Page 12 of Bleed (Two Wheeled Psychos #4)
The feeling of his body heat warms my front as I come up so close to him that he should be able to feel my breath on the back of his neck, but he’s too involved with watching her, most likely making sure she’s safe until out of view.
Only thing is, is that he’s ignoring his own safety while protecting hers.
Normally, I would find that noble, even something I would do, but now, nah, he’s just an obstacle in my way to what I want.
White moonlight and a sliver of yellow glare from the streetlamp overhead shine off the blade of my knife as I bring it up. It glimmers like something from a horror film as I abruptly grab him around the shoulders, pulling his back to my front, startling him.
His arms flail out, but there’s no time for him to hit or grab at me when I reach around him and plunge the knife into the bottom of his jaw, just like I took Gustapo’s life. One smooth, quick, silent strike to kill instantly.
The blade goes through his lower jaw, past his tongue, and into the base of his skull through his throat, severing the spinal cord like a rubber band.
I can even hear it cut and snap from how close my face is to the back of his neck.
It makes a cracking sound inside as I lift up on the handle and push further, making sure that everything is completely destroyed and that death is final.
The blood flows from the wound and he makes one gasping gurgle before he slumps in my arms, having died before he even knew what hit him.
There’s no screaming, no begging, none of the grand gestures you see in the movies, only a man bleeding out from the hole in his corpse in my arms as I lift him off his feet and carry him back into the dark alley from which he came just minutes ago.
He's heavier than he looks but still easy to move, even being dead weight in my arms. His feet bang on my shins as I take him far away from the street, and deep into the bowels of the sheltered alleyway.
Dropping him onto the ground like a sack of bricks in front of a dumpster, I kneel down in front of his body, propping his back against the big metal bin. He’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt, sneakers, and the ball hat.
“Hmmm baseball. A good American boy are we?” I say as I take the hat off his head and toss it into the dumpster above him.
Next, I go through his pockets, digging deep inside, leaning him over to reach the back ones. Pulling out his wallet, I flip open the leather trifold and root through his information. Freezing in place, my breath catches somewhere between my chest and my throat, making a huge lump that chokes me.
A thick swallow doesn’t take it down or bring it up and I feel like I’m dying right along with him as the ID card in my hand tremors. The picture with a black tattooed teardrop stares back at me like a ghostly apparition.
“Oh fuck no.”
Another trembling of my grip has the ID flap fold over in the wallet bringing up a shiny brass badge.
A fucking cop. He’s a fucking cop. Motherfucker.
All the scenarios that this could be flood into my head as I remain crouched in front of the dead body, staring back and forth from his face and the one on the ID.
“Jonathan Mercer. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
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.”