I followed suit, letting the burn consume my throat and praying it would hit me fast. I knew I shouldn’t be drinking. I knew it was against the terms of my release. But so was being leashed to a nut. The last time I drank was when Jenn refused to answer me and took off for her friend’s house for six weeks. Like a charm, my cheeks began to flush as some shit techno music boomed throughout the club. Maybe the shot would cure my headache, I told myself, praying Ray would follow Violet’s instructions. He would. She’d saved him.
“Nice place, huh?” she asked.
“Why are we here? Don’t you want me to diagnose your cat?”
“Did you see it?” Violet asked, slamming her empty shot glass on the table.
I winced, half expecting it to crack. “See what?”
“Her death!”
“Cats have nine lives. Nine deaths too. Want me to list them off?”
I flat refused to tell her what I saw. Prison had taught me about power and fear. What I knew was that the one who cared the least had the most power. I was keeping that power with me. The hell I was handing it to her. If she wanted to know, she’d have to release me.
“It’s not funny,” she said, staring at my shot glass as if she planned to lick it. She was probably a dog and thirsty for more.
I laughed.
“It’s not.”
“Sure, Honey,” I said, intentionally using the word.
She giggled. “I love when you call me that.”
Psycho much? Too fucking easy. “Don’t get used to it,” I grumbled. “Not sure who taught you about men but we don’t generally get off on being leashed. Tell me, what do you really do? You a dog walker or just the cat lady?”
“My world is my business. Besides, you would never understand. You’re too close-minded.”
“Fair enough. Too close-minded to know anything about the deaths of your cat.”
“Oh, you will. And Ethel’s not just a cat. Ethel’s my very best friend.”
Her words reminded me of Ray. I’d never thanked her for saving his ass. I wondered if he was still scurrying around his dump trying to pick it up and if he’s kept me out of trouble with the parole officer. It wasn’t like I could convince a judge that some cat woman had leashed me to her on perma-shock. No one would ever believe this shit and who could blame them?
“Thanks for what you did for Ray.”
“No problem.” She smiled at me before leaning her head on my shoulder. With two hands, she grabbed my bicep and rested her head on my chest as if we were together or some shit. My stomach tightened.
She smelt like grapes. Not the kind you get from the grocery store but the color purple. She smelt like grape Hubba Bubba bubble gum – the shit we traded for football cards on the bus in middle school. I hated myself for flexing my arm as she gripped tighter. I didn’t want to notice her at all, but with Violet, that was impossible.
Maybe on whatever planet or continent she came from it was normal to throw yourself at a man you kidnapped. But it wasn’t here. Normal was overrated and something about her audacity had me itching to flip the script. This girl—whose death was a blank slate to me—had me wanting to grab her by the hair and show her exactly how controlling I could be.
No women. You made a resolution.
Gently, I shrugged her off of me and growled, “Newsflash. We aren’t dating. You freaking kidnapped me! Let me off the stupid Death Flames and I might be more friendly.” It was worth a shot.
Violet sprung up, her head flinging back in perfect rhythm with the strobe lights and techno crap. Without saying a word, she lurched forward, tugging hard on the invisible leash between us, and yanked me toward the bar. We weren’t even ten feet away before the nut was screaming, “Bartender! We need more.”
People stared. This wasn’t the type of place where you screamed out an order. It wasn’t the kind of establishment where you begged for bottom shelf either. But that wasn’t going to stop her. The chick was out of her mind and seemed to have zero interest in what anyone thought of her. I admired her for that. But being chained to her, I also wanted to die. It wasn’t like I could explain why I was following her around like a puppy in a bright purple blazer and horrible black skinny jeans I swore the nut picked out for me just to get a look at my junk. I should have listened to the cat. It wasn’t like she hadn’t warned me about Mistress Grape picking out my clothes.
Tacky. It was the best word I knew to describe her as she tried to con a deal for two for one shots with the eager bartender. He was as bad as Ray. I rolled my eyes as he instantly bent down to serve her and didn’t even bother to push the tip jar forward. He would have given her the shit for free.
Colon cancer. Age seventy. It’d be a long, grueling death for him. His skin would hang and he’d turn the color of Popsicle sticks. He’d die with plenty of friends and family around him. His last words would be “I will.”
I stared at the back of Violet’s head, trying my best to see anything at all. I even willed her various deaths – cancer? Kidney disease? Pneumonia? Nothing. Jumping off a building thinking she was a cat but learning quickly her lives were limited? Nada. Dying of a migraine due to listening to crappy music? Zero.
“Here. Hold these,” she said, spinning around to face me.
Maybe it was the stupid contacts. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen anyone wear such God-awful things. Maybe tonight, back in the room with the feline, I’d be able to get a better read. With two hands, I reached for the shots, feeling like a chump. If Slash could see me and my circumstances were different, I’d be bent over in the penitentiary begging him to make it quick.
A stunning woman in her mid-twenties with long, shiny black hair smiled at me as Violet turned her attention back to the bartender. “Cool outfit,” she said, chuckling.
“Yeah,” I grumbled. “Thanks.”
Heart disease. Age eighty-eight. Fuck you too. Too bad it wasn’t now and choking on your drink.
AN HOUR AND FOUR SHOTS later
He looked at her the way I once looked at Jenn. Like he was confused by her, embarrassed even, but somehow could not look away. For a moment, I felt bad for him. For her too. They were doomed. Mistress Grape and the cat creature had talked about him. I knew instantly that his name was Arun. I knew he was a dick—as verified by Ethel herself in spite of them coming from the same fucked-up litter or bloodline, whatever a cat creature would call it—and most importantly, I knew Violet was terrified of him. I just didn’t understand why.
“Why are you here?” she growled, pressing into me and facing Arun.
I half expected a cat to jump out from under his leather jacket. Instead, he winked at her. “You didn’t miss me? How disappointing, Dear. You know exactly why I am here.”
“Honey, who is this guy?” It was the only thing I could think to ask. Of course, Violet was more than aware I knew exactly who the dude was. What she didn’t know, though, is that he’d die a very violent death. And soon.
Anticipating Violet would turn to me and tell me I’d called her ‘that name,’ I was surprised when she ‘shhhh’ed’ me and introduced him only as “an old friend.”
Arun, who could have been my old friend Eric’s twin in looks alone, shook my hand much too hard after she introduced me as her “new friend.” I prayed the shock from the Death Flames at my extension of my own hand transferred to him. But if he was being zapped the same way I was, he sure as fuck didn’t let on. On sight, I hated him. Instinctually, I took my hand back and moved it to Violet’s waist. She let me keep it there – her back stiff. I wished like hell the curse would catch up to me so I could be sure of a way to keep her safe. This guy was trouble.