relaxed for the first time since walking out of the hospital eight years ago while clutching a wailing infant in shaking arms. The sublime sensation was foreign yet craved—like taking a huge gulp of air after being underwater for too long. She grinned at her discovery.
Oh, I remember you. How’d you get in there?
Daryl made a point of clearing his throat on an exaggerated grind. “Hey, lady. Are you planning to pay or what?”
She narrowed her eyes. A persistent clock ticking down until time to pick up the hellions, the milk-soaked sugar she left behind, dirty dishes waiting in the sink, and her damn underwear stuck up the crack of her ass didn’t seem so important anymore. Everything clicked into place, and she reached inside for the one thing which never judged or mocked.
Mary Galesh lifted the Glock 19 out of the open maw of a purse smelling of chewing gum, Pepto-Bismol, and the menthol cigarettes she hid from her husband over the last year. The weapon felt good in her hand—heavy and powerful. Racking back the slide, she sensed a burst of adrenaline rushing through every vein as eager ears caught the familiar sound of a bullet chambering, energizing her.
Face lifting to present an exuberant smile, she pointed the business end at Daryl’s belly and popped a round into the little white button positioned just above his belt buckle, visualizing the projectile tearing through the lower bowel and shattering his spinal column. Long, tanned fingers laced over the gushing wound, not helping one damn bit. The shit was coming out whether he liked it or not.
Gaze flicking up to confused brown eyes, she winked and whispered for his ears only, “Hell yeah, I can see it. Now you’re realizing what the fuck was standing in front of you this whole time. Aren’t you, buddy?”
Chapter 2
With nothing but a gurgling sound spewing between Daryl’s pale lips and boring her silly, Mary swiveled, extended the gun, and aimed at the back of Ms. Prissy, blasting her in the shoulder while the moron stood frozen to the sparkling tile—still cringing from the loud boom announcing Daryl’s quick demise.
The skinny body swung about in a perfect one-eighty, a gift from the physics gods. She thanked them for giving ample time to pop the bitch in the left boob. Blondie dropped like a stone. She wondered if the coroner would find silicone mixed with the bright-red splash flowering out on the front of the white Niemen Marcus capped-sleeve blouse.
Glock swinging to the right and up forty-five degrees, she nailed the bubble camera attached to the ceiling and enjoyed a surge of pride as she annihilated the one on the far left without stopping to aim. She basked in the sounds of blood-curdling screams ripping through the air, displays falling over, and cans striking the pale green tile as people fled her vicinity.
That’s right, you fucking sheep. Run.
Mary shoved Daryl off the register, smirking as he slid down the half wall, leaving an ironic trail of red to mar a shiny poster of the pretty tomatoes he so inadequately tempted her to buy. She reached out and gathered the cash from each slot, unperturbed by the sticky fluids clinging to the smaller bills while stuffing them inside her bag.
On a calm, casual stroll around the counter, Mary brandished the gun at the next register, cluing the freaked-out emo chick with thick, kohl-lined eyes the quick squat down next to it hadn’t improved her situation in the least. She stuffed the pristine cash into her Louise while leveling the Glock’s sights on the girl’s silver brow piercing, betting this was the most animated emotion those big, blue orbs had displayed since hitting puberty.
Blam!
Sweet. Split her like a grape.
Pleased to find the other cashiers kind enough to leave their register drawers open as they fled like cowards to the back of the store, Mary gathered her hard-earned cash, pausing long enough to bust a cap into several people lying prone on the main aisle.
Did acting like part of the tile save your sorry asses? Nope. Idiots.
Two Almond Joys sticking out from the last candy rack begged for a ride in the side pouch of her purse and got their wish. Satisfied with the prolific haul, she stood center on the black plastic door runner, tilted her head back, and enjoyed the breeze rushing through the parting glass panels to tease her hair.
Glock stuffed under an armpit, she reached inside the bag and pulled out a cigarette and her trusty lighter, cupping a hand to keep the newly struck flame burning bright. This had always been her favorite part—seeing the tip glow a bright orange and hearing the distinctive hissing sound followed by a familiar, comforting scent of prime tobacco striking her nostrils.
A deep drag of the only vice she kept since high school filled her lungs. She let the plume of smoke snake from her nostrils for a bit and then clicked her jaw to release a perfect ring into the air.
Oh yeah, I still got it. Beautiful.
Firm grip back on the weapon and cigarette dangling with ease from her lips, Mary popped loose the empty magazine and shoved in another. Turned to the left, she smirked at the Bagwell store manager. He remained plastered against the pantyhose display with hands lifted from the moment the first round spun out of the chamber and got to know Daryl up close and personal. Rivulets of sweat ran from under the cheap toupee and patterned his light-purple dress shirt.
Head shaking in disgust, Mary wondered why some always froze like this. Freedom lay five feet away, yet he stayed glued to the floor, as if his inaction made him invisible.
Well, thank you for sticking around, mister.
She lifted the gun, reveling in the whimpering sounds issuing from between mustached quivering lips. Seven, well-placed rounds struck his upper torso, bounced him off the display, and sat him on his ass below the exit sign.
“So long, buddy.”
Without a backward glance, Mary strolled out of the store and across the lot. The sun felt good against her uplifted face, the sound of trilling birds soothing to her ears, and a sense of freedom owning her soul.
After an easy hop up into the minivan, she latched the seat belt, caught the cigarette filter between her front teeth, and enjoyed the sound of her long-forgotten laughter while squealing tires out of the parking lot. Mary flipped the channels on the radio until finding a blast of hard rock to drown out the distant sound of sirens filling the morning air.
* * * * *
“Oh, crap! Will you look at this shit?”
Officer Cory Winston glanced over at Sargent Brian Douglas’s wide, green eyes and realized they both headed deep into some serious top-level law enforcement activity if whatever was going down had this seasoned dude freaking.
Hell, yeah!
Three weeks on the Oklahoma City police force and finally his heart thumped as it had when stepping on the high school football field as fans chanted his name. This is what he’d been missing—massive adrenaline dumps and chills zipping across his flesh. He scrubbed the top of his new buzz cut, muscles quivering with anticipation.
“Damn, Cory. We need to take control of this shit. Quick.”
“For sure.” Eyes tearing away from the thin line of sweat forming on Brian’s upper lip, he tried to assess the scene. Body after body continued spilling through Bagwell’s front doors. There had to be at least sixty of them. Shrill screams
