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CHAPTER2
Alaric
“Argh!”
“Oh, quiet down. It’s just a fucking flesh wound, you pussy,” I bark at the man tied down to my workstation.
The fucker continues to moan in pain, twisting and turning like a live worm on a hook. I’m not worried he’ll get away. The leather binds around his wrists and ankles keep him from going anywhere, but if he keeps fidgeting like this, sooner or later, I’ll end up killing him just because I feel like it. If I do that shit instead of cutting him nice and slow like the contract ordered me to, I’ll have to refund half the money that was paid to me upfront just because of my impatient follow-through.
Needing something to get my head back in the game, I pick up my remote control and increase the volume of the sweet sounds of Wagner blasting through my sound system, succeeding in muffling this jackass’s whimpers and useless pleas for mercy. My fingers trail over my shiny instruments of pain, yet none of my preferred toys call out to me like they should, making me choose the last one by default.
I crack my neck, hoping it will ease the tension in my shoulders, but to no avail.
“Fuck,” I mumble, pissed off. “Get it together already, Alaric.”
No matter how much I castigate myself for it, my head hasn’t been screwed on straight since that fucking day I saved those two young girls from certain death. Everything reminds me of them lately, especially how I just left them to fend for themselves back at the hospital without a second thought.
Jesus fucking Christ.
Having a heart is bad for fucking business,my pops once told me.
He gave plenty of advice like that back in the day. Some I took to heart, while others I just chalked off to him being bitter and jaded with the life he led.
I mean, being a contract killer will do that to a man.
We get numb to it all.
The screams.
The begging.
The blood.
After a while, none of it affects us much.
So why the fuck am I letting two little girls get the best of me?
“Fuck!” I yell, knocking all my toys to the floor with one quick slide of my hand.
The bruised and beaten naked guy lying on the hardwood table freezes, wary of what I’ll do next.
“Oh, now you decide to keep still, huh, fucker?” I shout, aggravated that not even work can take my attention away from all these feelings inside me.
Feelings.
Isn’t that just a kick in the head?
I caught fucking feelings just because a little girl stood up to me while the last remaining member of her family was slowly dying in my arms.
“You know what? Maybe you’re not the only pussy here. I think I might have grown one too,” I choke out sarcastically then laugh at my own poor attempt at a joke.
His beady eyes widen as I pick up his file from a nearby table and come closer to where his head lies so he can get a good look inside it.
“Says here you’re a bad man . . . Paul,” I start, pointing to his name on the file. “The kind of guy who gets drunk on a Sunday afternoon and then puts himself behind the wheel of a car. See this right here?” I point to where his sins are written down in black and white. “It says here that you killed a woman, a pregnant woman, and the little boy she was pushing in a stroller, probably taking him for a nice walk to the park.”
Like the coward he is, he closes his eyes when he’s faced with the truth. I grab hold of his jaw and fiercely make him look me in the eye, forcing him to see it, hear it, and live with it the way everyone else will have to.
“It must take a real piece of shit to run two people over like that and just keep on driving. Didn’t even call for help, did you? Did it even occur to you to call nine-one-one before they bled out and died? You were probably too worried that if you did, the cops would trace the call back to your pathetic ass.”
