Rich red tomato sauce sprayed into the air, and the smell of garlic hit her nostrils hard. But not as hard as the plate hit Braidy-lady. Right in the middle of her back. It would have knocked most people for six, winded them like all hell, but she didn’t so much as glance to see where the attack had come from. She just kept going, lifting a leg to clamber over the back of the couch. Supermodel Susie made it round the couch and launched herself at Azrael. It wasn’t a pretty sight. Her movements were stiff and jerky, but she landed the strike. Azrael had made it to his knees by this stage, but Supermodel Susie straddled him and he went down again as if she were made of lead.
‘Shit, balls, shit.’
Kira grabbed the smooth silver handle of the cart and ran with it, aiming for Braidy-lady. The chick had been one-upped by her own skirt. The form-fitting pencil design was definitely not suitable for clambering over the high back of a leather couch. Cart met leg. The woman screamed, the sound rising over a beer ad blasting out of the overworked speakers, but Kira’s attempt to stop her only helped her. The momentum sent her over the back of the couch and tumbling with all the grace of a boneless gymnast onto the seat before she hit the ground, right where Supermodel Susie sat astride Azrael, pinning his arms up over his head. Braidy-lady joined the party, leaning in underneath her companion and planting her hands on Azrael’s head. It was one screwed-up game of Twister.
‘Fuck’s sake, Az. Do something!’ Kira shouted over a toilet paper commercial, scanning the room for something she could use to beat the room attendants from hell with. Azrael writhed beneath them. The bitches were average size and weren’t using any particularly brilliant ninja moves to keep him down, yet there he was, nailed like a butterfly on a really dodgy pin board. He was wide-eyed. Crazy wide-eyed. She hoped Blake had lodged those ceramic sea-greens in there nice and tight. Way things looked, he might lose them.
‘Az, come on! Snap out of it!’ Kira screamed over the sound of the TV.
Cutlery had fallen from the cart when she’d rammed it up the woman’s ass. A steak knife lay on the floor. Kira grabbed it, then just as quickly dropped it. She was kidding herself if she thought she could stab someone. Even if that someone was perched over her sister’s expensive toy like a crow on a mouse. Instead, Kira went for the body slam. She dashed around the couch and slammed herself into the woman astride Azrael. Supermodel Susie landed on top of Braidy-lady. Kira struggled to take a breath, winded by the impact. She wasn’t ready for the retaliation, and it was a doozy when it came.
Hands laced around her throat, and she was shoved up against the side of the couch, her back arching over the seat, Braidy-lady’s face just a few centimetres from hers. Her breath was foul. Blood poured from the woman’s nose. Her grip was all sorts of wrong. It was going to crush the cartilage in Kira’s throat. It was definitely making her see stars. This was not how she’d seen this day ending. Black spots grew like mould on her vision. Kira clung to the woman’s wrists. The skin there was slick with sweat but cool, as if she’d been sitting under the air-con too long. And there was no chance in hell Kira would dislodge the iron grip.
Holy shit, Kira thought. Death day is here. Again. Last time, dying had smelled of smoking brake rubber and her dad’s voice telling her to hold on, that it was going to be okay. This time she smelled nothing, and an earnest salesman was telling her she really needed a crystal-encrusted veil for her big day.
It was not going to be okay. There was no breath left. No light. Sounds grew muffled, distant, as if they were coming from the floor below.
Rain sprinkled on her face. At least, something wet did, maybe not rain; Kira was too busy trying not to die to work it out. Something dampened her skin, light like the hydration spray she had in her make-up bag. Maybe it rained in the afterlife. Or they had hydration spray. Kind of handy for hell she supposed.
Hell. Well that wouldn’t have been her first choice, but caring took too much energy. She just wanted to drift down, into the quiet dark. Kind of peaceful, this blackness. When she’d killed her dad, it hadn’t been serene like this. It had been heat and rancid smells.
A second later, she couldn’t feel the woman’s hands on her throat anymore. Goodbye cruel world. An additional second later and the world slapped her in the face. It bloody well hurt. Kira took a rushed breath, blinking against light that was determined to blind her. She sucked in more sweet, precious air, breathing like a B-grade porn star.
‘What do I do?’ someone male and frantic shouted. ‘Leona, what do I do?’
The shout was near-deafening, coming from the blur crouched right beside her. Kira blinked and rubbed at her face, trying to get a clear look. Someone, the shouter, put an arm around her shoulder. He was shaking, and his voice wobbled as he asked her to get up.
‘Fuck off,’ Kira slurred, attempting to push the blur away.
‘Just show him she’s all right.’ The reply was strained but measured. Female.
‘Can you get up?’ The shouter stopped shouting, going for a hissed lower tone, but still sounding like he wanted to shit his pants.
Kira squinted, her vision clearing. The guy doing a shitty job of helping her to her feet suffered from a horrendous bowl-cut hairstyle with a fringe that hung low into his eyes,
