The Apprentice’s Bargain

I. The Blood on My Hands

Braxton’s head hits the pavement with a sickening crack. A sound I’ll hear in my sleep for the rest of my life. Like barely ripe watermelon exploding.

I don’t breathe. I don’t move. I just stand there, staring at him, waiting for him to groan, to curse at me, to move—anything. But his body stays twisted on the concrete, the back of his skull dark with something that shouldn’t be spreading this fast.

The Rolls-Royce sits behind me, its chrome grille gleaming under the streetlights. The hood ornament—the Spirit of Ecstasy—casts a shadow on the ground, wings spread, like an angel witnessing my crime.

My hands shake.

Oh God, what have I done?