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“I’ll get them, Amara…” I promised out loud as I drove out of the parking lot towards Dom and Aaron Davis.

5

ALEXIS

It’s amazing what a low cut shirt and tight mini skirt can do to get the attention of two of the men that killed your fiancée, at probably the shittiest dive bar I’d ever been in.

As soon as I found out they liked to frequent this specific bar, Dave’s Bar, I did a little homework. This bar was on the corner of a street in a run-down corner of Denver; it wasn’t exactly a full concrete street, but mostly dirt road.

It was the type of area you would expect to encounter drug addicts, homeless encampments, and beat up looking prostitutes, stumbling down the street, looking for their next trick.

Turns out, a childhood friend of the Davis Brothers, Dave Messa, owns this bar. This friend of theirs was also a low life piece of shit; spending the bar’s profits on sports gambling. So, it was easy to discover his security cameras, both internal and external, were inoperative, which made my life a lot easier, since I spiked their drinks and seduced them to my SUV.

Dom was a man of very few words, but getting him to willingly climb into the trunk of the SUV, where I had laid the seats down, was a piece of cake. Aaron, on the other hand, wasa talkative motherfucker, saying shit like: “You want to take this thick cock in that tight little pussy, don’t you?”

“Oh, yes. Give it to me, daddy.”

I was impressed with my restraint while I said the words, biting my lip, and twirling my hair around my finger; the urge to either vomit or laugh was almost unbearable.

The promise of a threesome in the back of the SUV was enough to get Aaron close enough to the open trunk for me to reach for a waiting syringe, and press it into his neck while I leaned my body onto his, letting him grope me and kiss up my neck.

As I administered the sedative, he gasped in surprise before falling to his ass on the edge of the opened trunk.

“Sorry,daddy,” I mocked.

Men are useless fucking sacks of shit.I thought as I tossed Aaron’s limp legs into my SUV.

Dom was still so drugged up from his drink he sat there in a daze, staring at the ceiling of the car with glazed over eyes.

“Alright, boys, here’s the plan. We have a nice little fifteen hour drive ahead of us, so it’s time to get comfortable,” I said, handcuffing Aaron’s wrists probably too tight behind his back.

Reaching into a duffel bag of supplies I brought with me, I pulled out a length of fabric, gagging Aaron, and tying it behind his head, before wrapping duct tape around his mouth and head four times.

Sneaking a peek at Dom, I chuckled to myself as his head bobbed, fighting to stay awake.

“Don’t worry, big boy; you’re next,” I purred.

He hummed in approval, leaning his head back against the side of the SUV, closing his eyes with a dopey grin on his face.

After securing Aaron’s legs with a rope, I rolled him out of my way to crawl towards Dom.

“Are you ready for me, Dom?” I asked seductively, straddling his lap, his legs outstretched between mine.

With heavy hands, he felt up my thighs as I rocked my hips on his lap, keeping him distracted while I reached for another syringe.

With the syringe in my fist and my thumb on the plunger, I leaned in close to his ear, pressing my chest against his.

“We’re going to have so much fun…” whispered, as I swung my arm around, stabbing him in the neck, and depressing the plunger.

His body went limp, and I slid off of him, tossing his filthy hands off of me. Repeating the same process as with Aaron, I gagged him, duct taped around his mouth and head, and bound ankles.

Sliding myself out of the trunk of the SUV, I pulled Dom’s 1911 out of the back of his waistband, and unsnapped the knife holster from Aaron’s belt. Sick fucks still carried the weapons they used to kill Amara…

I held one in each hand, holding them out in front of me, glancing from one to the other. Images of Dom shooting Amara in the thigh, and Aaron stabbing her through the throat, consumed my mind. The urge to kill them right now was all-consuming, but I had to wait… I had plans for them.

Tossing the gun and knife into my duffel bag, I gripped a folded up king-size blanket I had brought, shaking it out and tossing it over them to cover them from view. The back windows of this SUV were very darkly tinted, so I wasn’t worried, but couldn’t afford to take any chances. After covering them, I picked up my duffel by the short handles, and slammed the trunk door closed. Taking a quick peek around to make sure I was still alone, I walked around to the driver’s side and closed the door behind me, tossing the bag into the passenger side seat.

“Let’s go home, boys,” I said out loud into the silence of the car, beginning our fifteen hour drive back to Los Angeles; back to Hope Center.