom lip trembling. She was going to get a beating tonight, no matter what. Gabe didn’t take it well when things went bad, and he would definitely think this fuck-up was all her fault.

Neil lay back on the floor, his face now so bloody and swollen he could only gurgle and gasp for breath. She knew they should call 911, even if they just phoned it in and took off. But Gabe was seething, his shoulders rising and falling from the hard breaths he was taking. The smell of blood in the air made Chloe’s stomach turn. 

“Listen to me,” Gabe said to her on a jagged breath. “You gotta shoot him. You gotta shoot him, and then when the police come, you gotta say he attacked you. Say he was your John and you called me for help when he got violent, but you had to shoot him. You understand?”

Chloe stared at him, blinking through tears.

Chloe!” Gabe shouted, and she jumped. “Wake the fuck up. I need you to shoot this prick, right now.”

“I don’t want to kill him,” she whispered, her voice so shaky she could barely make out her own words. She met Neil’s wide, pleading eyes as he turned his head to look at her. “You never said we had to kill any—”

“You told him our names, genius,” he yelled over top of her. “And he’s seen both our faces. This is the only way out of this now thanks to you, so would you just pull the fucking trigger, you goddamned stupid bitch!”

Stupid bitch. Stupid slut, stupid fucking cunt. The names Gabe called her, the names the Marks called her. Whether she was being fucked or fucked up, they always made sure she knew how stupid she was, how everything was all her fault. Dumb fucking whore, you like this, don't you? Dumb fucking whore, how we gonna eat tonight, huh?

She had the chance to prove herself, right now. It would be so easy. All she’d have to do was aim and squeeze the trigger, and it would be over. The police would come and she’d tell them he had attacked them and she’d had to shoot, and they’d believe her, especially if he backed her up. 

And so she did. 

She aimed the gun at Gabe’s head, and fired. 

                                                                 ***