Page 19 of Bleed
If I had hair on my head I would be pulling it out in handfuls. Instead I claw at my scalp and dig my bloody fingertips into it as if I could wipe my brain clean if only I pressed hard enough.
“What the fuck? What are you doing with Dani? My Dani. Hmmm fucker?” I say to the corpse as I shift him around more, looking for a service weapon.
Pigs never leave their gun at home, even when off duty, especially not in neighborhoods like this, and at night especially.
“Where is it?” I say, annoyed as I lift his shirt and yank down his waistband, finding nothing. “Ankle holster?” I ask, him tapping his face in a smart slap to keep him upright as I lift his right leg and pull up the cuff of his jeans. “There she is.”
In a leather holster on his lower leg is a standard issue 9mm Glock 17 with its matte black finish and square muzzle and side. It’s a lightweight weapon, easily concealed, and he did a good job of that. Until I saw his ID I never would have had a clue he was packing heat.
“Now my friend, what are we going to do? I can’t very well let Dani know you were murdered. She might just put two and two together.” I say as I unsnap the holster and slide the pistol free. “Suicide? A dirty cop who couldn’t take it anymore? You are all dirty and you know it.” I say, slapping his face again, chuckling at him. “Especially with that tat.”
Turning the gun over in my hand I furrow my brows at him, trying to process all of it. He’s the boyfriend of the Recluse, with a woman who disappeared from the public eye years ago, necking my woman who ran away from me. It’s all…
The muzzle flash of the gun as I fire under what’s left of his chin is the proverbial lightbulb in the dark.
Dani is the Recluse. Fuck! I’m supposed to kill the woman I love.
The back of his head blows off and ricochets off the metal trash bin, splattering everything around us, including me. I’m covered in brain matter and shards of skull as I stand up in a daze, staring at the weapon like it’s a snake that’s about to bite me.
I’m dizzy with the thoughts of what this means. I’m supposed to hunt and brutally kill the woman who used to be under me in my bed. I’m supposed to erase the woman who whispered “I love you” so many times in my ear as she fell apart with me. It’s not right, it’s completely wrong, and for the first time in my life I don’t want the contract.
I can’t walk away though, it would end not just my career, but my life. The punishment I would receive for disobeying the family and Salvatore would be my head on a silver platter in the middle of my restaurant’s dining room while the family ate around it. I know this, I’ve seen it happen to others who disappointed the man in charge.
“Motherfucker!” I curse, shaking my head, trying to clear all the thoughts.
I only have a few moments to stage this and get the fuck out of here. While the Glock may be a small weapon, it makes a loud bang and bright flash. Someone is sure to have heard it. The fact that no one has come running back here to see what’s going on is a miracle I can only attribute to the late hour and the fact that you’d be stupid to run into a dark alley towards the obvious sound of a gunshot.
Taking the front of my shirt, I wipe down the grip of the gun, making sure to get between all the little ridges on the handle where the cartridge slides in and the trigger where my finger pressed firmly enough to leave a print.
When I’m happy with it, I lift his lifeless hand and wrap it around the gun, placing it gently in his lap with his pointer finger on the same trigger I just squeezed. A quick check of his neck or should I say the lack there of, tells me that the wound is devastating enough to hide the track made from the blade. Instead of a single sliced wound from my knife, his face, throat, and head are obliterated by his own service weapon.
“Rest in pieces asshole.” I say, pushing up and turning away from him, walking away without a single look back. “Fucking pig.”
When I emerge from the alleyway, the area is still silent. There’s no police cars tearing down the block, or women screaming at the tops of their lungs. There’s not a single thing to note that I just fired a gun into the cop that owned it. It’s funny really, and as I brush the chunks off my skin I walk back towards the restaurant and my one girl who would never betray me like the one in flesh and blood has.
“I’m coming for you next beautiful. What I do with you is your choice.”
Chapter Twelve
Birds chirping in the trees outside my window and the fresh smell of autumn should be refreshing to wake up to, but nah, not today. Today I have to take the next step in my directive, and I’m still not sure how I’m going to do that.
I don’t want to end her. I want to love her. I don’t want to hunt her, but I do want to stalk her.
Is there really a difference, idiot?
I do want to make her pay for her transgressions, but not in the final deadly way. I just haven’t decided what I’m going to do once I get my hands on her. I know now at least I do have to take her, and make her mine, either in love or death. It’s a fucked-up situation that I knew would eventually come to fruition the longer I stayed in this lifestyle. You only get to play God with others for so long before God spits back at you and makes you pay.
“For fuck’s sake.” I say to myself, rubbing my face and getting out of bed, stretching everything in me, thankful for the super hot shower I took to clean off the grey matter from me before bed.
Without having to go to the restaurant, I take my time getting another shower, washing my beard and trimming it up, then getting my coffee.
Sitting down with my steaming mug at the kitchen table I grab the blurry photos I have of the Recluse, and for the first time I see the similarities. I can’t believe that I let a change of hair color fool me. I should have noticed the little things that I used to in her. Granted there’s nothing of her face, but still I should have recognized her.
“I’m coming for you today, honey. This time, there will be no walking away with your friend. I’ve already eliminated one, does Allie have to be next?” I say to the photo in my hand, then crush it in my fist before throwing it across the room into the trash can like I’m making a successful free shot. “Score.”
Grabbing my keys and forgoing my riding jacket and gloves, I leave my apartment, wanting the ride on Luna to clear my head and prepare me for what I imagine I’ll have to do, all while hoping it goes better than I fear it will.
I can feel myself becoming unhinged again as I ride the elevator down to the garage and stroll across the cement floor to my girl. I’m a swirling pot of emotions, like I’m spaghetti boiling in a big pot, all bubbly and chaotic.
