Dark Wails by Misty Cogburn (poetry books to read txt) 📕

The fucking brat hadn't even woke up, and thankfully didn't have a single scratch.

I on the other hand had a serious problem…

Getting up off the blood stained pavement, I limped the rest of the way back to our shithole apartment, barely able to stand on my own two feet.

Thankfully Ole' Easy was at his usual perch on the front steps…

Glad to see at least one thing had went my way, I smiled gratefully at the old man.

Today there wasn't a smartass welcome, instead the 97 year-old rushed to my side, taking Ari from me and wrapping an arm around my side to help me limp along.

The old shit was tall and lanky, even taller than my impressive height of 6'4.

I must look like such a sniveling bitch right now, I thought with a frown.

Suddenly I didn't want his help walking, but I accepted it none-the-less as I looked down towards Ari.

The little brat slept through everything: the gun fire, the blood, and the walk home… even Ole' Easy's homemade stitching and bullet removal service.

He'd half-dragged me into the apartment, before tossing me onto the couch roughly as he went to gently lay Ari in our bed.

Overall, the old bastard seemed completely unfazed by the blood and situation.

As a war vet, Ole' Easy had seen his fair share of blood, guts, and bullets.

He worked quickly and with a steady hand over my wounds.

Never once did the old man ask what had happened, instead the smartass fucker told me I had the devil luck to escape all that with nearly only grazes.

Devil's luck indeed, I thought darkly.

Anyone else would have surely been killed being shot at point blank by a couple of neighborhood thugs… yet I was alive.

Unfortunately I could only agree…

My inner demons wouldn't let me die so easily.

Regardless of the pain, I focused to where Ari lay sleeping… there was no way I could afford to die…

Thankfully, there didn't seem to be any chance of danger…

Just as Easy had said, besides the deep wound in the back of my thigh, each of the bullets had passed through.

None had nicked any arteries, and with Ole' Easy's professional-grade medical care infection wouldn't be a problem.

However, removing the bullet lodged in my thigh was another problem entirely.

The bullet in my thigh took almost an hour to remove, thanks to Ole' Easy blind ass…

It was excruciating, taking everything I had to keep from crying out as Easy dug inside my wound with his knife.

After the bullet was finally out, Easy bandaged me up, and I limped over to the bed where Ari was still sleeping.

I paused, staring down at her snoozing, feeling an inner peace coil inside my chest at the sight of such inexorable innocence.

The shit-nosed little brat sleeps like one of the fucking dead, I swear…

I was glad for it too… I couldn't imagine having her awake as Easy dug a bullet out of my leg, the brat would probably faint…

I collapsed on the springy mattress roughly shaking the sleeping kid, knowing it wouldn't wake her, but still tempted to try my best.

In total I'd been hit by six bullets, I'd take billion if it meant I could protect Ari… but I have to say the shit still hurt like bitch!

I stretched out on the cast away bed that was too short for my long legs, attempting to ease the clenching pain in my leg… but it didn't work.

If anything it made the pain all the more worse…

Laying down beside Ari, I rubbed the brat's back as she slept, already hearing the wheezing of her tiny lungs racking inside her chest.

Living in this shit-hole apartment didn't help her condition any… but for now it was the best I could do…

The medicine was expensive; the cost of the surgery was staggering, for now I could only pray that we would get by… someway.

Curling up with her, I was swept away by the grape-scent of Ari's hair, instantly eased despite the pain of my wounds.

I let out a sigh blissful sigh as my aching muscles finally relaxed.

"Easy…" I mumbled sleepily.

I cracked my eye open, looking for the free-loading geezer.

"Yeah… what'd want punk?" Came the bastard's breezy reply.

I was too tired to even retaliate…

"I'm on at 11 tonight, make sure I'm up," I asked, not bothering with any snarky retort.

The old man hissed in pain as he ran into the corner of the kitchen counter.

"You shouldn't go in your condition," Easy answered from the kitchen, sounding concerned, but entirely focused on making himself a snack.

There was a pause where I felt the inky blackness of sleep hit me hard, suddenly unable to keep my eyes open I mumbled under my breath,

"… Need the money…"

…for Ari…

Easy didn't comment, he'd lived long enough to know there's just some thing you can't help… and there's some things you just have to do...

I fell asleep thankful the old bastard decided not to comment farther, holding the only comfort I had ever received in my troubled life.

Easing into the dark oblivion of dreamless sleep… only to wake in what seemed like only seconds later.

It was one of those naps that seemed as if you had closed your eyes, only to snap back awake the next moment without feeling rested at all…

My eyes felt tight underneath with my exhaustion.

Or maybe it was my irritation, I thought as Ole' Easy continued to smack my face with a sandwich in his own personal way of waking me up for tonight's show.

Snatching the sandwich from Easy's old gnarled hand, I savagely tore off a huge edge of the bread in a single bite; hoping the old shit could tell I was annoyed.

