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VENGEANCE IN BLOOM PROLOGUE

The small lantern on the night table barely lit the room, and Lily could see just enough to count the patches of chipped paint on the ceiling. She lay naked in bed, and whispered to herself while she counted. “Seven, eight, nine, ten.”

 

Nearly on top of her, a man snored into her right ear. One of his thick arms, slung across her breasts, pinned her down amongst the mangled sheets. The tequila on his hot breath was nauseating, and she turned her head as her stomach churned from the stench. The heat ruled the night, and she mopped a hand across her sweaty brow. Her skin was slick. She rubbed the grit between her fingertips.

 

He had been especially rough tonight. She did not know why, but he never really neededa reason. Her neck still hurt from his massive hands, and even now, the sting in her cheeks still tingled. He liked to slap his women. She was used to it though. She no longer woke up sore as she did when she was younger.

 

Moon light bled inside the room from a window at the far wall and spilled out into a glowing puddle just short of the bedside. She reached out to it and played with her fingers in the light. The man stirred on top of her, and she froze not to disturb him. His eyes fluttered open for a moment and he looked at her vacantly, then he buried his nose into the side of her neck and shifted his armdown to her waist. Locked in place, she looked at him from the corner of her eye. His body started to relax on top of hers, and moments later, he was limp with sleep.

 

She waited for him to settle, and not until he started to snore did she take a breath. The last thing she wanted to do was wake him, for while he slept, she had some sort of freedom. She looked back to her fingers, which she still held in the moonlight, and slowly balled them into a fist. She brought her fist to her faceand opened it to stare into her empty palm. She knew that she could not hold onto the moonlight, but it would have been nice to steal a piece, even just for a little while.

 

Her gaze drifted from the pale skin of her palm down to the copper tone of her wrist,and she envisioned it slit open and bleeding out all over her arm. If only, she thought. If only she had enough courage to take Ortega’s Bowie knife, and drag it across her wrists. If only she had enough courage to take that same knife, and plunge it deep into his back while he laid on top of her. If only she could find the strength within herself to kill the rest of them. She could slit their throats while they slept. If only she could stop thinking about it.

 

Ortega stirred again, and this time, he pushed himself up off her. He yawned,stretched his muscles, and then turned over to lie on his side. Once he settled down, she dared a small sigh of relief and managed a slight stretch herself. It felt good to be rid of his weight. She could breathe easier, but her breasts were slick with his sweat. She pulled up one of the tangled bed sheets to wipe herself off, and gave him another look out the corner of her eye. She watched his muscled back shrink and expand as he snored, and then she looked over his shoulder at his Bowie knife on the night table. It was still in its sheath beside the lantern.

 

If only, she thought.

 

She turned over on her side and pulled the damp sheet over herself. She stared at the window where dingy curtains drooped lifelessly from bent rods and wished for a cool breeze. Even though the window gaped open, there was no airflow; it was stifling. She could not rest. Years under the gang’s abuse made her a light sleeper. The smallest sounds disturbed her. She never knew when one of the others would come to take her next.

 

It was unusually quite. The creaky floorboards had not moaned under the movement of the others for most of the night. Normally, at least one of them would be up,though too drunk to stand straight. Roth loved to get Carter riled up enough to fight, Payton would step in to teach them both a lesson, and Flanagan would sit back and enjoy the show.

 

She yawned and smoothed her raven hair back behind her ear. Her neck still hurt when she rubbed it. She could feel the exact spots where Ortega dug in his blunt fingertips. She sighed. It was much too quiet.

 

Some where downstairs glass shattered. Someone was up after all. Which one was it? She hopped it was Carter. He was the only one she had not slept with, and he was younger than the rest of them, only a year or two older than her twenty-one years. He was new to the gang and he had not tried to have his way with her yet; and with Ortega lying in bed next to her, she doubted he would try.

 

There was another crash of shattered glass, a muffled voice, and then a gunshot. She popped up from the tattered sheets and leaned back against the headboard. She listened to the commotion. Another gunshot rang out and then another.

Who was shooting? They drew guns on each other before but they never took a shot!

 

Ortega stirred for a moment and then another gunshot woke him out of his sleep. He sat up and scanned the room. He turned to Lily and glared. “What was that?”

 

She flinched from his eyes. “Gunshots,” she whispered. “Downstairs!”

 

The commotion grew louder. Muffled voices barked loud and quick. It sounded like they were tearing the place apart. Gunfire erupted like fireworks, and a pulsing orange glow brought her eyes to the bottom of the bedroom door. She smelled smoke. She turned towards Ortega and they locked eyes.

 

He sprung from the bed cursing. “What are those idiots doin’?” He pulled on his pants,snatched his Bowie knife off the table, and bolted for the door. After he opened it, he jumped back from the blazing fire that raged in the hallway. The room was flooded with the orange glow and Lily could feel the heat all the way from the bed. Ortega gathered himself, then dashed out into the hallway and slammed the door behind him.

 

What the hell was goin’ on? Lily stared. Smoke seeped under the door frame. Gunfire raged downstairs. Smoke stung her eyes and she choked on the cloud that filled the room. She jumped out of the bed,snatched her pants and shirt off the floor, and pulled them on.

 

Something smashed through window behind her and erupted into shards of fire when it hit the floor. She hopped back and beat at the flames that caught the bottom of her pants. Within seconds, the bed was a blazing inferno with tongues of fire that licked the ceiling. A boiling cloud of black and orange grew above her.

 

Instinctively, she ran for the door and grabbed the knob. Searing pain bit into the palm of her right hand and she recoiled with it clutched to her breast. The smoke was blinding. Her nose and throat burned. She could not breathe. Flames roared in her ears and the heat was like the hand of death slowly closing around her. She ran towards the window, where she thought it should be, shielded her head with her arms, and jumped.

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