I’ll have to get off him long enough to grab them, but he’s not the first runner I’ve ever had. I lean over, attempting to keep my weight on top of him, but he does as expected and wiggles out from under me. I grab the socks and his ankle, before he can get too far, yanking him to the floor.
“Get the fuck off—” His words are muffled as I shove the sock so far into his mouth he gags.
Working quickly, I pull him back into the bed, slash his other wrist and sit on him while he bleeds out, his muscles and tendons exposed and raw like uncooked meat. His eyes are panicked, and he fights as long as he can with useless hands, but he slowly loses strength as he bleeds out. Once I’m sure he won’tbe able to get far, I slide off him and look around his room. I open an armoire and smile. Jackpot.
He has a few baggies with white powder and some pills in them. Perfect. I carry the bag with the pills to the bed, grab Gage’s chin to pull his mouth open, and pour a bunch down his throat, forcing him to swallow them. He coughs and gags, but he’s already losing the battle.
“Asshole,” he mutters weakly. “I’m gonna fucking haunt you.”
I smile, patting his cheek. “Join the club. I hope wherever you’re going after this, it really sucks. I hope you feel nothing but the pain and fear you caused others. I don’t think you will—I think it’s nothing after this—but if there is something, I hope it’s that for you.”
I walk into his bathroom to look for razor blades. I learned that lesson a long time ago. If you stage a suicide there needs to be a convincing weapon nearby. There’s a package in the medicine cabinet, so I grab one and unwrap it before carrying it back to his bedroom.
Gage moans as I drag the blade through his bleeding wrist and place it in his hand. I really hope he’s thinking about all the things he’s done wrong while he’s dying.
I stay long enough to hear his last breath rattle out of him, then I do my standard cleanup, double-checking that I have everything I came in with, including anything that might have my DNA on it. Knife, check. Gloves on, check. Hood up so no hair shedding, check.
I leave his apartment as quickly as I came, making it down the stairs and into my car just as the sky is turning a lighter shade of gray. I pull off my hoodie as I leave the parking lot and toss it into the back seat. After driving for a few minutes, I pull over and hop out to open my trunk where I keep a change of clothes. All I’ve got is a pair of black basketball shorts and asweatshirt, but that will do. I peel out of my clothes, including my shoes, and toss them in the trunk, then pull on the other clothes and a pair of sneakers.
A few minutes later, I’m back on the highway. After I take the exit for the winery, I notice an early morning bakery. I could stop and get coffee, and if I were in Illinois that might be a good idea, but right now, my best alibi is to get back to Nantes’s place.
I make it back as the sun is fully rising and slip back into the house. It’s still quiet, with no lights on. I creep to my room and slide between the sheets, pretending to sleep. Actually, I finally feel tired now that the restlessness and adrenaline are wearing off.
My eyes grow heavy, and I feel myself drifting to sleep. A smile tugs at my lips. I did good. One less abusive asshole on the streets.
Chapter 12
Nantes
Fuck. My head is pounding.
I peel my eyes open and groan at the headache squeezing my skull. Why the fuck did I drink so much? That was so stupid.
My bladder makes itself known, forcing me from the bed, but I mumble in complaint all the way to the bathroom. I’m still wearing my clothes from last night except my jeans and underwear are tugged down around my dick, like I was planning something and fell asleep before I could get to it.
The trouble is, I can’t remember shit from last night. It’s just a bunch of hazy memories after leaving the club. I know I had fun, and I hope I didn’t embarrass myself, but I honestly don’t have a clue.
After washing my hands, I pad to the kitchen to start the coffee pot before I check on Van. I hope he’s not in as bad a shape as I am. I tap lightly on his door and hear a slight murmur in response, so I push it open the rest of the way.
Like me, he’s sprawled out on his bed, but unlike me, he’s completely naked. I can see just a sliver of his ass cheek wherethe blanket has ridden up. I shouldn’t look. I should definitely leave, so why the fuck won’t my feet move?
“Van?” My voice is soft as I approach his bed. “Vanian? It’s almost ten.”
He mumbles something under his breath, then rolls over, revealing his torso and part of his thigh. My cock reacts, swelling rapidly, so I back away a little.
“I’m making coffee.”
“Nan?”
“Yep.”
Stretching his arms above his head, he slowly opens his eyes, focusing on me. “Morning.”
“Hey. How do you feel?”
“Like I was hit by a car.”
Chuckling, I drag my hand through my hair. “Same. I’m making coffee and I’ve got painkillers.”
