Page 84 of Three
Ramiel was sent by the Devil to fucking test me.
“Be careful, Grizzly.” He flicks my stiffening cock with his index finger and smirks before vanishing among the vegetation.
I pull on my jeans to make more space for my erection. Leave it to Ramiel to turn me on in such a delicate moment.
I start the descent—which is not easy with a damn hard-on. The darkness of the evening shields my big body from being spotted bythe guards, but I need to tread carefully since I can’t see well, and tripping and falling will definitely catch their attention.
I stop when I reach the last tree before the building, hiding behind the trunk. I can’t hear Ramiel, only the click of a lighter, and when I peek from the side, the small flame shows the guards face for half a second. He has a rifle hanging from his shoulder, which could be a problem. I need to distract him so I can get him from behind.
I grab a stone from the ground, but a painful-sounding grunt coming from the other side of the building makes the guard spin around, and I take advantage of it. While he’s trying to decide whether he should check on it or not, I swiftly come behind him, grab his neck, and twist it. I feel the light crack of his breaking cervical vertebrae resounding inside my ears, just before his body collapses on the ground.
I feel no remorse in taking his life. Prison taught me that hesitating just gives evil time to regroup. I don’t like to kill, but I’m not going to lose sleep over it, I already have my own nightmares for that.
Ramiel appears from around the corner as I’m going through the guard’s pockets. I find a pair of keys, which I toss his way, and a pack of cigarettes. I light one and take a long drag.
Menthol, disgusting. I still take another pull before tossing it into the darkness.
Ramiel is trying the keys. The second one unlocks the door way too loudly. I unholster my gun and signal him to stay behind me. He rolls his eyes and points at the big-ass knife he’s holding. I grit my teeth and gesture him more firmly to stay back. He puckers his lips like the brat he is, but lets me go first.
I slowly push the door open and enter the building. My eyes go over the long corridor, it’s dimmed, but there’s a light at the end coming from an ajar door.
I walk slowly, keeping my gun up and ears open to detect noises. When I reach the door, my foot pushes on it to give me a better look inside. There are at least eighty crates—probably carrying weapons—piled up on the opposite side of the room. There’s a small window on the left, and a foldable plastic chair sits on the right with empty food wrappers on the floor and a little upside-down wooden box acting as a small table for a couple of cans of cheap beer.
“Put the gun down and s-slowly come in-side,” I hear a quivering voice ordering me, and as I turn my head to the left, I see Malcom between two lines of crates pointing a rifle with trembling hands at me.
I lift my hands shoulder high and slowly take a couple of steps inside, hoping he didn’t see Ramiel.
As soon as my face is revealed to him, Malcom lowers his weapon. “What-what are you doing here?” He doesn’t seem afraid of me this time, more shocked.
His eyes fall on Loretta’s bracelet around my wrist, but they jump to mine when I tell him, “I have questions.”
“About the letter? How did you know it was me? How did you find me?” He freezes, body stiffening, eyes widening.
“Walk!” I hear Ramiel’s vicious tone coming from behind Malcom. He moves toward me, and I see Ramiel’s knife pressing against the guy’s back.
“Don’t you ever point a fucking gun at him ever again!” he hisses, pushing a cry out of Malcom as he roughly shoves the tip of the knife more firmly into the guy’s back. This protective side of his makes my dick twitch with pleasure. I’m a big motherfucker with a constant blank mask on my face and more scars than I can count, I don’t need protection. But Ramiel having my back fills me with so much fucking pleasure.
“Whydid you send me that letter?” I ask him, as Ramiel yanks the rifle from Malcom’s hand and has the absurd idea of tossing it at me—or I think that’s what he intended to do. It hits the chair on my right instead.
A shot resounds inside the cold room, and then another one. I duck down, realizing it’s coming from outside and not the fallen rifle. Bullets keep flying. There’s broken glass on the floor from where they shattered the window, and wooden splinters continue falling all around.
I slide near Ramiel and the safety of the wooden boxes. He had dragged an injured Malcom behind the crates and has his palm pressed against the guy’s bleeding neck. “Serena, see if you can pinpoint where the bullets are coming from.”
The shower of bullets keeps falling over us. “Fuck!” I push my hand out and start shooting toward the window. When the magazine is empty, I grab a new one and proceed to continue unleashing my anger on whoever is out there.
“He’s losing too much blood,” Ramiel yells, and when I look down, I see a large red spot forming on Malcom’s belly. He was hit twice.
Ramiel is asking Serena to try calling Michael or Sari. Whoever they are, I don’t think they can be of much help at this point.
The shooting stops, but my ears are still ringing from it. Malcom is trying to say something. “Lo-Lo-rr-ettaa—” Blood starts to drip from his mouth. His eyes are filled with fear and pain. He knows this is the end. He claws at his wrist until he grabs his best friend bracelet and lifts it toward me.
I take it as he sputters more blood. Then he lowers his hand to the floor where a puddle of red is expanding near his side, and with his finger, he starts…writing something.
“D,” Ramielreads. “I?—”
Malcom’s eyes suddenly flutter, and he coughs. His hand jerks up, gripping mine, the one still holding the bracelet. There’s pleading in his gaze, and then I see the exact moment life leaves his body. His arm drops heavily, and his head turns to the left as more blood paints his lips.
“Fucking shit, motherfucker! Damn it!” Rami curses angrily, and then with a loud sigh, tells Serena to stop trying to make the calls.
