AllFreeNovel
Share Us
18
“Hijo de puta, I’m going to...fuck!” Felix De La Vega screams two weeks later, the gun he’d been clutching—hand shaking while reality sets in—is now on the floor. One bullet from my Ruger, that’s all it takes, and I chuckle at his idiotic expression.
Fear and loss; he reeks of it. Pathetic cunt.
He’s a nobody. A bloody middleman that made himself available to my aunt’s killer by facilitating a hitman while gaining a pretty penny for the connection. His hands are tinged with her blood, and we have plans for him.
“Oi, my apologies, bro. My finger slipped.”
Casper chuckles a few steps from me; his amusement rivals mine. “I’m going to start calling you butterfingers.”
“I’m not that bad.” I shrug, not the least bit repentant for the slip. If it were up to me, I’d do worse, but being a patient killer has its benefits. No one can say I’m anything but thoughtful and accommodating, and I take repayment in their screams shortly after.
While he prays, I’ll peel his skin back.
While he cries, I’ll feed it to him.
“You only have a few seconds left, Felix.” Casper’s mood changes then, his body language aggressive—from relaxed to a volcanic rush of ire that makes the man bleeding from the hole in his hand shake. He eyes my cousin, the tick in his jaw more pronounced now with each beat of the clock.
“Who are you?” Felix screams, but we all see his intent. The man’s a runner, taking a few steps back and turning his hip toward the halls behind him. His Ocean City home in New Jersey is big, has plenty of places to hide, but he won’t get far. “What do you want?”
“Your head on my mantle.” At Casper’s words, he takes off as bullets rain through the house from each of our guns. A door slams closed, and I pull out my empty clip, replacing it with a full magazine.
“Don’t shoot to kill. We have a deal.”
“We do, Callum.” Green eyes meet mine; the silent promise is all I need. Because we might be bastards—arseholes—but we’ve never taken back our word. There’s always been a certain level of respect between us, even when he was the boss, and I trust him with my life. “Watch the exits. I’ll be back with a gift.”
With that he takes off upstairs while Archie, one of our new guards and a close friend to Jeffrey, heads toward the back.
My gait is slow toward the front of the home.
Two things stick out the moment I cross his threshold: the area is quiet, and it’s warm. Sun high and no clouds, I turn my face from right to left and pick up no movement. No police sirens. No one walking down the street and no passing cars.
From the open door I can make out a bit of shouting, the heated, hushed words of desperation, but it’s the sound of a gun going off that makes me smile.
Then again.
Two, and I cock my head to the side. Immediately, Felix’s screams fill the silent afternoon with a pain-filled cadence that I quite enjoy. Loud, full of misery, but most importantly, it gets closer. And closer.
Their feet are heavy on the stairs, his whimpers rending the air until both stop at the foyer.
Casper’s eyes meet mine. So much anger in them. So much pain. “He’s being gracious and accepting our offer to ride with.”
“What a courteous tosser.” The man in question groans, his body landing at my feet after a small push from my cousin. He has a bullet wound to his knee and hand while a few bruises are beginning to form on his face. Casper went easy on him. “Do you need anything before we go?”
“Please don’t do this. I’ll…I’ll tell you everything.” His wounds are bleeding, but the flow isn’t excessive. Not enough to need any wrappings.
Crouching to his level, I tap the muzzle of my gun on his lips. Push the dark metal past his lips just a bit, not even past his teeth, and Felix gags. A few tears spill down his dirty cheeks. “Oh, I know you’ll talk, Mr. De La Vega. And I’m going to enjoy every bloody scream as you tell it.”
That’s the last thing he hears; I pull out the gun and whip him across the face with it. His unconscious form topples over, blood covering his face as Archie comes around the corner, rushing over and dragging him to our vehicle. De La Vega is put in the trunk while we exit the property without another word.
It’s time to play.
“Wake up, arsehole,” I growl out, landing a swift kick to Felix’s midsection. He’s tied up, hands up on a high water pipe with his feet dangling just a smidge off the ground inside of a borrowed property not too far from Felix’s home. We’ve let him sleep for the last five hours, gave him time to calm down after the small panic attack at his house. It’s almost funny how quickly a person can go from do you know who I am to please don’t hurt me.
In that time, while he slumbered, we’ve gone through every last connection he has in the US and back in the Dominican Republic. His ex-wife has been notified of his death; his money transferred to her account along with the two properties he’s purposely screwed her out of.
How can a man vow to love a woman, marry her, and then leave her with kids for another?
