"When we promised to love each other till death do us part, I never thought death would come so soon."
They call her Justice and it's probably because she takes the law into her own hands, dishing out whatever she wants to whoever she wants. At just...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Patch's sexcapades must have come to a tragic end— maybe he scared the poor girl away— because he's following me in a beat down Maserati that could use a cool paint job and some shiny new rims. This thing looks like it's been sitting in a garage for the last ten years. I wouldn't be surprised if it just broke down here and now.
I would actually appreciate it, because at this very moment, Patch is about twenty feet away from rear-ending me straight in the ass. He's driving like a mad man— correction—he's driving like a drunk man. And I can't help but wonder how much alcohol he's consumed tonight. This could very well be the upper hand that I need in my life.
Besides, I'm very curious to know what Patchy the Pirate is like drunk. He's already crazy as fuck sober. This is going to be interesting; as long as he doesn't kill me first.
The car's dingy headlights illuminate the otherwise dark night, making it possible for me to see a few feet in front of me. I'm headed toward a children's park that's completely vacant and I'm not surprised considering what time it is. This entire neighborhood is asleep, unaware of the dangerous people that lurk right outside of their unlocked windows.
I could climb into someone's house and take cover there, but Patch would follow me inside. He's reckless without a cause. He doesn't care who he hurts or how it happens. At least Nevio is calculated and precise. Patch doesn't think before he acts. He just does it.
"You might want to slow down! You wouldn't want to get a speeding ticket!" I shout at the top of my lungs, picking up my pace. I'm used to running for long periods of time without rest. I've been running my whole damn life. Running from the ghosts of my past, running from my mistakes, running from my inner demons.
Patch presses on the gas, clearly not caring about getting a ticket. Who am I kidding? If a police officer shows up here, he'll just take them out with a bullet to the chest. That brings new meaning to the term brokenhearted.
I take cover behind a tree, just as he passes me in the ancient Maserati. He was only a few feet from running me over like roadkill, but I manage to dodge him thanks to this big oak tree.
"Thanks." I mutter to the tree, as if it can actually hear me. They say that talking to inanimate objects is the first sign of people going nuts, but I already know I'm batshit crazy. "The next person that tries to cut one of your brothers down, I'll slice their throat for you."
Just when I think I'm in the clear, Patch makes a sharp U-turn toward me. The tires of his car skid through mud, squealing and sputtering at the sudden change in direction. It even spins a little, but it's not enough to make him crash.
I run toward the play area of the park, hoping to take cover in the jungle gym. Once I'm in front of the humongous structure, I slide underneath the metal bars. It reminds me of a jail cell, but it's not nearly as incarcerating. The main difference between a jungle gym and prison is that I can get in and get out of my cell without having an overweight guard escorting me everywhere.
