8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

I pull up outside of the Velvet Rooster, dreading walking through the door. One never knows who they may have a run in with. One rule here is that no one spills blood at Merc’s bar. Everyone here is in the business of killing or disappearing. It can be a competitive business at times. Not that there’s any shortage of people who want someone dead or fuckers who deserve to die or people seeking a new life. There’s been times in my life where I thought maybe that’s what I needed. That’s how I got into the killing game.

Found myself in a low place of chasing the high of the next fight and easy pussy. The purses I was winning weren’t anything to brag about. Merc saw something in me others didn’t. Hunger. Drive. He offered me something that was a high unlike anything I’d ever experienced. I tell myself that I could walk away anytime I want to, but I don’t know if I can give up the thrill.

One glance around the parking lot and I recognize a familiar motorcycle. Belongs to a former nomad for what was the Royal Bastards MC out of Charleston, West Virginia. Guy who goes by the name Static. His brother Holy is the club’s chaplain. The two of them are like daylight and dark. Two sides of the same coin. Like me, Static is a killer for hire. I was under the impression he got out when he hooked up with Rosie.

The tension I was experiencing rolls off my shoulders as they drop. As much as I love my life in Alabama, there’s a part of me that misses my time spent at Devil’s Playground in WV. There was a time I thought about patching over. The possibility of having Lottie back in my life solidifies that I made the right choice for me. I may have lost Ember to Smoke, but in the end, she wasn’t the one for me. She’s not Lottie.

Inside, I spot Static sitting at the bar nursing a beer and munching on the complimentary peanuts that I personally find stale. To each their own, though. He shoots me a chin lift and I drop onto the neighboring stool.

“Haven’t seen your ugly mug in a while.”

“Been busy. You know how it is. How’s everyone doing these days?”

“Dust is settling after all the shit that went down.”

“I hear that.”

One of Merc’s girls, Birdie, flips a coaster over in front of me on the bar and serves me a beer and moves back to the other end of the bar to pretend she’s not listening to our conversation. The old man trained her well .

“Thought you retired?”

“Me too, but I’ve got a teen daughter, a woman, a mortgage and car payments. So here I am. What about you? Still kicking ass and taking names?”

“You know it.” I take a hard pull from my beer and wait for my marching orders.

The road can be just as lonely as it is freeing. I pulled over for the night at what I refer to as a roachtel. And yes, it’s exactly what it sounds like. A hole in the wall place that still accepts cash and rents rooms by the hour. Not a place you spend any real time at. No use in wasting money for a full night when what I want most is somewhere to close my eyes for a couple of hours that doesn’t involve my ass worrying about getting arrested for trespassing or someone trying to rob me.

I don’t bother kicking my shoes off and spread a plastic tarp on the bed. No way in hell do I want to lay my ass on the filthy blanket. I read somewhere once that motels and hotels alike rarely wash their comforters and the real lazy fucks won’t even swap out the sheets unless they look gross .

I pull out my cell and lay my head at the foot of the bed away from the wall where the bedbugs are more likely to live. My skin crawls merely thinking about it. I fire off a text to the number Lottie gave me.

You awake, hellcat?

…

Typing dots move, then stop.

I’m awaiting a ‘you’ve got the wrong number’ response when nothing happens.

Don’t leave me hanging.

…

More dots, but this time she replies.

I’m awake. Are you still out of town for work?

Why? You missing me already?

Ha. You wish.

Don’t I, though. You thought anymore about dinner?

Maybe.

It’s not a no.

It’s not a yes either.

But you’re thinking about me.

I’m deciding where I want you to take me.

Anywhere you want. Name it.

Can we call?

She doesn’t wait for me to answer before I’m getting a Facetime request.

“Hey beautiful.” I greet her gorgeous baby blues filling my screen, but immediately I can tell something is wrong. She’s wearing that timid expression she always wore right when I was about to get grounded because she tattled on me for something, and she was scared I was going to be pissed at her. I usually was. “What’s wrong?”

“What makes you think there’s anything wrong?”

“I know that look. What happened? You go tell my old man that I’ve been smoking reefer,” I tease.

“That wasn’t me.”

“Bullshit.”

“I was twelve and there was one of those Dare programs that week at school. I signed a pledge.”

“Fucking fruitcake.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Tell me the truth. What’s got you twisted in knots? ”

“Are you on a tarp?”

“This motel is scuzzy and don’t change the subject.”

She bites her bottom lip while tucking her dark hair behind her ears and wiggling to get more comfortable in the oversized chair she’s seated in and moves on from her lip to chewing on her thumbnail. “Do you…um do you share partners with Ghoul?”

“Did that asshole say something to you?”

“Not exactly.”

“I’ve been with two women at the same time, if that’s what you’re asking. Did Tonya say something? I’ve never fucked her or been in the same room when her and Ghoul are doing whatever they do.” Lottie appears to visibly relax at my words. “I’d never share you with anyone, hellcat. Want you all to myself. But where is this shit coming from?”

“Only curious.”

