After Lazaro left her, Rain took a seat at the poker table in the kitchen with the gun on the table and her hand on the gun.
Sweat oozed from every pore. Even the bottoms of her feet and the inside of her mouth felt sweaty. She didn't know how long she sat there, but it couldn't have been long before Lazaro stormed back into the house.
The table sat in line with the front door, and Lazaro spotted her the moment he came in. His eyes locked on her. Because of the boarded windows, shadows hid most of his face, but she could see his glistening and angry eyes through the darkness. Then he stepped forward and light cut away the shadows like a blade through gauze, revealing the blood smeared across one side of his face.
She flexed the fingers of her gun hand, then resettled her grip on the weapon. She kept the pistol on the table, but she turned it so the barrel faced Lazaro.
He noticed the move and curled his lip. Shaking his head, he lurched into the kitchen. He turned his cheek to show her the damage to his face.
“Look at this shit. Ethan did this.”
“You probably deserved it.”
His nostrils flared. A second passed, and the anger drained from his eyes, out of sight, but Rain could still sense its red presence inside of him. This was Lazaro trying to look disarming right before he struck. She'd seen it before. She could read her brother like a billboard.
“You shouldn't do that, Rain.”
“Do what?”
“Turn on me.”
“What should I have done? Let you shoot Ethan and his girlfriend?”
“You should have trusted I knew what I was doing.”
Rain shook her head. “I had to think about Graham. You stepped over the line.”
He punched down on the table. The splitting wood sounded like a shot.
Rain jumped.
“I had things under control. Now, because of you, we're both screwed. Do you know what that chick is going to do? She's going to run to the police. She brings them in, Graham goes down, they start sniffing around us, and we go down—”
“For what? We didn't do anything.”
“You think that matters? They have it in for people like us.”
Rain dropped her chin. People like us. Losers. Criminals. Junkies. She squeezed the grip of the gun till her knuckles went white.
“Bullshit. We didn't do anything wrong. They can't touch us.”
“That bitch is going to make sure we go down.”
“If you wouldn't have kidnapped her—”
“I didn't kidnap no one.”
Rain lifted the gun from the table and waved it at him. “You threatened her with a fucking gun.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I'm tired of you second guessing me all the time.”
She rolled her eyes. “Here we go.”
“Don’t do that. Stop treating me like a little baby. I'm your older brother.”
“I'm not having this argument again. I'm sick of it. I'm sick of you, of Ethan, of everything. I just want to go home.” She stood.
“So you can squirt more of that junk into your veins.”
“What of it?”
Lazaro skirted the table. “Cops are probably waiting to pounce on your ass as it is. You want to give them a reason to haul your ass in?”
“It's my life.”
“No it ain't. You go down, you'll drag the rest of us down. Me, you, Ethan, Graham. We'll all have matching cells.”
“That’s just stupid.”
His breath came in short puffs through his nose. “Sit down.”
Rain stepped back, but not to sit. She lifted the gun and sighted down the barrel at his chest. “You forget I have the gun?”
Lazaro snorted. He raised a hand as if to slap her. “Either you shoot me, or I knock you on your ass.”
“Just get out of my way.”
He back-handed her, his knuckles striking the bruised side of her face. The flesh still tender, a fresh swell of pain awakened through her cheek.
She shrieked and staggered back. “You son of a—”
He struck her again in the same spot.
This time she almost dropped to her knees. The kitchen spun around her. Hang onto the gun. Keep the gun up or you’re dead.
“You gonna shoot or get slapped?” he asked.
She shuffled back to get some distance, aimed, and tightened her finger on the trigger. “I'll do it. You try to hit me again and—”
He charged forward, fist raised.
She pulled the trigger.
The dry and empty snap from the pistol probably startled Rain more than if it had actually fired. Her heart pounded double-time. Did she leave the safety on? No. The trigger had pulled. The gun should have fired. It should have—
The room went dark for an instant. She lost track of her body. She heard the gun clatter to the kitchen floor. Then her vision cleared in time for her to see that same floor rise up to meet her. She managed to tuck an arm under her and break her fall enough to keep from knocking her head on the tiles.
A warm wetness trickled over her upper lip. She wiped under her nose and blood smeared across her hand. Lazaro had hit her so fast she hadn't seen it, or so hard he'd knocked the short memory out of her head.
She rolled onto her back, felt like she could doze off right there on the kitchen floor.
Lazaro clomped over to her and planted a foot on either side of her waist. He had retrieved the pistol and aimed it down at her.
“Laz . . .”
He squeezed the trigger a half dozen times. Each time the gun clicked empty. He dropped the gun onto her chest like a piece of trash.
Rain's lungs seemed to have turned against her, making every breath an effort.
“You know what this means?” he asked.
Rain shook her head.
“It means you don't second guess me. Thing was just for show. If I wanted to really hurt anyone, you know I wouldn't need no gun to do it.”
She nodded. “I know.”
He crouched down, still straddling her. He pointed a finger in her face.
“Don't you ever defy me again.”
“Okay, Laz. Okay.”
He stood and offered a hand to help her up. She'd rather lay there and drift, but if she turned down Lazaro's offered hand he might interpret that as defying him. In fact, she was certain this was a test.
She reached up and gripped his wrist.
He lifted her easily to her feet and let her lean on him for support.
“That's better,” he said. “Now let's see about finding you a fix, get you feeling like yourself again.”