Author: Guede Mazaka
The room had had a bed, but they'd never actually gotten to it. Sands, probably because he liked it that way. Ajedrez, because she had never wanted to be on her back again. Not for any man.
She had wondered about him sometimes. Wondered why he hadn't felt like a threat, why he hadn't protested when she'd drawn blood. When she'd slammed him into the floor. It should have made her more cautious, that lack of menace, but he'd been so pretty and helpless and stupid, wriggling beneath her in loud, rasping enjoyment. She'd begun to believe him, in his pathetic trickery.
Well, there was a bullet in her gut that said otherwise, and a growing dimness across her sight that blocked out the bloody sunglasses. Ajedrez fell, tasting him. Tasting defeat.