Page 69 of Law Maker

Blood vessels merged into those bulging eyeballs, his skin mottling to a deep burgundy.

It was like a beautiful fucking symphony listening to death coming to call.

“What was that? Didn’t quite hear it over the sound of a filthy cunt dying.” Lawless smiled like a sinister fucking monster. Straddling both the bench and Carmine’s body, using all his own muscle weight to choke the filth.

Death was motion. And a silent song.

Cancer took people sickeningly slow. Zapping the energy and dignity from the husk of a decaying body. He would much prefer to be taken out in a blaze of quickness.

But a dumbbell to the throat? Even Lawless himself thought it was pretty brutal but ask if he cared. Ask him if he had second thoughts.

“Gonna…kill…..you….” the guy wheezed, battering his hands with all his weak little might.

Of course it was hopeless. The weight was forty pounds and Lawless weighed close to two hundred. Do the fucking math.

“Sure, sure...ah, maybe not.”

He pushed harder. As slow as he wished he could take this assassination, time was of the essence and he watched the man dying in pain before his eyes. The struggle seeping out of him.

“Consider your debt paid in full, fucker,” he growled. Giving one last heave down to break his neck and cut off whatever little airways was left.

When he stood, air pounded out of his lungs, sweat dotted on his forehead, but there was no time to process how juiced he felt.

Using the cuff of his prison issued shirt to wipe any trace of him from the dumbbell before replacing it on the wall. There was a second he smirked at the slumped Carmine. Funny that death made him happy.

“See you in Hell,” he smirked and retraced his steps around the perimeter of the room.

It took Lawless precisely three and a half minutes to kill a man. And four minutes to return back to his mopping where he was humming a song stuck in his head when a C.O. told him to make his way back over to his own wing.

He was halfway there when the alarm sounded loudly. He heard scuffled feet and doors slamming shut. Ah, lockdown so soon, he grinned and waited for the electronic door to open for him. “What’s going on?” He asked the guard.

“Keep fucking moving,” the man said and gave Lawless a shove.

The prison was on lockdown for two and a half days.

And in those almost three days, Lawless read five books and terrified cellmate Bennie at least twenty times with his mere presence.

Prisons talked. It quickly became clear to everyone for the lockdown.

Everyone was interviewed, Lawless included. Several times.

It paid to be a consummate liar because he didn’t even appear on their radar as the suspect. That finger pointed to one of Carmine’s gang. Poor bastard.

It was Colonel Sanders in the library with a candlestick.

Lying on his bunk that night, more than a week after the event, he listened to the usual prison sounds. Nutcases freaking out. TV’s playing. Talking. Officers doing walk-throughs. Bennie snoring.

Lawless smiled to himself.

He’d completed what he’d set out to do.

It wouldn’t mean anything in the grand scheme.

It didn’t change her past in the slightest. It wouldn’t bring her parents back or stop her from reliving that traumatic night over and over. Some might question why the fuck he’d even bother. Sex trafficking and selling defenseless bodies would go on. One predator died, and two replaced him on the perverted throne. It was the nature of the degrading beast.

But this was personal to Lawless. He didn’t dig too far into the motivations, why would he need that clanging in his head anyway?

He’d done a good thing for his own goddamn self; he didn’t need an explanation clipped to it.

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