“Seeing that you’ve injured my right-hand man, he gets first dibs.”
I chuckle. “Right-hand man? Eh. Not so much anymore.”
The driver sends me an ugly sneer, and I would’ve been happy to start my killing spree with him, but I’ve first got to take out the smug asshole who thinks he can tell me what to do.
“So, this is your guy, right?” I ask, grinning. “Your most trusted soldier.”
“Yes, he is. He’s been with me for years, and he’s always been completely faithful to me.”
“Has he?” I ask, the excitement of the kill speeding through my veins. “Has he, really?”
Look, just because I’ve matured beyond revenge doesn’t mean I can’t have fun when murder is offered up to me on a platter.
“Yes, he has. You’ll notice you’re still alive, and that’s because I ordered it.”
I tap my chin. “Tell me, Head Bad Guy, do you have any rules and regulations about managing the person you kidnapped?”
“Of course.”
“Is one of those rules checking for weapons?” I ask, letting the kitchen knife slide down my sleeve into the palm of my hand. The grip is comfortable from years of my abuela using it to make delicious meals, and the blade is sharp enough to shave a man’s balls—Abuela never could stand a dull knife.
Head Bad Guy glares at the driver. “You let him come into my compound armed?”
While the driver stutters for an answer, I kneel quickly, making two quick vertical slices behind each of HBG’s knees. I may not have much formal education, but I know how to find the popliteal arteries. One of the seven deadly arteries you can aim for to make a person bleed out quickly.
Anders taught me that.
He also drilled it into my head that a slice is far more deadly than a stab. He’d sing, “Slice,slice baby,” to an old hip-hop tune to help me remember. Given the amount of blood pooling around HBG’s shoes, it looks like I learned my lesson pretty well.
HBG is still screaming at the driver when he realizes, well beyond the point of saving, that something is amiss. He looks down, confused by the sheer amount of blood.
“What the—”
When the driver leans forward to examine his boss, I take out his carotid. He turns to me, incredulous, as his mangled hand goes to his neck. I give him my brightest smile.
“Hey there. I let you take me because I figured this is where you’d bring me. Everyone will be dead within the hour. Anyway, have a good time in hell.”
The HBG finally falls to the ground, and one of the guys milling about wanders around the truck. He wrinkles his brow as his eyes fall on the vast pools of blood seeping into the cracked clay earth. Confusion marks his features and he’s still not putting together that I’m the threat. So I make him pay with two quick slices—one through his larynx to keep him quiet and one through his subclavian artery because now I’m on a mission.
I’m rewarded for my sneaky ways with a faceful of blood, but I’m on PrEP and have all my shots, so I enjoy it.
The driver and HBG, both dead, have decent guns, which I tuck away for later. But this third guy—also super dead—has a ridiculous magazine on his 9mm. Fifty rounds, at least.
It’s fucking excessive.
Here’s the thing, you can spray bullets into a crowd and hit a whole bunch of people, but Odd’s never liked that. “Be efficient with your bullets. You never know when you might need them.”
Another lesson I’m learning from this day isbe nice. Based on the disinterested looks I clock around this place, these guyshatetheir boss. That driver might’ve been loyal to him, but these motherfuckers don’t even realize—or give a shit—that he’s lying dead in a pool of blood right in front of them.
Sure, the truck is blocking the view, but there’s a guy taking a cigarette break, like, ten feet from where I’m standing.Have a little pride in your work, dude.
As much fun as I could have with this crew, I really just wanna get home. Barricading myself behind the truck, I take out the six standing guards with six shots, barely making a dent in the number of rounds. I then take out the cigarette guy, who is still fumbling for his gun, and two more of the closest guards.
I’m down to the last two when the five guys from the gate make their way in. Unlike the first dozen men I killed, these guys are shooting back. I stay behind the truck and take out two, one right after the other.
My gun jams on the third, and he wings my shoulder, which…fuckingouch.
“Fine,” I say out loud to no one in particular.
