“No. Wai—”
His words are cut off by the water falling over his face. Lifting the bucket, I wait for him to say something again, and when he doesn’t, I let the water spill forward.
Struggling to breathe, he shakes his head and spits water around the towel. Bending down, I lift it from his mouth. “Ready to tell me who sent you?”
“No one. I came alone. I followed you after you killed one of my friends.”
“What friend?”
“Jacob Forester.”
“How do you know him?”
He hesitates as if trying to come up with some bullshit answer. “We go to church together.”
Throwing my head back, I laugh. “Jacob wasn’t religious, and he sure as hell would’ve burned if he took one step into any church.”
Not satisfied with the answer I’m given, I waterboard him again and he gurgles, making choking sounds.
“Ready to tell me how you really know that name?”
“If you’re going to kill me, do it already.”
“Oh, I am, but it’s up to you whether it’ll be quick or last days.”
As I’m about to tip the bucket again, he lifts his head and his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “David Forester.”
“Come again?” I set the bucket on the ground.
“He’s Jacob’s brother. He sent me to kill you.”
He sent a fucking amateur. They always do. His brother deserved to die, and if he’s into the same shit then he does too. No, I’m not a saint. I’ve done awful things, but even I have lines I won’t cross.
“Good. Since you held up your end of the bargain, I’ll hold up mine.” Placing the barrel to his temple, I pull the trigger. As the bullet plunges into his head, blood splatters everywhere. Only a few drops land on my jacket, and I toss it to the floor, planning to burn it with his clothes and body. My brother owns a funeral home, and it often makes my cleanup easy. He cremates the bodies and I spread the ashes into different graves the night before the burial services. Sometimes even in their loved ones’ backyards if they deserve it.
Leaving the body where it is, I set the bucket in the sink before going back upstairs. I close the basement door behind me and set my gun on the counter. Turning on the faucet in the kitchen, I wash my hands while glancing out the window. Something runs by as quick as lightning. An animal perhaps? Before I can question it again, two more black objects zoom by, followed by a white spotted pig.
Flapping my hands in front of me, I wring them out in the sink before grabbing a napkin. This new neighbor is going to be more of a problem than I thought. When the hell is his brother coming back, and why the hell would he leave this clueless city boy in his place?
I change my shirt in case any blood got on it and set it in a bag to go in the burn pile. After I throw on a different jacket, I pull my hair back into a ponytail and walk outside.
Squealing comes from the side of the house, and when I’m close enough, I reach for one of the piglets, managing to wrap my hands around the smallest one. “Got ya, you little fucker. Time to go back home.”
Stomping my feet forward, I march over to the guy next door and bang until he answers. He’s so overwhelmed at the thought of losing more animals, for a minute I think he’s going to pass out. Not only does he have hay in his hair and dirt smeared on his chest, but he’s wearing fewer clothes than before. His arms are as scrawny as I expected, with various tattoos covering a lot of areas of his skin. He has more than one on each arm but not enough to be considered sleeves. Birds, smaller hearts going into larger hearts, random names, wings and other objects I'm unable to make out without looking too hard.
The faces he makes when he’s in distress are adorable, and I’m finding it to be a real struggle to be as angry as I want to be. After seeing what a hot mess he is, I offer to help him find the rest of his pigs and take them back to where they belong. Luckily, he doesn’t keep me waiting, and after returning the first pig to its mom he comes rushing toward the house asfast as his long legs will carry him. He definitely has never been on the track team, and I highly doubt he’s played sports of any kind.
Out of breath, he leans forward and presses his hands to his knees. “Okay, I’m here. Where should we look first?”
Twisting my lips, I point toward my garden. “They’re having a little nibble on my tomato plants.”
“Fuck. That’s—shit. I’ll find a way to make it up to you, I promise.”
I eye him curiously, something dangerous stirring inside me. “Oh, I’m sure you will, and you can start by grabbing one while I get the others.”
Nodding, he slowly creeps toward the garden, and the white pig is too busy gobbling up a tomato vine to notice his temporary owner behind him. Throwing himself forward, he lands on the ground and grabs the pig by the legs, scaring the other two off in the process. I curse to myself on my way to chase after them.
“I should probably have gone first,” I mumble, snatching a pig up from the ground as fast as I can. It takes a little longer to catch the second one, and carrying two is definitely a challenge, especially when having to walk some distance with both in my arms.