Fucking bologna…I sighed.

Feeling my leg was swollen beneath the wrapped bandages Easy had put on…

Each step I took made it throb with pain, drowning out my other wounds entirely, but I ignored it all together.

In nothing, but bandages and a pair of shorts, I threw on a fitted undershirt and limped to the door to put on my shoes as I ate the sandwich Easy had given me…

I stopped at the door way and re-lined my eyes with a thick black liner.

It made my blue eyes look harsh under my black hair and Asian features.

Rex can call me a 'little emo-bastard' all he wanted, I'd take my black painted nails and eyeliner over his stage get-up any day…

Despite all the shit that had happened tonight, I couldn't shake my foreboding feeling that the worse had yet to happen… I sighed deeply.

Thinking once again to myself, Tonight was going to be a hard night.

Ole Easy didn't say anything as I left the apartment; he had the old discolored TV on and his gun out… ready for any trouble that might come his way.

Even as crazy as the old homeless bastard was, I trusted him unquestionably.

It had been Ole Easy that took them in after they had fled the shelters and orphanages in their early years…

He had took them under wing and showed them how to survive in the city's slums.

Knowing Ari was safe was enough for me, it gave me the strength to hide my limp as I made my way to the club… knowing the night had just begun.

One of the first surprises I had that night was blocking the back entrance to the club with a threatening demeanor and almost predatory air.

Instead of the usual guard standing at the club's entrance, a pair of large men stood watch over the door.

These were bought men for hire…

They were dressed in a fashion only a rich-ass gangster could afford, and it left no doubt in my mind what the night's events were about…

A very unwelcomed guest had come to visit their club by the looks of it.

Tonight the club would be hosting someone from the high-end of the food chain; this wasn't just some gang leader here tonight…

It was most likely someone even higher than any of the local gangs.

No wonder there has been so much unrest on the streets… this was a Crime Boss.

Suddenly feeling very uneasy, I glared hard at the first body-guard that stopped me from entering the building, but the other was completely unfazed.

He checked the clipboard in his hand noting my face and the somehow printed ID photo of me on his paper before reporting his findings.

"Akuma has arrived at the back entrance," the larger of the two talked into his wrist.

There was a pause between all of as radio static could be heard through the ear piece in both the body guard's ear buds simultaneously.

It was too faded for me to hear, but instantly the two body guards focused on me intently, as if I were about to run.

"Yes Sir," they both replied, their eyes not leaving me for a second.

At the end of their transmission, both stood straighter than they had before…

One reached out to grab my arm with his incredibly large hand.

I'm tall compared to people of average height, but I have a slim, lithe, figure.

These two on the other hand, towered over even Easy's height, and had builds more solid than that bastard Rex's.

I cooled my attitude, knowing that nothing good would come from me trying to argue with these men, I let them walk me forward.

The other guard opened the door to the club, stating briefly, "We have been given orders to escort you to the VIP lounge," as his beefy friend pushed me through the iron doorway with a crude force.

I stood up taller alongside the two body guards as they escorted me to their leader like some crony ass aliens.

I knew most of the club's many hallways and turns, even most of the rooms in the building, but I had never been to the VIP lounge before…

It was kind of threatening, man…

They didn't enter the room with me, only opened the door to push me through and slam it behind me forcefully.

From within the dark lit room, there was a lone man who sat at the opposite side of the wall from me… every bone in my body said this man was dangerous.

…Proceed with caution…

As if I wasn't completely put off by the guards handling and the figure in front of me, I walked up to the man with my hands in my pockets, shoulders back, and with my meanest punk face on, lip curled and everything.

No way was I going to look like some bitch to this big-shot.

Yet all the while, I thought sarcastically, Oh joy… how I've always wanted to meet a mafia Godfather…

"Ah- Akuma, I presume?" the suave figure asked as he stood to his feet to greet me, holding out a firm hand for me to shake.

More than tempted to deny the charge, I narrowed my eyes at the hand with a serious glace, opting for silence rather than getting my tongue cut out.

There was no need to piss of a mafia Don, just because the fucker asked a stupidly rhetorical question in the namesake of only being polite.

I shook his hand surprised at his taunt grip on my loose and flaky handshake.

This man seemed to hold manners very highly, which was strange considering the profession he lived by… etiquette doesn't have a place in crime.

It was an odd notion, but something the man seemed to take seriously, even in his fashion and looks, he was well groomed and primed.

He was a strange looking man, one with a large build, but who only stood just below my height. Like some 1920's gangster he wore an expensive suite, one of the darkest blacks I had ever seen, trimmed with a peach coloring.

His hair was solid white and combed back in a professional, yet elderly, style.

However, his face was smooth save for the laughing lines around his eyes and the corner of his lips.

I had to snuff out the thought of what would make a mafia crime boss smile… Sometimes it's best not to wonder about things…

As I had hoped he seemed to take