In which Lorelei Price remembers vengeance...
58
It was him, it was now and this time the mother fucker wasn't getting away. Her gun was loaded with silver and she'd an additional clip of the specially made lycanthrope exterminating rounds in her jacket pocket.
She'd seen the bastard out of the corner of her eye a few weeks before while leaving this very same upper east side apartment building after investigating a lead on an entirely different case with Zeus. He hadn't noticed her, hadn't ever taken his eyes off the pretty Asian girl that was departing his place his place of residence, especially not as the girl walked away from him, those beady things never leaving her backside.
The time she'd spent in Sword told her that she knew some werewolves, many of them in fact, lead what passed for productive lives. They attempted to control those urges that came during the full moon as much as possible, locking themselves up when necessary.
But not this fucker, she already knew what he was made of, knew what kind of monster he was.
And so she'd waited during her off time, unbeknown to anyone in Sword, followed him on those nights that the moon wasn't full, when his kind could still change but did so when they wanted and had a measure of control over the beast. It was during the full moon that the true monster would come out and this one, she was certain, didn't bother with a lock.
And now they were face to face, the pretty little Asian girl having run off with her neck still intact, high atop the rather posh apartment building his furriness drew his victims into. He was in his man-wolf form, eying first her and then the roof adjacent to his own, not forty yards away.
He could jump it, she was sure of that, but could he do it before she emptied her entire clip into him? Not so certain of that.
“You ain't going anywhere, Jeffery,” she spat, seeing recognition dawn on his yellow canine eyes. “Didn't think you'd be seeing me ever again, huh? Thought you'd scared me the fuck away like you did Pedro, huh?”
The shape-shifter kept turning from her, trying to decide which course of action more prudent. She figured he'd have to suspect that she might have silver rounds in her pistol and that might push him into trying to make good his escape. He was a runner after all. Then again, this was someone he'd run from before, someone who'd caught up with him on a previous occasion and might do so again. He was considering attacking her, his eyes on her throat every time they came back to her confirmed that.
Oh please, motherfucker, please keep your eyes on my throat, she thought.
“Not this time, ol' buddy,” she continued her taunting. “This time I know who you are. I know where you live, know the name of your goldfish, know what type of cologne you fucking wear, even know where your dad works. I wonder if he's like you, Jeffery. Wonder if I gotta go take his punk ass out too.”
He growled, deep and low, and she readied, he'd be coming now.
“That's it, bitch,” she whispered low, but not too low. “Come get your fucking medicine.”
She didn't wait for him to pounce, just waited until he'd swerved his shoulders back around, aligning his body with hers for the leap before she unloaded. She pumped every single bullet in her gun into Jeffery Underwood, killing him dead right where he stood.
He changed back into his human form as he died just like in the movies, naked, pink and wet. There was no smoke this time, nothing mysterious or magical. It was as if the wolf melted out from under him, his body shrinking quickly and leaving nothing more than a dead man on a cold New York City rooftop.
And it wasn't like they made you believe in the movies, where they told you that revenge never brought you back any of what you'd lost to that person.
No, not at all, killing Jeffery Underwood made her feel damn good.
End Part 58
If you find yourself interested in the whole damnedable thing and wanna throw me a few bucks, here's a link to it on Amazon.