Page 31 of Property of Shotgun
He pleads.
Hebleeds.
When he’s fully suspended in the air, Guido kills the motor on the lift.
Fatmir’s movements slow as blood pools on the concrete basement of Monty’s Pork Store. The prospects are going to have a hell of a time cleaning this shit up, but I’ve got zero regrets. I walk to the other end of the basement and grab one of the milk crates. Bringing it back to where Fatmir hangs, I flip it over and climb on top of it, pulling the KA-Bar knife from my leather holster.
“Open your eyes,” I growl.
“Fuck you,” he croaks.
“Open your fucking eyes before I nail them open.”
“I said… fuck you.”
My jaw clenches as my hand wraps around the back of his neck. Pulling him down an inch, I lean closer, my breath hot against his ear. “You killed my brother. Left three children without a father. Now your penance is death, but you’re going to die wondering if when I leave here, I go to your home, take your wife from your bed and do the same to her. Sweet dreams, motherfucker.”
A gurgling noise sounds from the back of his throat, and it’s the last sound he makes before I drive the knife through his throat. I wait for his body to fall limp against the hook before I jump off the crate and slide the knife back into my holster.
Then my eyes lock with Biggie’s.
“It’s done, brother. Go home. We got it from here.”
Home.
Where Irish’s wife and children wait for me.
TEN
SHOTGUN
I swingmy leg over my bike, and reach into my saddle bags, taking out the drawstring bag I dumped my bloody clothes into. I could’ve disposed of them after I took a quick shower at the clubhouse, but I knew… Ifucking knewshe’d have the fire pit going. The woman has a sixth sense when it comes to my sins.
Clutching the bag in my fist, I follow the scent of burning wood into the yard. I find Jade sitting in one of the Adirondak chairs in front of the fire, her knees drawn up to her chest, a glass of red wine in her hand, the mostly empty bottle on the small table beside her.
I pause for a moment, giving myself a moment to drink her in. The glow from the fire illuminates her face, and I can see her cheeks are flushed. I’m just not sure if that’s a side effect of the wine or the heat from the fire. Either way, she looks vibrant and relaxed.
Unsticking my feet from the ground, I tear my gaze away from her and make my way toward the fire. Feeling her eyes on me, I reach into the bag and toss my sneakers into the flames, watching as fire grow taller. Next to go is my bloody t-shirt, followed by my favorite pair of jeans. When there is nothing left to burn, I throw the bag into the pit too.
It’s all so routine.
“What number is that?”
Her voice is raspy. It gets like that after she’s had a few drinks, or when she’s overly tired, and every time it happens, it sends a jolt to my cock. Because try as I might to forget, I know her voice gets like that when she cums too. I close my eyes as the image of her pinned against the wall, her legs wrapped around Irish’s waist, fills my head. You think after all these years I would’ve found a way to bleach the memory from my mind, but for some torturous reason, my brain won’t let me forget the way she looked that night.
Her cheeks were flushed then too, and when she begged him to fuck her harder, her eyes locked with mine over his shoulder. I expected to feel some resemblance of shame at her catching me watch her climb her way to ecstasy, but that feeling never came.
I swallow thickly as my eyes meet her from over the flames. “Four.”
She’s witnessed the aftermath of every kill, and it doesn’t seem to faze her. At least not in the way I figured it would.
I guess Irish trained her right.
There ain’t too many women who would still welcome a man into her home, and trust him with her children, all while knowing the night before he was drawing the filthy soul out of a body, even if that body is the reason she’s a widow.
Jade eyes me from the rim of her glass but doesn’t say a word.
She accepts me as I am.
