Part Five: Death

I figured it all wrong. Figured her all wrong.

We get back to town in Aro's Lincoln, hatching a plan.

As of now, I'm the only one left alive who knows Bella's secret, that she ain't just some dumb bartender pining for her man. With Jimmy gone, we have our opening. She's got brains, she's got balls. She's got me wrapped around her pinky like the dumb mook I am.

"Drive," I say.

She tells me she's stashed away over two hundred grand. That's almost as much as I've pocketed rousting drug dealers and thugs, taking the occasional mob payoff. Says she's been looking for a way to get Jimmy and Aro out of the picture so she can skip town, start a new life before Newton gets released.

"Aro fucked up letting Jimmy get so close to me," she says. She laughs, thinks of something new. "When he figures it out, he's going to rampage."

"We'll kill him first, before he has a clue."

She puts a hand on my thigh, blows smoke out the window. "I like the way you think, Eddie."

"You knew the whole time, didn't you? My name, my history? You knew everything. The tears? The fear? It was all for me. To lure me in."

She don't answer, just flicks her butt out the window and drives.

"You up for an adventure, Eddie?"

"With you, babe? Any time."

She smiles and puts the pedal to the metal. We're back in town before the sun comes up.

"We ain't gonna walk into his shop and blow him away, you know. Even if I wanted to, he'll have too much security. Aro's a made man, Bella. The Outfit'll have sent someone in by now. They'd spot me coming a mile away."

"There's no we about it," she says, pulling into a spot across from Aro's bail bonds, a sham storefront for mob business. She slams it into park, looks through me, the way I looked through her when we first met.

"Don't worry about security. They won't see me coming," she says.

She slams a loaded clip into a Glock so clean it looks like it's fresh off the assembly line. Maybe it is.

"I'll be back in five minutes."

I sit. I wait. I daydream. Her and me, me and her. Naked and alone, fucking like rabbits, swimming in piles of money, gunned down in our prime.

I laugh. Bella Swan, femme fatale. Who knew?

I laugh at how all this went down, how I got fooled, how I got captured, how I'm glad about all of it. How I'll probably be dead before it's over. How I don't give a good god damn. Everybody gotta die sometime.

She's back in three and a half minutes. Red speckles her cheeks and she's got blood pumping out of a wound in her shoulder.

"That was a shitstorm," she says. She winces and wraps a towel around the wound, cinches it tight.

There'll be others. I don't say it, but we both know it's true. They'll never stop coming, no matter how fast we run, no matter how far.

She leans over and kisses me hard before flooring it, as if to say, "Fuck it all."

The tires squeal as we flee the city, gunfire chasing us down.