Laughing softly he says, “Just try and relax. Once we get where we need to be, I’ll let you know.” I nod and return to my thoughts. All sound is nonexistent in the SUV except for Zerro’s soft breathing and a small amount of radio noise.
I watch out the window, afraid if I close my eyes I will relive the scene over and over again. I killed someone. I fucking ripped him from his family and friends without even knowing him. I know nothing about him, and yet I put a bullet in his head, ending his life.
I don’t even know who I am anymore. I don’t know why when Zerro’s hand was slipping from mine, that it hit me. That maybe, just maybe, me being around had gotten to him. It is as if in that split second, we had reversed roles. I know for a fact that if I had let his hand slip from mine, he would have been gone, dead to the world. As much as I wanted that to happen, a part of me didn’t want it to happen.
So I pulled the trigger. I shot the man who was trying to end his life. I saved Zerro.
*
“Get some cloth and water,” Jared orders from the bedroom. I am in the kitchen pacing like a maniac. He is just going to take the bullet out, clean it like a God damn scraped knee and stitch it up. Something about that doesn’t sit well with me.
Filling a small bucket with water, I bring it to him. Zerro is just starting to come around since being shot. The only words having been said from him were the ones where he told us the code to get into the house.
“Get this fucking bullet out,” he growls at Jared. He is thrashing back and forth on the bed as Jared uses a pair of tweezers to dig around in his shoulder. A hiss leaves his lips as his eyes seek mine out.
“Whiskey…” Jared asks, pulling me from Zerro.
“Whiskey?” He didn’t ask for whiskey, did he?
“Yeah, I need it to clean the wound.” I get up, running to the kitchen again. I have no idea where the whiskey is kept here, if it has anything to do with Zerro, it’s probably all drank.
I search the many cabinets that line the kitchen walls only finding plates, food, and silverware. I pull on a small drawer only to discover it’s filled with guns. Then it clicks. Maybe he has some at the small bar he has in the dining room I noticed earlier. Closing the drawer, I run to the dining room, my feet slipping on the wood floors. My eyes search the small bar shelf from a distance. BINGO. My eyes land on the bottle of bourbon. Zerro’s favorite I assume since it’s the only one I ever see him drinking. He will hate to see this go to waste.
Hurrying back to the room, I hand the bottle to Jared. “Took you long enough…” Zerro almost screams at me. His eyes are soft, and I understand his words aren’t meant to be mean. He’s in pain.
“This is going to hurt…” Jared mumbled and then pours a liberal amount into the wound, his hands, and tweezers. Zerro lets out a loud scream as a lot of curse words follow. Sweat forms on his brow as he clenches his teeth. I watch as Jared digs around in his shoulder some more.
Zerro doesn’t move or make any more sounds. His face is full of agony, and I feel badly for him. Yes, I feel badly for him. I have watched this man shoot and kill people. I have felt his hands around my throat, and yet looking at him now, I feel nothing but pain for him. I know deep inside my reaction stems from more than just a sense of compassion.
Three minutes later, Jared pulls away from Zerro smiling. “Got it. Strong fucking little slugger,” he says, dropping the bullet into a pan I have brought him.
“Thank fucking God. I was about to get my gun out and shoot myself in the other shoulder,” Zerro mocks. I smile at him as he attempts to sit up.
“No way. Don’t move the fuck around. I need to get you sewed up. You’re lucky that it didn’t hit anything important,” Jared orders, moving back over to Zerro. I get up from the bed, not sure what I should be doing. I am stuck here as much as Zerro is. Not that the safe house is bad. We have internet access, TV, and it is a cozy little cabin. Except knowing why we are here, makes it seem like my own personal jail cell.
“Come hold him down!” Jared yells to me. I move to the side of the bed slowly. I am not sure where Zerro and I stand after everything. I saved his life, and he saved mine. I am sure the debt had been paid now.
Sitting down on the soft comforter, I ask Jared, “Where do you need me?”
“Just hold his arm on that side. Zerro, quit fucking moving. This isn’t your first rodeo.”
“Yeah, well, the first fucking rodeo didn’t hurt as bad.”
My mouth gapes open. I know he is a mafia man—king, whatever you want to refer to him as, but I didn’t know he had actually been shot more than once.