A gargle spills from his lips. “Benjamin Solomon and…”
“And who?” I scream, tightening my grip around his throat.
“Jaws is…”
He has three fucking seconds to talk before I slit his fucking throat. “Motherfucker! Jaws is who? Give me a name!”
“I can’t, man,” he pants, tears spilling from the corner of his eyes. “Just don’t hurt my family. They’re just kids.” He won’t talk. His loyalty would be admirable, but it’s just sped up his death.
I wanted to be patient and torture him until he spilled, but I can’t do this any longer.
Reaching for my knife, I look him dead in the eye and growl, “So was my brother. And so was I.” And with that, I drive the blade straight through his heart. I have what I came here for.
Our gazes never waver as I watch the life drain from him slowly. I wish with each gurgled breath he takes he could breathe life into Damian, but it doesn’t work that way. Sometimes, things happen. There isn’t a reason for what happened to Damian. He was in the wrong place, at the wrong time, which just makes this so much worse. His death was in vain.
But I have a reason to kill the remaining two players. I know who they are. They’re fucking dead.
It takes Kong about two minutes before he takes his final breath. With each second, I breathe with him, growing stronger as his weakness feeds my strength. One may feel remorse, but I don’t. My only regret is I couldn’t inflict more pain.
Once he’s still, I yank the blade out from his chest and wipe it across his shirt, leaving a slash of red in its wake. Inhaling, I tip my face to the heavens as a sense of peace washes over me. I felt this way only one time before.
However, when a strangled gasp sounds behind me, my heaven soon becomes hell. Turning to look over my shoulder, I stare into gentle green eyes, shattering my high.
Lily
“B-B-Bull?” My voice is foreign because, at this moment, life as I know it has been shattered beyond repair.
Even though what I’m seeing is clear as day, I don’t, I can’t accept it as truth. There has to be another reason Bull is standing before me with a bloody knife in his hand and a dead man at his feet. But there isn’t. The man is dead because of Bull.
Covering my mouth, I swallow down my vomit. My hysteria can wait. I need to get the fuck out of here. Turning too quickly, I lose my footing and almost fall onto my ass. When I see what I slipped on, a hollowed cry leaves me.
Blood.
“Fuck!” Bull storms forward, but I place a shaky hand out in front of me, begging him to stop.
“Pl-please do-don’t hurt me. I won’t tell a-anyone.”
He halts, overcome by melancholy. “I would never hurt you.” When I don’t reply, he sincerely adds, “You know that, right?”
But I don’t. I don’t know anything at all. “Please let me go.”
“You’re not my prisoner. You’re free to go,” he says, slowly lowering the knife onto the stage and raising his bloody hands in surrender.
The vision will be burned into my memory forever.
I want to ask him why, but does it even matter anymore? He just killed a man…another man. I need to get away from him. For good.
“Tiger, you believe me, don’t you?” He interlaces his hands behind his neck, pleading I believe him. But I can’t.
Spinning around, I run through the club, images of Bull taking me down like a gazelle in the wild, prompting me to run for my life. I shove open the front door and sprint toward my truck. The moment I’m inside, I slam down the lock and wait for Bull to emerge.
He doesn’t.
My hands are shaking so badly that I can’t get the key into the ignition. I take a steadying breath. Once they stop trembling, I start my truck and pull onto the highway. I drive on autopilot, barely blinking, too afraid to relive what I just witnessed.
I went to The Pink Oyster because I wanted to know why Bull was giving me the cold shoulder. When I saw the place was closed for a private function, I let myself in with the key I still had. Now I know why he’s been MIA. He was too busy planning someone’s murder. I don’t know who it was. His chin was downturned. But the trickle of blood seeping from his lifeless lips was a sure sign he was dead.
As I clench the wheel, tears stream down my cheeks because I don’t know what to do. A normal person would go to the police, but even still, after everything I just saw, I can’t do that to him. Something is seriously wrong with me.
I believed him when he said he wouldn’t hurt me. How fucking tragic is that?
Pulling into the parking lot at Blue Bloods, I barely have enough time to put my truck into park because I’m going to be violently ill. Yanking open the door, I dry heave outside, wanting to dispel this feeling within, but I can’t.
The sickness I feel isn’t something I can purge. It will fester inside me for as long as I keep his secret.
The fresh air soothes me somewhat, so I kill the engine and make my way inside. I’m not working tonight, but I can’t go home. I don’t want Jordy to see me like this. I don’t want Jordy to know his mom has… feelings for a murderer.
Keeping my head low, I quickly make a dash for my dressing room. Once inside, I lean against the door and brace my head against it. I need to gather my thoughts.
I just saw a dead person, killed by the man I’ve allowed to touch me over and over again. Reaching into my back pocket with trembling fingers, I grab my cell. There is only one thing to do.
“911, what’s your emergency?” The operator is waiting, waiting for me to finally do the right thing. I need to tell her there is a dead body at The Pink Oyster and his murderer is Bull. I open my mouth, but I suddenly can’t speak.
“I would never hurt you.”
Bull’s words play on a loop, haunting my decision because I just can’t. If I call the police, Franca will have his ass thrown back into prison, where he will remain for the rest of his life. The thought of never seeing him again, never feeling this ever again has me quickly ending the call.
It’s selfish and morally wrong, so wrong, but I would rather deal with this eternal guilt than be the one to rat Bull out. I knew he was dangerous, hell, he even told me he was. But I never really believed it…until now.
Sliding down the door, I crumple into a heap and draw my knees toward me, hugging them to my chest. Although my mind is racing, I know one thing for certain—I can never see Bull again. No matter how badly I want to fight it, I won’t.
My cell chirps endlessly. But I ignore it. I know who it is.
I don’t know how long I sit on the floor, staring into thin air. Each minute, each second all morphs into one colossal clusterfuck, and all I’m left with is my utter stupidity staring me in the face. I think about all the times I allowed him to touch me, how I liked it, and how I wanted more.
Those hands brought me to the pinnacle of pleasure and pain, and even when the line began to blur, it was never enough. His hands brought me back to life, but to someone else…he choked the life right out of them. How can someone be so wicked—in every sense of the word?
Running a hand down my face, I wipe away my tears and decide to freshen up before I go home. Coming to a stand, I make my way into the bathroom and avoid the mirror. I don’t need it to know I look like shit.