Jesus. Am I turning into a milquetoast?
I tucked my gun into the back of my jeans and stalked over to the smaller guy, who seemed barely alive. Surprisingly, he appeared to only have one gunshot wound. Had one of Jerome’s shots missed?
The left leg of his jeans had a bloom of blood—the bullet must have hit his femoral artery. I checked his pulse. and it was weak, yet still strong enough for him to survive if I got him to a hospital in time.
“Can you… help me? My boyfriend tried… to kill me.” He choked up, but his sharp eyes centered on my face.
“Hold on,” I said, uncovering the rest of the ATV.
When I reluctantly picked him up, he started wiggling in my arms. Right as I was about to climb onto the four-wheeler, the twink pulled out a pistol and shoved it against my cheek.
“Don’t move, motherfucker.” His tone gruff and the gun steady. “You killed my man. An eye for an eye.”
I could drop him where I stood, but at this close range, I’d be dead with a bullet in my brain.
“And here I thought being nice would get me into heaven. Guess not,” I said to him, refusing to show any fear.
“You killed Jerome, fuckface.” He moved the end of the barrel to my temple and pressed hard. “I loved him.”
“I was doing you a favor,” I said casually. “He’s the one who shot you.”
“Don’t do me any favors. Now put me down. Slowly,” he said acidly.
I put him on his unsteady feet as he demanded and backed up, carefully tagging my nine from my back. Without the end of his gun in my face, my pulse calmed. Still, he was too close.
“Show me your hands, motherfucker,” he said, waving the gun back and forth. His steadiness gone now.
To throw him off, I asked a question, seizing the chance to gain an advantage. “You’re a hitman?” I took another small step back.
He opened his mouth, then quickly shut it like he wasn’t sure what to tell me. Then he fired his pistol. Thank Christ, I drew mine first and fired. The shot went through his neck. He sputtered and flailed, and in the end, Josh was dead at my feet.
A sting grazed the side of my head. I touched the area and my fingers came away wet. Blood. I dropped my hand, and ignored the pain. It wasn’t life threatening.
Staring at the now lifeless body, I rolled my eyes upwards at the sky, where the dawn was creeping in. Before daylight spotlighted my good deeds, I needed to hide the bodies. It was going to be a long while before I headed back to the house. And when I finally got there, I had to search the truck for that tracker—and any other that was planted on my vehicle.
My decision to stay was made the second those killers found us. Who knew who else might crawl out of the woodwork to hunt Krew and Regina? Didn’t matter. The second I clocked them in my crosshairs; they were already dead.
Chapter Eighteen
Regi
I bolted upright and sat in the dark for a long minute, trying to calm my racing heart and clear away the nightmare that plagued me again. It had been years since I’d dreamed of that horrible night, but in the past three days—the same damn one seemed to carve a piece out of me every time I closed my eyes.
Finally, I lay back down and glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. It read ten after six. The sun barely peeked over the horizon, its soft glow seeping through the sheer curtains and the partially open bifold slats on the window.
I’m alive. I’m safe. I’m here. My body relaxed, yet my mind wouldn’t follow—too restless, too afraid to drift back into the nightmare that woke me.
I stayed to my room, only coming out at night—after I knew the boys had gone to bed—or whatever they did after dark?—
Don’t think about them in bed, Regi.
Too late. My nether region did remember and it began to ache. I let out a silent groan of need and frustration. I couldn’t get the picture of them sixty-nineing out of my head. That was the real reason I kept my distance—to avoid talking or looking at Krew and Decker—especially them together.
I still couldn’t get over the fact that I saw them having sex. While I watched! And got off at the same time, too!
I had to think—clear my head. Between everything that happened and all I’d learned from the time the guys grabbed me from my apartment to now, I’d been bombarded with conflicting emotions and information.
Decker was a hitman. Someone who killed for money. I couldn’t wrap my brain around the fact this Decker Moss worked in the underbelly of society. He wasn’t the person I remembered.