I don’t doubt for one second there’s something she’s not telling me. Something her friend has said or did had to have provoked the question.

“Have you ever had a threesome?”

“What?”

“You asked me. Turnabout is fair play, babe.”

“Hmm.” Her mouth stretches wide as her arms go up over her head and she lets out a soft yawn. “I think I’m going to get ready for bed now.”

“All right. I’ll let you go. Sweet dreams, beautiful.”

“Seth,” she whispers my name. “I agree to dinner. ”

“It’s a date.” The call drops off, and I close my eyes with a smile.

“That’s it, baby. Yeah. Shake it.” Gino, my target, tosses bills at the stage. I’ve spent all day following this stupid fuck all over town.

I watch the stripper as she tugs at the strings of her G-string, snapping the thin material against her hips, teasing like she may accidentally flash us her beat up pussy. I thought the motel I’m staying at was a shithole until I entered this joint. Smells like piss, desperation, and body odor.

This bitch has track marks on her arms and one too many lip injections. I can’t tell what’s bigger. Her mouth or her fake tits.

This whole scene is fucking sad.

Gino is a sex addict who has trouble getting it up and owes the Cornbread Mafia more than his pathetic life is worth. They’ve ordered the hit, but it can’t be in the family because he married into it through a cousin or something. For whatever reason, they hired me to off the greaseball. I don’t really care. I want to get this over with so I can get home to take Lottie out.

The performance gets worse when she spins around to show off her flabby ass and the lighting in here only seems to highlight her worst features. I don’t feel sorry for her. She’s Gino’s whore that he pimps out on the side to fund both of their drug habits. The cunt has three kids with him, all given up for adoption. It’s the only smart choice she’s made. Too bad for her. She got in so deep with the wrong man. She signed her own death warrant the moment she first time she didn’t walk away. Now the organization thinks she knows too much thanks to Loose Lips McGee, who has shared too much about the business.

I never thought I’d be here myself. Killing for profit. Having pity on a mark. I’ve never turned down a job before, but I’m conflicted. Would this bitch be a better person if she had a fresh start and was clean? Could she one day make it up to her children? The thought weighs heavily on me. At the end of the day, we all have choices and time after time, this cunt has proven that she loves her demons more than she loves herself.

I elbow Gino in the ribs. “She sure can move.”

He looks me over, deciding if I’m a threat. I pretend to drunkenly pull out my huge wad of cash, dropping a few bills on the floor and throwing a few fifties and twenties at the whore .

“Hey man.” He leans in close. “She likes to party. Know what I mean?” he arches his brows, wiggling them.

The idea of touching his skank has the bile in the pit of my stomach churning. Acid hits the back of my throat. “I’ve got a room if you think she’d be down.”

“She’ll do anything, and I do mean anything, for the right price.”

I continue to play my part of the sloppy drunk who barely knows his own name and lure them back to the motel down the street. The room I checked into under a false name and paid for with cash for a week.

The bitch wastes no time drinking the beer I had waiting in the mini fridge. Gino gets right to it, pulling his flaccid cock out to stroke himself as his whore dances around the room. I watch from the doorway of the bathroom.

Her fake ass tits barely move. Her dark eyeliner is smudged beneath her eyes, giving her the racoon look. Fuck, this is sad and downright embarrassing.

“Don’t tell me you’re shy?” she shimmies her way over to me and takes my hands, trying to get me to dance with her. I laugh it off, but I’m about three seconds away from snapping her neck.

“Thought you like to party?” I take out a preloaded syringe filled with a cocktail that will make her go lights out permanently.

“I love to party,” she coos. “Don’t I, Gino. ”

“That’s right, sugar. Nobody loves it more.” The short, fat bastard pops a boner pill while continuing to stroke his worm of a dick. “I like to watch.”

“Me too,” I tell him with a wink that startles him. “Come on, sweetheart. Ladies first.” I whip off my belt for a tourniquet and shove her down on the edge of the bed. “You too, big boy.” I point a second syringe at my primary target. He shuffles out of the chair with his pants and underwear around his ankles and over to the bed next to his bitch as she tries to undo my jeans. “Not yet.” I press my lips to hers, about to vomit from touching her.

“What about you?” Gino questions as his woman tightens the belt around his arm.

I press the plunger down. “I don’t put poison in my veins.” His eyes widen and he falls back on the bed, experiencing a temporary euphoria as the drugs burn through his veins.

“Do me,” the soon to be dead chick begs, jerking the belt off Gino’s arm.

“Sure thing.”

Once they both pass out, I wipe down the room and paraphernalia. I put my belt back on and leave the scene, sticking a do not disturb sign on the door. As I’m climbing on my bike, my cell vibrates with a call from Lottie. I look at the time. It’s three in the morning.

“Hellcat,” I greet, unable to fight my smile .

“Seth,” she cries. “I need you.” The panic in her voice gives me pause as chills spread across the back of my neck and fan down my spine.

“What’s wrong?”

“Please come as soon as you can. I think. I think I killed him.”