Page 75 of Insidious Heart

“Now why would you do that? Go and kill The Harvester of Bones, thevigilante ghost, when you could make the call and bring in the notorious serial killer alive and well.” Am I stroking my own ego right now? Yes, but I’m also playing to his because if Sack-linski is as vain and arrogant and pompous as I think he is, he’ll want all the attention and accolades catching me alive would award him. So I take another step.“Think about it, Anthony. Interviews on the local news,nationalnews. It’d be every headline, every banner on the internet.” Another few inches closer. “Local hero saves El Paso County, single-handedly brings in The Harvester of Bones.”

Salinski lowers the gun just a little as he mulls over my words, but when I hit the corner of his bed, this fucker fires a round directly into my right bicep.

“Fuck!” I bark as he takes aim again, briefly looking at the hole in my suit. “You fuckingshotme, you little shit!”

“Don’t come any closer! I swear, I’ll do it again!”

We stare at each other for a few seconds, my arm throbbing, Anthony shifting nervously on the balls of his feet.

I’m not sure if it’s the magnitude of who he’s facing or if Salinski is just trigger happy, but the fact that he shot me while acting like he’s tweaked out on some upper is annoying as hell. I don’t know what standard protocol is for these types of situations but I can imagine most cops avoid firing guns in residential areas at two in the morning regardless of who they’re shooting at.

Something to look into later, I guess.

Especially when this douche canoe inches to his right then glances out of his peripheral vision at the open window behind his desk.

Oh, hell no.

No fucking way I’m letting that happen. I wasn’t going to from the start, but now that heshot me in the fucking armI’ll be making damn sure this shitbag doesn’t leave his house until his neighbors report the awful stench coming from it.

And that is exactly why I don’t think; I just act.

I shoot forward, catching Salinski off guard as I throw myself at him, grabbing his wrist and throat as we crash into the nightstand. Using my left hand—my dominant hand, thank fuck—I squeeze his windpipe and bash his wrist into the wood repeatedly with the other until I hear the satisfying crunch of it breaking before the gun falls to the floor.

But it’s not enough to take down the piece of trash police officer.

Even with a broken wrist and me slowly squeezing the life out of him, Salinski claws at my forearm and takes a cheap shot, attempting to knee me in the balls but I’ve been at this too long.

Not only am I wearing a bullet proof vest and multiple layers of clothing under my suit, I’ve also got on a jockstrap and cup.

Been there, done that.

And while it still makes me cough, the impact to my nuts doesn’t give Anthony the result he was hoping for judging by the way his eyes widen.

“I’m no rookie,officer,” I huff as I give him a hard push back into the table, both hands tightening their grip. “And I’ll be walking out of here with your femur to prove it.”

With one final push, I slam Salinski’s head back into the wall above the nightstand and let out a grunt of relief as his body goes limp.

“Finally.” I squeeze a little tighter before letting go and when Anthony slumps to the side before toppling to the floor, I take a minute to collect myself.

The hole in my arm is on fire and pulsing with pain, my balls are hiding up in my stomach in fear of getting kneed again, and I’m fucking sweating my ass off in this goddamn suit while hoping I don’t bleed the fuck out under all these layers.

I knew going after a cop had the potential to be a little riskier but fuck, I’m really tired of fighting my kills.

I usually sneak up on them in a way that catches them so off guard they don’t have time to do anything but panic. And yeah, Joker wasn’t a planned thing. He was totally spur of the moment because of what he was doing to Stevie and he was accustomed to choosing fight over flight, whereas this asshole has academy training that says fight always wins, but still. Having my last two victims fight back wasn’t really on my bucket list.

And clearly I’ve gotten too comfortable in my routine because I had no idea I was that out of shape.

Wait, no, not out of shape.

Rusty.

I’m just rusty, that’s all. Like I said, my targets don’t usually have the chance to fight back, and Little John stopped sparring with me after his knee surgeries.

Maybe I’ll talk to Pope or Spider about hitting the gym. I do a lot of work for John around the junkyard that keeps me in shape, but it’s not the same as good old fashion cardio caused by a little hand to hand combat. And I’m sure those two would thoroughly enjoy the possibility of beating the crap out of me in the boxing ring. Annoying or not, they’d probably both jump at the chance to hang out if it meant punching me at least once in any number of places. My face being their goal, no doubt.

I frown at the thought as I park my hands on my hips and stare down at Sack-linski.

Oh my god, I’m trying to be bros with the Wulven Kings.

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