Here’s how Aident gets his revenge on Marco’s father–it’s a little lengthy, but I’ve had a few requests and I didn’t really want to cut it down:
They all put their arms back down to their sides, lowering their eyes like good little boys. All except Ruiz. They grab their stuff and split, one by one…
…all except Ruiz. He yells out at his compadres, though.
“Hey, where you guys goin’? You pollies don’t wanna piece of cracker?” He lets out a cackle, shaking his head, then stalks over to the door and slams it shut.
“Good riddance, you pansy asses.”
I flick my finger and the deadbolt flips, locking the door. Ruiz is startled at that, since I was nowhere near the door, then he comes and gets in my face.
“Just what in the hell do you think you’re doing here, you motherfucker?” he growled, positvely vibrating with fury. Ruiz is looking like one of those fighting roosters, fueled by adrenaline and cheap drugs. That’s why he can last longer looking right at me, but that’s all right. That means I’ll have longer to enjoy the final outcome. I finish sizing him up and see a cocky loser wearing a stained, filthy wifebeater that shows his jailhouse tattoos, fists clenched and ready, bouncing from one foot to the other like a used up bantamweight boxer. What a poser. He has no idea, and I certainly prefer it that way. I move my face closer to his, and he looks in my eyes again. This time, it’s too much and he backs off a little.
“I’m here standing up for your son, Mr. Ruiz, your gay son. The one you beat up.”
I smile and he sees my incisors trying to come out, and I smile even wider at his eyes, and that little line of sweat sprouting on his forehead.
“I didn’t know I had a son, I thought he was my daughter, homes,” he chuckles, his nerves coming out.
“Your son is more of a man than you are, ese,” I tell him quietly, simmering rage in my voice. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and backs away from me.
“How do you know that, gringo chump? You been fucking his ass or somethin’?” He gives me a snort of derision. “He been gettin’ you off?”
“You’re a pig, Mr. Ruiz. Do you know that?” I move toward him again, closing the gap he’d made earlier. He stutters a little, then gets quiet.
It’s almost time.
“Do you know something else, Mr. Ruiz?” I ask. “I used to like pork—when I was human.” Quick as a flash, I grab him around the neck, my long fingernails digging into his flesh as I pull him close. His eyes are huge with panic, but there’s no need for any more pleasantries. I bury my fangs in his carotid, shaking my head back and forth like the dog I am as I tear a gaping hole in his throat. I gulp the blood spouting from him in a great wave, bathing in it, reveling in the taste and the smell of it. My pleasure is so sharp that I throw my arms around him and squeeze, breaking his spine in half with a grunt. He screams as much as he is able as the life flows out of him, and his open mouth freezes as his heart stops beating, his blood fading from my face and clothes. A primal yell comes out of me as I fling him into the corner of the room and he lands on Mrs. Ruiz’s china cabinet, turning it over on him and shattering everything inside.
Poor Esme is going to find a crime scene when she returns, because I’m certainly not going to disguise anything on that sonofabitch. The only blood I care about is what was on me, and in me of course. She’s going to find a crime scene when she returns, that’s certain. I don’t leave DNA or fingerprints, so those homies I chased out will be the first ones they come looking for. They won’t even be able to say what I look like.
I run out the back door, high on bad blood as I feel the Irish seeping back into me; the Irish of the old days. I need to cool off a little and get some sleep and a meal with some decency to dilute this. I won’t be able to stand any sun at all with Spider in me, now will I?
“Ah, boyo, ye best be gettin’ on now,” I say to myself. “Yer langered now fer sure.”
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