But that voice belonged to my brother, and it was like seeing his killer somehow brought him back to life.
The voice told me to forgive Lachlan because Damian had. He accepted his death, and now it was my turn to do the same.
Every inch of my body retaliated, desperate for bloodshed and vengeance. But when I looked into Lachlan’s eyes, I realized that I was no better than him if I took his life. I was so fucking lost, but I knew I wasn’t a killer.
If I did this, there would be no turning back and no tomorrow. Once again, Damian’s words of wisdom saved me.
Just as I eased my finger off the trigger, Lachlan put his hand into his pocket with a grin. Instantly, visions of blood, Damian’s warm, thick blood swarmed me, and my paranoid mind saw myself in a grave right next to my brother’s. I wouldn’t hesitate again.
Aiming the gun, I fired once with no emotion. It was the first time I shot a gun, a perfect bull’s-eye straight through the middle of his chest. Lachlan blinked once before falling forward with a thud. His outstretched hand held a black velvet box, a box which I later discovered held an engagement ring.
I shot him because I thought he was reaching for a gun, but in reality, he wanted to thank me for sparing his life because he had a whole life planned with someone special. But I ruined that the moment I shot him in cold blood.
That night was the first and only time I heard Damian’s voice, a sure sign he no longer called me brother. So, on that night, Cody Bishop also died, and Bullseye was born.
Bull
I hadn’t slept, and after reliving a nightmare I wish I could forget, I got up in the middle of the night and ran five miles. I felt remotely better, but no matter how tired I was, I knew insomnia had her grip on me and wouldn’t let go.
I didn’t sleep much in prison, and when I did, it was always with one eye open. Seems not much has changed. But I can’t let Franca Brown be aware of this fact because if she doesn’t see a change, or smells a hint of depravity on me, she’ll have no issues throwing my ass back into prison. And I can’t let that happen because I have work to do.
Fourteen years ago, I promised to kill those fuckers. And they’re already dead. They just don’t know it yet.
The only intel I got in prison was that Jaws was the kingpin of this town and a feared motherfucker. The other two were just his lackeys, meaning they’re the weakest links. I will find them, and they will lead me to him.
Jaws’s specialty was guns and drugs, and he had a thing for strippers, which is why I couldn’t believe my luck when I stumbled across The Pink Oyster and was offered a job. I have eyes on the inside now. If his itch needs to be scratched, I’ll happily scratch it with a sawed-off shotgun.
For twelve years, I lived and breathed only one thing, and that was revenge, and now it’s coming to fruition. The plan is simple—find those fuckers and don’t get caught. Like I said, there is no way I’m going back inside. Once it’s done, and I’ve avenged my brother, I’ll lay beside him where I belong.
However, Franca, my parole officer, cannot know of this plan, so I put on my game face as I have a date with destiny in fifteen minutes.
Once I showered, shaved, and looked like a Boy Scout in a cheap white shirt, black trousers, and suspenders, I caught the bus downtown. Franca wanted to meet at some diner. The thought of mingling with civilians is as painful as it sounds, but I don’t want to hint that anything is amiss.
I need to convince Franca that I’m embracing my freedom by hugging grandmas and petting puppies and other shit like that. I don’t want her to know that I’m plotting ways to kill and kill slowly. Although I don’t have much of a clue on where to start, I do know that I need money to change that.
It’s amazing the shit people will do for some green. I have nothing to lose and everything to gain, and I intend on digging deep until I find a lead. But in this town, money talks, which is why The Pink Oyster has been my saving grace—the perfect cover to earn some bank and get the ball rolling.
Even though Andre is a fucking tool, and Tawny can’t take a hint, working there is tolerable. Lotus and the other girls are cool, but as for Tiger…my cheeks billow as I exhale in frustration. I’m still undecided about her. She confuses me. Two nights ago, when I saw her dance, I almost lost my shit. She pushes all my buttons, and the dirty fucker inside me wants to push hers…so fucking hard.
A frustrated grunt leaves me as I rub both hands over my skull, wanting to punch my own sorry ass. This needs to stop. The last time I obsessed over a girl, things didn’t end well for anyone. And I have a feeling now would be no different.
Shoving open the door to the diner, I groan because Franca is already here. She’s early. Sitting in a red booth in the back, she looks over the menu, pursing her pink lips from side to side. The guys in the booth across from her make it no secret that they’re checking her out. If they only knew they were eye fucking the devil incarnate.
Franca is in her thirties. She’s busty, blonde, and gave the guys at Kinkora some spank bank material, guards included. But her good looks haven’t duped me. She is a wiseass with no filter and doesn’t have time to fuck around.
Beneath that black blazer, I know she’s packing heat, and she will have no issues beating me to death if I don’t answer her questions adequately. She may look soft and cuddly, but she’s the fucking ice queen, which is why she’s been assigned to me.
Taking a seat across the table from her, I eye the guys near me, suggesting it’s time they roll their tongues back into their mouths. They must be able to smell the felon on me because they soon return to whatever bullshit they were discussing over their coffee and OJ. Such trivial nonsense will never make sense to me. Who has time for chitchat?
Franca clearly does not. She doesn’t even look up to greet me, though she knows I’m here.
I sit tall, waiting for her to speak because this is all a power play to her. Even though I’m no longer inside, she wants to ensure I still know who’s boss. Like I could ever forget. I may be out, but I’ll never be a free man.
After two minutes, she lowers her menu and smiles. It’s not a welcoming sight.
“Hello, Cody.”
“Sup,” I reply. She knows I don’t go by that name anymore, which is why she used it. That person died the night my brother did. Cody would never have the balls to do what I’ve done or what I intend to do. Cody was young and weak, but Bull, he’s filled with bloodlust and hate.
If this were an Oprah moment, I’m sure she’d say Cody Bishop was still locked deep inside. But this is real life, and all I am is Bull—the cold-blooded murderer out for revenge.
“Staying out of trouble?”
“Sure.”
Franca pushes her black-rimmed glasses up her nose, thoroughly enjoying this game. “You got a place to live?”
“Not yet. I’m staying at Hudson’s Motel.” Before she has a chance to ask if someone can vouch for me, I reach into my pocket and slide Venus’s card across the table. “Call her and check.”
She takes the business card and slides it in the inner pocket of her blazer. While doing so, I see her shoulder holster. “What about work?”
I nod, coolly folding my fingers over my stomach as I lean back into the booth. “Working at The Pink Oyster.”