And his killer would get away.
Scot-free.
* * * Blackhawk & Cantrell * * *
The Hidey-Hole
A Couple Of Hours
Later
Good freaking God.
This one was not helping himself go to the great beyond. In fact, someone was stubborn, and the last thing he wanted was to die.
Clearly.
Normally, he’d give props to the man, but he needed for him to cross.
Wearing the plague doctor mask was warm and uncomfortable in the Puerto Rican humidity, and with the candles all burning…
The effect was spot on.
The sweating was torture.
Still, this man clung to life, even as all of the bones in his body were shattered into pieces. Even as he was tormented and forced to spill his guts, he fought to stay alive.
Normally, that would be impressive.
Now, it was fucking annoying as hell.
The offering refused to go into the night, and that was a pity.
For.
Both.
Of.
Them.
This could have been far easier, but instead, it became a battle of wills, and one that only had a single, solitary outcome.
And that wasn’t his victory.
That was for sure.
There was no way to escape this death. It was already written into the book of fate.
All that was needed was for him to cross, so that his body could be taken and dumped.
As they were in that perfect hidey-hole, he fought for his life, but eventually, he lost.
Thank.
The.
Sanse.
