Redemptive (Combative, #2)(7)
“She killed Pauly. PJ’s not going to let that slide. You can’t just let her go. She’ll be dead tomorrow.”
The girl ran her hand across her stomach and brought it up to her face, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of blood smeared on her fingers.
I felt a crack in my armor; the one I wore every damn day. “Shut up, Tiny.”
“I’m just saying that—”
“I said shut up!”
“Boss—”
“Just let me think, okay?”
I tried to think, but I couldn’t focus. Not while Pauly lay dead and cold two feet away from me and the girl who had obviously killed him lay still, covered in blood, silent between us.
The headlights of the van shone through some bushes, and I was finally able to see clearly. Blood wasn’t just on her stomach or her hands, there was blood on her face, dripping out of her mouth. There was a cut across her cheek and early signs of bruising. “What the hell did they do to you?” I whispered.
The van door closed and PJ stepped out.
“Put Pauly in the back,” I told Tiny, but my eyes were on hers. “Are you hurt?” I asked again.
Her voice trembled. “I don’t…”
“Can you sit up?”
Tiny picked up Pauly like he weighed nothing. We both watched as the girl slowly sat up, burying her head between her knees. “You need to decide,” Tiny said, a hint of hesitation in his words.
He knew he was pushing it.
Hell, I was pushing it.
I was always able to think straight—to think fast. That’s why I was good at what I did, but I had no f*cking clue what to do.
PJ came to a stand above us. “Just get rid of her already.”
I shook my head at PJ. “One more word and you’ll be joining Pauly in the back.”
His eyes narrowed at me. “Fuck this,” he spat, turning his back, and walking away.
Tiny returned from putting Pauly in the van and took the murder weapon from me with his glove-covered hands. He placed the gun in a plastic bag, and then he crossed his arms, just as a dozen cop sirens filled my ears.
“We need to clear out, Boss,” Tiny pleaded.
I nodded, but inside, my heart was beating out of my chest.
My fingers trembled, and I straightened them out, hoping Tiny wouldn’t notice.
“Nate!” he snapped.
I panicked.
And then I gave in to the inevitable.
I placed one arm under the girl’s knees, the other around her back. Then I lifted her off the ground and made my way to the van.
She didn’t fight.
She didn’t make a sound.
Maybe she knew.
Somehow, she must have felt it.
Her life was over.
And I, no doubt, would be the one to end it.
5
Bailey
It’s said that your life flashes before your eyes when you die.
It must only happen to those whose lives were worthy.
Clearly, mine was not.
The only thing that happened to me was a repeat of what I thought was my death. The blast of the gun as it went off. The loss of my breath as two hundred pounds of dead weight dropped on top of me. And then darkness.
This replayed over and over.
When the guy squatted down next to me and asked if I was hurt, the only thing I could see, feel, hear, were those last few seconds. Even when I was in the back of a blacked out van—it was the only thing that ran through my mind.
Gunshot, breath, darkness.
The man who lifted me into the van moved in front of me, trying to get in my vision. His mouth moved, but I didn’t understand him. I couldn’t hear through the constant banging running through my head.
Just take me, I almost told him. Kill me already.
His eyes pierced mine and they seemed to turn darker the longer I looked at them. He didn’t break the stare, his eyes shadowed by the crease in his brow. I averted my gaze and looked at the man I’d just killed. My eyes trailed from the blood still dripping from his stomach, down to his dick, left exposed by his open fly.
He was that close to taking me.
I looked at his face. His eyes were open, looking right at me.
But there was no life.
He was dead.
Dead.
Dead.
DEAD.
I wondered for a moment if he was someone’s dad. Someone’s brother. But it didn’t matter—he was someone’s son. And I’d just killed him.
And the worst part?
I couldn’t find it in me to care.
Not about him.
Or about me.
I looked into the dark eyes watching me intently. “Can you please kill me now?”
6
Bailey
The guy talked heatedly to the men in the front seat while he sat in the back of the van with me.
His gaze moved back to me, his eyes narrowed. Then his mouth opened, and I knew he was trying to talk to me—to get me to understand him. His head dropped forward, his shoulders heaving once. Then he looked up, and his mouth moved again. Though I couldn’t hear it, I saw it. “I’m sorry,” he said. And for some unknown reason, I believed him.
He reached into a gym bag behind the driver’s seat and pulled out a black dress shirt. He ripped off one of the sleeves using his bare hands. Then he lifted the stretched material and nodded at me as if assuring me that he truly was remorseful. The fabric covered my eyes as I bent forward, allowing him to tie it behind my head.