Bad Boys of Romance(177)
Wiping my bloody hands on my jeans, I stopped dead in my tracks on the way to the phone. There was no way in hell I could call the cops. I couldn’t afford the exposure. To be in the paper right now would ruin my plans. To be questioned by the police, could ruin my life. She’s breathing, I assured myself and instead of grabbing the phone, I seized the first aid kit from under the bar, a bottle of our highest proof whisky and opened the store safe for my own bag. Slinging it over my shoulder, I headed back to try to save Emery. I’d have to save her or dispose of her dead body. Needless to say, my woody was gone.
Guilty
Opening the door to my hotel room, I found Emery just were I’d left her this morning. She breathed steadily, her chest rising and falling. Clean and sutured up, she looked just as beautiful as when she walked into the bar. I sat on the bed beside her and caressed her wrist, studying my handy work, thinking about how my life might have been different if I hadn’t been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Could I have been a surgeon or something else, someone who could meet a woman like Emery and really make her forget about her husband, make a life with her. Who knows what possibilities my life could have held before Satan found me. No, I wasn’t possessed by the devil but his sons had ruined any hope I had of a normal life.
Just like me, Emery was now in the wrong place at the wrong time. The difference between her and I was she’d wanted to die. I’d never wanted to die. She needed to wake up and get the hell out of my life or she might just get her wish, I thought sourly. Her eyes fluttered awkwardly, and suddenly I knew she’d been playing possum. My head snapped around, taking in the food I’d left her on the table, gone, and then more importantly to my bag, the one I took from the bar’s safe so I could sew up her wrist. It lay open at the bottom of the bed, spilling out all of its contents. I snatched her upper arms so she couldn’t get away. “Snooping bitch. Thanks I get for saving your life.”
Her eyes flew open. “Who the fuck said I wanted to be saved you fucking idiot. I slit my wrist, I wanted to die,” She spewed hatefully before she started to cry.
Pulling the covers off her with a jerk, I found she was just as naked as I’d left her after I’d washed and trashed her bloody clothes. Last night, I’d dunked her in the tub and cleaned all the blood out of her hair and from under her nails and everywhere else. “If you wanted to die, why do you keep failing at it?” Tiny, slender cuts like the one she put in her wrist covered her body. She yanked the sheet back up, hiding herself. Clutching her wrist, I turned it over, showing her what she’d done. “You’re doing it all wrong if you really want to die. You need to go vertical rather than horizontal. You’re just scarring up your body, not going deep enough.”
“Then you do it. Kill me. I’ll pay you.”
“What?” This bitch was crazy. I stood, backing away from her and began piling my shit back in my bag. “What makes you think I’d do something like that?”
“You’re a hired gun, of some sort. Guns, a silencer, lots of cash. A paper trail.”
I glared at her.
“In your bag. You’re following someone, a Mr. Amun, planning something. And you didn’t call me an ambulance. Plus your vest says Nomad, I looked it up, means you’re an enforcer for one of those outlaw motorcycle gangs.”
“Motherfucker!” Scanning the room, I found a white smartphone plugged into the wall beside her open purse. I threw it to the ground and destroyed it with one stomp of my boot. Those things were a hazard. Sure, you could get the best deal on a cheap hotel room in the blink of an eye but you could also be tracked a little too easy for my taste. I shoved my cut and everything else back into my bag, zipping it up tight. Emery could blow my cover. Inhaling to calm down, I finally asked. “Who’d you call?”
“No one. Don’t worry. I don’t want to be found.”
“No, you don’t worry. No one’s going to find you,” I warned in my meanest tone.
She didn’t back down but jutted out her chin. “So, I’m right. You’re a killer. I have money if that’s what you’re looking for. Lots of money.”
Shaking my head as my hands balled into fists, I stepped toward her. First of all, this bitch went through my shit. She’s right about me. I am a killer, and I should kill her right now but it’s not that simple. I don’t even know her. I’m not as dumb as some other thugs or even as dumb as some of my brothers. She could be somebody. She’s white and she’s not poor. That’s enough for me to fry. Besides, it was a shameful fact, I’ve never been able to kill a woman. I closed my eyes trying to stop the haunting memory from resurfacing. I blocked out the black, long hair, dripping with blood, the scream and the silence that followed it.