There’s a noise nearby. I perk my head up and bang it against the edge of the Spider’s undercarriage. “Oh, motherfucking, dick-licking, cockroach, slimebagfuck—” I roll sideways, rubbing my skull and looking around. “Ernesto, is that you? Did you forget something,tio?”
The garage is dark and empty. I check my watch and realize Ernesto and the rest of them left over an hour ago. Worry fizzes through my stomach like a spark. Nobody should be here, not for another hour at least.
“Hello?” I wait a second, listening. “Hey, is someone here early?”
Total silence. I sigh to myself, shaking my head, and turn back to the car. Probably a mouse scampering around the edges of the garage knocked over nails or something like that. But as I start thinking about what I need to do to finish before the night crew shows up, a shadow appears on the car in front of me.
I have a second to open my mouth before a hand clamps down over my face, the fingers digging into my skin.
I scream into a salty, dirty palm, and someone’s arm wraps tightly around my throat. I gag, the scream cut off, and I try to breathe. Panic rams into me. I struggle, kicking and thrashing, hands scrambling all over for purchase, but whoever has me is big. He lifts me up off my feet.
I’m choking. Oh my god, I’m choking. I can’t breathe. My head’s going crazy and my chest tries to heave, but I can’t get anything in. His muscle flexes tighter, and the bastard’s trying to kill me.
I kick and elbow him, but nothing helps. His breathing is ragged and rough in my ear, and he says nothing. I smell his sweat and cigarettes. His boots are dirty and stained. He’s got on jeans.
Panic sets in. Followed by the desperate animalistic fight-or-flight response from somewhere deep inside my chest.
I lash out, but not at him. I shove my feet against the Spider and push as hard as I can, using my last bit of strength to knock him off balance. The man grunts as he hits the workbench behind us.
The radio teeters and falls, smashing onto the floor.
His grip loosens for a moment, just long enough for my hand to snake out and snatch up my favorite wrench.
I whip it up over my shoulder and smash it straight into his face as hard as I can.
“Fuck!” the man growls, and I feel something wet hit the back of my head. I slam it into him again, and again, and a third time until he finally lets me go, shouting and cursing in pain. I topple to the floor, gagging and gasping, choking and cursing, all my strength gone as I try to clear the spots from my vision. I was tenseconds from passing out. Ten seconds from dying. I crawl away, tears streaming down my face, only thinking about escape and survival.
“Come back here, you fucking bitch,” the man growls and grabs my ankle.
I look back. His nose is flattened. A cut’s bleeding from his eyebrows all down his face. His cheek is bruised and swollen. I don’t recognize him, but I know his type.
Enforcer. Killer. A big man who knows how to end a life.
I kick out and land a blow on his chest, but it’s like pawing at a steel wall. I twist and try to hit him with the wrench again, but he grabs me by the arm and smashes his fist into my face.
My head knocks backwards. The back of my skull bangs into the floor with a dull thud. My ears ring, and I taste blood flowing down my mouth.
“Stupid bitch.” The man throws my wrench aside. “Just stay down and make it easy.”
I try crawling, but he pins me down to the ground and straddles my body. He’s huge, and I can’t move as he wraps his meaty fists around my throat.
I try punching. I try hitting and screaming, but he tightens his grip, fingers digging into my windpipe. I can’t make any noise. I can’t do anything but stare into the angry, bloody, malicious face of my killer.
“Hate these—fucking jobs—god damn—killing women—pain in my ass—” The man’s jaw works, showing crooked teeth. “Fucking bitch, just die?—”
He grunts in surprise as something hits him in the side of the head. I can barely make sense of it, but his grip releases. There’s another person in here, and stupidly, I think it’s Ernesto. But my savior’s much bigger than the daytime foreman.
“You touched my fuckingwife,” he snarls in a malicious, terrifying grunt. It’s a sound I know well. It’s a voice that has been playing through my head for almost a month now. “You piece of fuckingshit.”
Each word is punctuated by the blow with the wrench. My favorite wrench.
Luca raises it and smashes it down, again and again, over and over. Blood flows from my attacker’s face as he tries to defend himself, but Luca doesn’t stop. He’s a wild animal. Again and again, the wrench raises and lowers as flesh breaks and bones snap.
I crawl backwards, staring in horror, slowly coming back to myself.
Everything aches. Everything hurts.
I watch Luca beat the man until he doesn’t look like a human anymore, and he keeps going, his arm and clothes drenched in blood.
