Chapter 94 — Lip Thinks He Should Take Responsibility
"Shut up. And walk," Theresa snapped, ignoring Jasmine's pleading.
"O-Okay! Don't shoot! I'll go!"
With a gun pressed into her side, Jasmine had no choice but to obey. She stumbled along, escorted straight toward the Corolla.
Oddly enough, the strange scene unfolding by the roadside didn't draw any attention from passing drivers.
After all, no matter how you looked at it, Theresa didn't seem like the kind of woman who'd pull a gun on someone.
But with the cold muzzle jabbing her waist, Jasmine didn't dare disobey.
---
Inside the Corolla's backseat, Jasmine sat where Theresa ordered her to.
BANG!
Theresa climbed in and slammed the door shut behind her.
"Listen—whatever you want, I can give it to you! Money, jewelry—anything! Just don't hurt me!"
At that moment, Jasmine's mind was overflowing with images of Bonnie and Clyde—those infamous murder-couple stories she'd seen a hundred times.
She truly believed she'd run into two deranged lunatics.
But her begging was useless.
William didn't even bother replying.
He simply turned around—
and covered Jasmine's eyes with his hand.
He recalled the mental mark first.
Then, without hesitation, he transferred Blindness, Throat Chemical Burns, and Congenital Hearing Loss into her body.
If that bitch could still drag Fiona into depravity after this, then he might as well stand on his head and wash his hair.
---
Truth be told, Jasmine had always been self-destructive.
In the original storyline, her downfall was inevitable: her dirty secrets got exposed, and Hal kicked her out.
After that, she snuck onto a rich friend's yacht, threw herself a party, got drunk, and confessed to Fiona.
But Fiona—straight to the bone—rejected her on the spot.
---
Now, though…
Darkness.
Silence.
Jasmine instinctively tried to scream for help, but she couldn't even hear herself.
Worse—her throat felt like it had been sliced by a thousand blades.
All she could manage was a raspy, shredded wheeze, something like broken laughter.
"Fuck… what's wrong with her?" Theresa stared in shock.
She didn't understand what had just happened.
All she saw was William pressing a hand over Jasmine's head—
and then Jasmine suddenly started spasming like she'd caught some horrifying illness.
William didn't bother explaining.
He yanked Jasmine forward and chopped her neck cleanly with the edge of his hand.
Her eyes rolled back.
She dropped instantly.
---
"Toss her out," William said coldly. "Then you drive her car and follow me."
Theresa didn't get her answer, only orders.
"Goddamn it… I knew I shouldn't have come with you," she muttered, glaring at him.
But as much as she complained, her body moved honestly.
She climbed over Jasmine, opened the door on that side—
and kicked Jasmine out onto the roadside.
---
Nearly five hours had passed since William dumped Jasmine there.
During that time, William had sent both cars—the Corolla he'd bought from Steve and Jasmine's own vehicle—to the chop shop.
They got a hundred bucks for scrap.
After that, he returned to campus with Theresa.
And that night, he planned to play "poker" with Amanda in his dorm until dawn.
---
Meanwhile…
Fiona showed up at Debbie's school party with a face full of exhaustion and worry.
Among all the parents there, Jasmine was basically the only one she could speak to without feeling humiliated—
and now Jasmine hadn't shown up.
---
Fiona waited.
And waited.
But Jasmine never showed.
The longer it dragged on, the more a sharp, simmering rage rose inside her—
the kind of anger you feel when someone stands you up.
---
The Gallagher House
Inside Lip and Ian's bedroom—
Carl was flipping a butterfly knife in his hands, practicing flashy tricks like it was a hobby instead of a felony-in-training.
Ian lay on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.
Lip sat at the computer, cigarette dangling from his lips as his eyes flicked over the screen—tracking those tiny, low-priced listings of Bitcoin being dumped off cheap.
That $1700 rent gnawed at him like a parasite.
So he was doing everything he could to scrape together more cash.
And right now, collecting those "worthless" Bitcoins for William had become the fastest way for him to make money.
On top of that, he'd picked up an SAT impersonation job at school today.
If it worked out, it would pay two hundred bucks.
For someone like him, that was damn good money.
---
"Ian," Lip said quietly, still staring at the screen, "listen. I'll help Fiona deal with the rent problem. Don't worry."
Lip had basically shoved the entire blame onto his own shoulders.
If he'd just registered Aunt Ginger's will in time, none of this would've happened.
---
"How?" Ian asked flatly.
Lip went silent.
Because he wanted to know too.
Seventeen hundred dollars didn't sound like much.
But trying to make that kind of money quickly, as a broke South Side teen?
That was damn near impossible.
Unless you started running powder deliveries for gangs.
"Maybe we could rob a store," Carl said casually, waving the butterfly knife around like he was suggesting pizza toppings.
"No, Carl," Lip snapped instantly. "Not happening. Don't even think about it."
Ian sat up and walked over to Lip. He held out his hand.
Lip understood and passed him the cigarette.
Ian took a drag, then said, "When I went to see Mickey today… Mandy introduced me to a job."
The word job immediately hooked Lip's attention.
He looked up. "What kind of job?"
"…Selling guns."
Lip blinked. "Bullshit. Mandy's selling guns?"
"Yeah," Ian said. "She said she's making good money. She looks like she's doing a lot better than before. I was thinking… maybe I should try it."
"Can I go?" Carl cut in instantly. "I want a gun."
"Stop," Lip barked. "Go to sleep."
Carl grumbled but shut up.
Lip focused back on Ian.
"She serious?" Lip asked.
"I think so," Ian said. "She didn't sound like she was joking."
Lip fell into thought.
Then he shook his head.
"No. You're not going."
Ian didn't argue—he wasn't fully sure himself anyway.
"Then what about the money?" Ian asked. "What do we do?"
Lip took the cigarette back, inhaled deep, and exhaled slowly.
"If anyone goes…"
His eyes hardened.
"…it should be me."
And the world kept moving.
Even without Jasmine.
---
The Next Morning
Jasmine crouched on the roadside—
exhausted, starving, and terrified.
When she woke up, the only things she could still sense were:
the temperature against her skin
and smells drifting through the air
Everything else was gone.
Sight.
Sound.
The world had collapsed into a silent black prison.
Time itself lost meaning.
Minutes felt like years.
---
As a blonde white woman curled up by the road, Jasmine drew attention quickly.
Some kind people even pulled over to check on her.
But the moment anyone touched her—
she exploded like a cornered animal, thrashing and fighting like she'd gone feral.
One by one, the would-be helpers backed off.
Eventually, someone called the cops.
---
But when the police arrived…
Jasmine fought them too.
Because by that point, she couldn't even tell if they were humans or monsters.
Still, her looks saved her.
Even though she attacked them blindly, the Chicago cops didn't unload into her.
They restrained her, brought her to the station—
then to the hospital for an exam.
The final diagnosis came back:
blindness + hearing impairment.
The officer who'd brought her in—Tony—stood frozen in place.
"…What?"
His voice was stiff with disbelief.
"How the hell is that possible?"