Killer and the Skinwalker
Hmph, so that's the one. Looking at Lady with eyes of hatred. I don't know why, but she hates Lady. heheh, Like I care.
I stare across the distance at her, giving her an appraisal that I'm sure sets her teeth to chattering. But she doesn't see it. She's interesting to look at, not like the voluptuous Edna. She looks firm and ripe - like good fruit. The boy standing near her shouts her name as she tries to reach Lady. We're standing far enough away, on a billboard; what does the silly bitch think she can do to reach us here? Shania. Her name is Shania.
"Lady?"
She ignores me, her crimson eyes staring blankly at the hotel, the party there with Edna and Capone. Stupid Italians.
I watch as Edna summons a gate and feeds on its power, changing into … well whatever it is, I ain't gonna fuck it! But eventually she dies, bleeding her heart out for that damned Mexican. I bet he had her too, but not like I did. I feel my lips pulling back in a smirk as big as Texas; yeah I plugged that bitch more than a dog in heat. Hahahah It isn't until later, as we cross the desert in the dark, that I think of her again. Not Edna. Shania.
She's native. I wonder how she knows Lady? Looking ahead at the silent woman in blue and silver, her back-side an enticement, I wonder where she has been, what she has done and, more importantly, where she is going. It's not like I care, really. I don't have anywhere else to go. But damn! If she's making enemies, I should know about them; to protect her. To kill them.