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“You got a gun?” I asked, watching him slide his cut to the side to reveal one in a shoulder holster. Then, for good measure, he reached to flick open a pocket knife. A karambit style one with the curved blade. The way he effortlessly twisted that thing around on his finger had me thinking that knives, not guns, were how he’d managed to rack up that body count he had inked into his skin.
“Alright. Let’s go,” I said, hopping on my bike, and heading in the direction Seeley sent me in.
“No wonder he’s willing to kill for half a mill,” Coast said, nose curling up at the sight of where the guy, Robbie, lived.
It was a rough area full of abandoned buildings and a large homeless population.
Robbie’s home was situated behind an apartment building. It was really barely more than a stucco shed with two windows covered in bars and a front door that was propped open with a milk crate.
“Doesn’t even have air,” Coast added, sounding horrified. “Gonna smell rank as fuck in there,” he added.
“You gonna talk through the whole murdering process?” I asked, glancing over at him.
“Maybe,” he said, shrugging. “We going in, or we just sitting here all day?”
Then, before I could even answer, the crazy fuck was just… walking up. Not even walking. Sauntering. The fucker was sauntering across the street, casual as can be, completely unconcerned about potentially getting seen or shot at.
“Christ,” I hissed, rushing to follow behind, ready to carefully look in the window, get a feel for who might, or might not, be inside.
While Coast just moved around the house, kicked the milk crate into the door, then strode in before it closed.
“Jesus,” I hissed to myself as I rushed to back him up.
“Knew it was gonna fucking stink in here,” Coast was saying as I ran in, finding him striding into the long, narrow building like the guys all sitting around a card table weren’t getting to their feet to rush him. “Ever hear of deodorant?” he asked. “Maybe some of those little pine tree air fresheners? You know, the ones you hang from a rearview mirror? Oh, don’t be getting all fucking stupid now,” he said, wiggling his gun at them.
Reckless or plain dumb, though, they just kept charging at him, figuring they had the advantage.
But I watched in stunned silence as he, with his non-dominant fucking hand, grabbed his knife, tossed it, and had thedamn thing land true, wedging into one of the men’s arms as he reached toward a cabinet.
The man roared, but was determined, reaching again with the other arm.
Pop pop.
Before I could even aim, Coast had taken him out, then turned to the next guy with anotherpop pop pop.
“That one’s yours,” Coast said, nodding toward the tall bald one as he walked up to the slumped body of the first guy, yanking his knife out of his arm, and sticking it back in his pocket.
Then, like he hadn’t just added two more bodies to his kill count, he sauntered right back out.
“This about that stupid bitch?” Robbie asked, completely unconcerned with his fallen comrades.
That stupid bitch?
My back straightened.
“Stupid bitch, huh?” I asked, finger slipping to the trigger.
“You really going to start shit with the Greeks over some slit in glasses?”
A growl moved up through me as I raised my arm, then pulled the trigger, watching as his entire body collapsed down as the bullet landed true. To his kneecap.
The roar that escaped him only seemed to spur me on, thinking of how he’d slammed Siana’s head onto the step, but hadn’t given her any grace, how he’d reached to try to pull down her pants, to hurt her even more.
I aimed again, taking out the other knee for good measure.
Then walking closer to make sure it was a kill shot, I pulled the trigger, and watched the hole lodge in his head a second before his body collapsed onto the ground with a thud.
Finished, I took a deep breath, breathing in the scent of blood and the slightest trace of gunfire, then turned and walked away, knowing it was done.
