“She’ll pay for that. Fucking whore. I’m taking her back to the house tonight. We’ll see how tough she is after she’s been railed by a couple dozen of us.”
A snicker drifts toward me. “Count me in. She attached?”
“Nah, we watched her for hours last night. Pretty sure she’s traveling alone.”
I’ve heard enough, so I spin, noting the cigarettes in Asshole One’s pocket and flashing him a broad smile. “Hey, man. Couldn’t help overhearing. I’d be interested in a piece of that pink-haired pussy.”
“Sorry. Private party,” the guy snipes, unhappy that I’ve weaseled my way into his super-secretive, discussed-in-a-club gang-rape plan.
“Right,” I concede. “No worries. I’m sure I can find some tasty cunt upstairs.”
“Yeah, bruh.” The other guy bobs his head with a sinister smirk, plainly reliving a memory. “Great ass up there, but membership is pricey.”
Certainly pricier than abduction.
I hum, considering. “Might be worth checking out. Thanks, man.” With that, I dip my chin to him and start walking toward the stairway that leads to thepriceysex club, but double back to them. “You know what? It might take a while to get a membership. Mind if I bum a smoke first?”
Even with his mask on, I can tell Asshole One is disgruntled.
But his dumbass friend solves that for me. “This set just started. We might as well have one now anyway.”
The motherfucker who got his nose broken kicks his chin toward the side door, so we all saunter into the alleyway. He passes us each a cigarette. I hate smoking but endure it and their mindless chitchat while I grunt agreement at the appropriate openings and scope out my surroundings.
Secluded. The reverberating notes of the more populated area trickle back here, and the building pulses with the thumping bass of the nightclub. Horns and the din of traffic whir just out of reach. The lamppost lights are yellow, dim, casting an orangish glow on the brick of the building. The concrete is cracked and in desperate need of repaving. One end dips into a gate that separates the front lot while the other seems to spill into another alley or side street.And a dumpster overloaded with trash bags has the stench of piss and rotten food wafting around us.
It’s interesting that he led us out to an area that is devoid of people instead of to the front entrance, which thumps with Vegas nightlife. Or even to the lobby bar, which permits smoking. Ordinarily, I’d peg that as a plan to jump me, but they wouldn’t risk it with their big schemes on the horizon. No. This is familiar territory for them.
“The parking lot was fucking packed,” I muse while blowing a plume of smoke into the inky night. “I had to snag a spot all the way down the goddamn street.”
“Even worse on weekends.” Asshole Two, who didn’t hurt Rena but is ready and willing to rape her this evening, throws a thumb behind him. “There’s a side street that butts up to the end of this alley. Always empty.”
Perfect.For kidnapping women or …
“Just down here?” I point the glowing cherry as my gaze darts around in confusion. “How the fuck do you get back there?”
He waves his arms through the air, muttering directions but resolves to start walking. Asshole One steps away from the brick wall of the building, cigarette dangling from his lips as I pitch mine, and he barks his irritation and urgency for getting back inside.
As soon as there is a natural break in his speech, I step behind him, wrapping one arm across his chest, shoulder to shoulder, the other curling across his face to palm his temple, and I snap his neck, delighting in the cracks and eradicated breaths.
Life extinguished in a second.
Throwing him over my shoulder, I pluck my knife from my pocket, flick it open, and follow silently behind Asshole Two. He’s still blathering about some shit as he treks toward wherever they parked. When the alley widens into the deserted side street that he mentioned, he peers at me over his shoulder. His eyes widen with alarm at the sight of his friend draped over me, but before he can speak, I throw my knife and hit his carotid artery.
Only a select few in the world could pull that off. But as aspecial forces-trained sniper and an assassin who’s perfected that sharp-shooting skill with any and all fathomable weaponry, I never miss a mark.
The blade sinks into the tissue, and he sputters a few gurgling noises, blood spurting in a geyser-like stream as he folds in on himself and drops to the ground with a thud.
I’d have preferred to make it all the way to his vehicle first, but this will do.
There are two cars on the side street, so it’s not completely desolate, but it lacks clarity on which belongs to them. That’s easily remedied. I drop the broken-nosed motherfucker on the ground near the vehicles and go back to retrieve the other. Hoping to avoid soiling my clothes before I see Rena, I hoist him up and fold his waist over my forearm. It’s not especially practical or comfortable, but I only need to cart him about twenty-five feet.
Right as he flops in half, three drunk women stumble into the alleyway, spotting me.
“Could be worse,” one of them howls, gesturing toward us, her intoxicated observation ricocheting off the solid surfaces to create a deafening tunnel of high-pitched peals. “You could have to carry me like that.”
I chuckle and jerk my chin to them, issuing a friendly, “Stay safe and have a good night, ladies,” as I turn around and haul the dead fucker back to the car.
Once I drop him, I pat him down for the keys, pressing the fob button to unlock the trunk. That alerts me to which vehicle it is, so I scoop the bloody guy up and deposit him inside. It’s full of rags and chloroform, various restraints and weapons.
