The Soul Collector

Ch. Twenty-Three

"Luck is a very thin wire between survival and disaster, and not many people can keep their balance on it."

- Hunter S. Thompson

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Galloway walked slowly back to the motel, her eyes blurring with infrequent tears, the night breeze of the surrounding desert drying them in cold lines down her cheeks. She wrestled with her mind, which stubbornly wanted to play the events of the night on a horrifying loop in her head.

"Lost, honey?"

The male voice was deep and unwanted, drawling out arrogantly. Galloway's shoulders bunched up under Sirius' too-big jacket. Her knuckles turned white around the grip of her gun in the pocket. She tried to keep walking, but then the guy grabbed her elbow.

White-hot rage poured through her, pushing out the pain and horror, and Galloway clung to it hard. The fury was sweet compared to anything else she could be feeling right now. She let it expand, filling her to the brim with a reckless fire.

In that moment, all she wanted to do was set the world ablaze and laugh while it burned.

She reversed her grip on the gun, hand hidden in the jacket's pocket, fingers clenching around the barrel now. Looking up, she found a moderately attractive man with green eyes and dyed blond hair smiling at her. His teeth were very white and very perfect.

Much too perfect, Galloway thought numbly. A hint of maliciousness streaked through her mind, bright red and tantalizing.

With a smile that felt terrifying even to her, she yanked away from his grip and whirled, extracting the gun at the same time. He let out a grunt of pain as the butt of the pistol smashed into his jaw. He stumbled back, clutching his face.

She wasn't done yet.

Her leg snapped out, the heel of her booted foot connecting hard with his chest, and the man fell backwards, sprawling on the ground. His eyes were wide and surprised as he tried to suck air into his paralyzed lungs.

Lazily, she walked over to him and tilted her head. Blood wept from scratches on his cheek and a bruise was forming.

But those teeth were still perfect.

He tried to get up but Galloway stomped on his stomach, making him gasp again.

Delicately, she stepped over him, one foot on either side of his chest before she sank down, straddling him. Fear and confusion flashed in those green eyes and she pursed her lips before stuffing the gun back into her pocket.

Relief bled across his face until she raised a clenched fist. Hissing, she spit, "You're the unluckiest asshole I've ever seen. Now I'm going to make you choke on those pretty teeth."

He attempted to raise his hands but she had his arms pinned. Before he could call out, she slammed her fist into his face, right into his mouth.

His lip instantly split, beginning to bleed. Pain seared through her knuckles and she relished in it. She hit him again, then again.

Red malice glazed her vision, her anger sweet and hot on her tongue, lighting a warm glow in her stomach. Her hands grew steadily wetter with each strike.

Galloway didn't know how long this went on. Eventually, she just ran out of energy. Breath heaving in and out, hands screaming masses of pain, she looked down, blinking the haze from her eyes.

A startled gasp escaped as she looked at the man choking and moaning beneath her.

Like she'd been burned, she leapt up, skittering back from him. Her hands came up to cover her mouth before just as quickly dropping when she registered the slickness of blood against her lips.