I can’t believe this creep had his hands on my girl’s body and shoved his dick into her mouth. I should cut off his dick and make him eat it, but I don’t want to clean up any blood, nor do I know when his wife is coming home. The longer I stay here, the more careless mistakes I’ll make. I shouldn’t have come down here angry. It’s dangerous and impulsive.
I pull out my gun with the silencer on and point it at him.
Fear radiates on his face, and his hands shake.
“Walk backward,” I demand.
The smell of urine filters through the air, and I glance down at the puddle of yellow fluid on the wooden floor. The bastard peed on himself. I shut the door behind me and keep my gun aimed at him.
Rage eats me up like a disease and my heart beats hard in my chest.
“You tried to rape my girlfriend and she’ll be the last woman you’ll hurt,” My tone is cold as stone as I grit my teeth.
Tears fill his eyes. “I didn’t mean to, I tried to apologize. She sent you down here to kill me.”
The more he talks, the more he pisses me off.
“Save your fucking tears,” I snap, grazing the barrel against his forehead.
“What will it take for you to forgive me?”
“Die,” I say, before pulling the trigger, shooting him the chest.
Blood and meat fly to the rug as his body thumps to the floor, and his breath is labored. I shoot him one last time in the head, then I get into my car and leave.
I drive around until I find a bar, then park and get out.
What have I done? Normally, when I kill, it’s business. I’ve never killed anyone for a personal agenda.
I grab my phone and press the microphone button.
“Call Fox.”
Several moments later, the phone rings, and he picks up.
“Yeah.”
“Where are you?” I ask.
“I’m at home. Is everything okay?”
“No. Come meet me at this bar on Staten Island. I’ll send you my location.”
“On my way.” Then the line goes dead.
About an hour and a half later, he walks into the bar, and I meet him at the door. He takes in my disguise but shakes his head.
“Let’s take this conversation in my car.”
He follows me to my car and gets in through the passenger side, and I get into the driver’s seat.
He furrows his eyebrows. “What’s on your mind?”
We made this pact that we wouldn’t kill unless it’s for a job, and on impulse, I broke it.
I wait several seconds to respond. “I killed someone, and I wasn’t on the job.”
He pats my back. “Why did you do it?”
