She nods, a whimper caught in her throat as he fists the back of her skull.
Continuing to hold the gun to her temple, Dom pets her golden locks, a jeering smile splitting his mouth as he commands, “Finish me off or wind up buried somewhere beneath the horse shit stinking up my property. The world couldn’t give a fuck less about finding girls like you.”
Heeding his warning, Blondie’s head disappears under the desk.
“How long ya been doin’ business with me, Brock?” Dom’s hollow stare stays on ours as the slurping sound of Blondie sucking him off sneaks into my ears. “Huh? How long?”
“Sorry, man, I—”
“Don’t ever come in here without knocking.” Aiming his gun in the air, Dom pops off a shot into the ceiling, tiny fragments of mortar, Sheetrock, and metal falling to the ground as Blondie stifles a petrified cry. Still, the girl keeps at it, her head furiously bobbing up and down. “That is, unless ya feel like a bullet from this here Desert Eagle tearing through your skull will add some excitement to your day. You know the fucking rules. Abide. By. Them.”
“Go fuck your cousin, you hillbilly, wheat-smoking asshole,” Brock hisses, vengeance lighting his eyes. “Don’t threaten me, dick. I don’t give a fuck who you are. I’d gladly take one of your bullets before ever giving you the satisfaction of letting you think you intimidate me.”
I rest my hand on my gun, ready, waiting, and itching to show this prick what’s up. Glaring at Brock, Dom slowly rises and yanks up Blondie by her hair, shoving her to the ground as he pulls on his camos. Her knees scrape the cement, her naked body trembling as she scurries into a corner like a scared, helpless animal. My stomach twists at the sickening sight.
Dom scratches his head, his combat boots echoing through the chilled warehouse as he approaches us. An unnerving laugh rips from his chest as he lifts his gun to the center of Brock’s forehead. Unblinking, Brock smirks, his teeth curling over his lips as I pull out my Smith & Wesson and pin it to Dom’s cheek. Finger steady, I cock it and suck in a slow breath, preparing myself for what’s to come.
My first kill.
Before I can swallow the last remnants of morality I have left, I feel the icy barrel of a shotgun against the back of my skull. The chilling sound of it being cocked causes goose bumps to jump across my skin, sweat instantly forming on the back of my neck. Heart pounding, I slide my gun to Dom’s temple, visions of my grieving mother, sister, and grandmother jamming my thoughts as I accept my fate.
“Well, looky what we got here,” Dom says. “Looks like the only fucker not dying tonight is Bobby.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” Bobby jabs the shotgun harder against my head.
Dom flicks his lifeless gaze over my shoulder, a small grin glued to his face. “It’s a shame too, because I was excited about sawing through Cindy’s cunt before the wife and kids got back from my in-laws’. No comparison, she fucks better than my old lady ever has.”
The blonde—who now has a name and remains curled up into a tight ball—whimpers again, tears plopping down her cheeks as she stares at us from the corner.
Brock brings his gun to his temple and cocks it. “I’d rather put a bullet in my own head than let you get off on killing me. Go ahead. I dare you to test just how warped this college boy really is.” Eyes locked on Dom’s, Brock juts his chin in my direction. “But keep in mind my dick will be as hard as they come knowing my buddy here blew your head to fucking pieces. Just a little something for you to ponder while you’re trying to make a decision. In the meantime, I guess I’ll be seeing ya in hell.”
Time’s suspended above me, fragments of memories popping in and out of my mind as I wait for the dick to say something.
My father’s last drunken words before walking out of our lives. The confusion of what we’d done to make him leave taking over . . .
The day my mother placed Casey’s tiny body in my arms. The fear running through me when we found out she had cancer . . .
The cherry scent of my grandfather’s cigars as he spoke of his many years in the Marines. The proud look in his eyes when I became the man my father never could . . .
My grandmother’s petrified face when her lover of fifty years took his last breath. Her beautiful smiles when I helped my mother and Casey get through the emotional shit girls endure . . .
The second mine and Amber’s eyes met, down to this very moment of knowing I’ll never be anything more to her . . .
I swallow. I’m not ready to leave behind the women who make up every good and bad memory I have. Staring into the cold, calculating eyes of the Grim Reaper himself, I’m not sure how many minutes creep by before Dom clears his throat, breaking the silence.
But as sure as I’m holding a gun to the head of an evil asshole, I’m positive about one thing . . . This memory isn’t mine to make.
The decision to kill a man lies solely in a loaded gun in the hand of a man I’m certain has Satan’s blood coursing through his veins.
“I always knew I liked you, Cunningham.” Dom taps the barrel of his gun against Brock’s cheek. “So because of that, I’m willing to let ya walk out of here with your head intact. But this here deal hinges on two things: Ryder lowers his weapon, and you buy the load you came here for.”
“Fuck you, cocksucker,” I spit, my free hand joining the other as I grip the pistol tighter. “You can bet your mother’s saggy tits we’re yanking up the blow we came here to get, but you’re crazier than I’d ever thought if ya think for one fucking second I’m dropping my gun first.” My eyes shift between Brock and Dom.