Roman

I pulled over into the gas station, the single sign of life along this lonely stretch of road leading out of Verona. I snatched the cap off Eddie's head, ignoring his cry of annoyance.

Trust the fucker not to have the gas tank of his getaway car full. Idiot.

"Wait here," I commanded.

Eddie Sanchez, sitting in the passenger seat of his own car, nodded. His nose was already swelling. His left eye was bulging like the end of a rotten eggplant.

After I untied him at the warehouse, we took my car to his car, still sitting several blocks from where he had attacked Julianna. We swapped cars under the cover of night.

It was a risky move on my part, pulling over for gas, but I couldn't risk getting stuck out here.

It was past one a.m. We were the only customers at the station. I filled the black late model Ford with gas, keeping my head low. I could see one of the tires was softer than it should have been. I tsked my tongue against my teeth. Eddie didn't treat anything with respect, this much was clear.

I was in and out in less than five minutes, picking up something I needed from the shelves before I paid cash, pulling the cap on my head down so that the rim covered most of my face from the camera positioned high over the cashier. It must have been my lucky night that the young pimple-faced cashier paid more attention to his tiny TV, blaring some cop show on his counter, than to me.

I got back in the car and pulled back onto the road. The farther we got from Verona, the more Eddie seemed to relax. It didn't take long for him to start talking like we were buddies.

"Are you banging her? The hot cop, I mean?"

It took all my willpower not to shove my fist in his mouth. "I'm not banging her, as you so eloquently put it," I said through gritted teeth.

"She's so fucking hot. Shit. I can see why you helped her. Like, maybe she'll suck your dick to say thanks."

How much longer did I have to listen to this fucking degenerate? I said nothing, hoping he'd get the hint and shut the fuck up.

But Eddie, the dickwad, was obviously not the sharpest tool in the shed. He was just a tool. He kept talking, kept making it easier for me to do what I needed to do.

"The ones who start out saying no, like they're pretending to be good girls or some shit, they're the ones who usually want it the most."

Just keep talking, fuck stain. Keep making it easier for me.

I eyed the passing landscape, dark and soulless. We hadn't passed another car for miles. The road looming long and straight ahead showed no oncoming traffic. There were no street lights to light up the bleak darkness, no houses around, just a long stretch of farmland on a single lane road. Good enough.

I slammed on the brakes. Eddie went flying forward, smashing himself against the dashboard. Fucker should have listened when I told him to put on his seatbelt.

"Jesus fuck man," he moaned around a flood of blood coursing out of his already broken nose, "why the hell did you do?—"

I held the gun to the side of his head, shutting him up with a gasp. I cocked the gun. It made a lovely cracking sound. "Get out," I said, my voice a hard, mean growl.

"Aw shit, man. I didn't mean any of that shit I just said. I just talk?—"

"Get. Out. Now."

"Okay. Okay." Eddie tumbled out of the car, his hands up in the air. I slid out of my car door, my gun still pointed at him in case he tried to run. Go on, run. Just try, I taunted silently.

The idiot was still rambling as he stood on the side of the gravel road when I strode up to him. "Turn around."

I saw, in the glow of the internal car light, the second that Eddie realized that I wasn't just kicking him out of the car.

"Fuck, man. Don't do it. I won't say shit, man. I swear."

"Turn. The fuck. Around."

Eddie kept whimpering, blubbering as he shuffled around as if his shoelaces were tied together. He was trying to tug on my heartstrings—as if there was something for him to pull on—moaning about being the only support for his wife, for his daughters.

After Merc left the warehouse with Julianna, I'd pulled a favor and got a background check on good ol' Eddie Sanchez before I'd untied him. There had been several complaints from neighbors about late night rows from their house. His kids and wife all had files at the local ER from their various "accidents".

Wife beater.

Child abuser.

Even if he hadn't tried to rape Julianna tonight, the fucker deserved to die.

I'd pulled another favor—I hated to admit it but sometimes having the surname Tyrell helped. I had a million dollar life insurance policy taken out on Eddie Sanchez, backdated to two years ago so it didn't look fishy. Guess who the sole beneficiary was on the policy? His wife.

So yes, Eddie, you will be a real fucking support to your wife and kids. When you're good and dead.

"Pull your zipper down," I said, the barrel of my gun pressed to the back of his skull.

Eddie froze, his shoulders hunched up around his ears. "W-What?"

"You heard me."

"M-Man, I ain't gay. I ain't?—"

"Do it before I give you a second asshole."

His zipper cut over the low hum of the car engine, still on.

"Now pull your dick out."

He let out a pained whimper over the rustle of his jeans.

I shifted my fingers on the grip and tried to block out his sobbing. I wondered if his daughters would mourn him. Or would they sag with relief when they heard he'd died, knowing that their beatings would stop. Knowing what I did, they would probably do both and it would tear their tiny insides apart. Bastard as Eddie was, he was still their father. I was about to take him away from them.

I forced my finger onto the trigger. To my surprise, a trickle of sweat beaded on my forehead.

Come on, Roman. It's not like this is your first kill.

But Vinnie had been forced on me, my father's gun at my back. The second attacker, Tate Jackson, whose neck I'd broken earlier, had been an accident. I hadn't meant to kill him. I was just so fucking furious when I saw his hands on Julianna, when I heard the tearing of her clothes, when I knew, knew, what he wanted to do to her.

"You promised me you'd get me to safety," Eddie garbled. "You promised."

Do it, Roman. Do it to make sure this scumbag never reveals what he saw tonight—the heir of the Tyrell Mafia empire saving the life of a cop.

Do it to protect her.

"I lied." I pulled the trigger.

The bullet rang out like a bang, echoing out into the night. Eddie dropped forward like a sack, his dick hanging out of his pants like the poor unlucky fucker just stopped for a piss.

For a second I just stood there, my gun still pointed at where Eddie's head once was, whips of smoke reaching for the heavens from the end of my barrel.

No weapon, no evidence, no witnesses, a voice echoed in my head, spurring me to action.

There were no witnesses to worry about.

I would take the gun with me, throw it into the river on my way as I drove back to Verona.

As for any evidence I might leave behind… I strode to the seat behind the driver's side where I had stashed the two cans I'd bought in the gas station earlier. Eddie hadn't even noticed I'd returned with them, to his detriment. I grabbed the one marked "bleach". Good old household cleaner. Will remove all scum, stains and DNA evidence.

I washed Eddie down before I climbed back into Eddie's car and gunned it back onto the road.

The other can was marked gasoline. This car was going to make a pretty bonfire.

Sometimes, when I wasn't thinking of Julianna, I replayed that night over in my head as I lay in bed staring at my ceiling.

I wasn't going to lie to myself. I was glad Eddie was dead. One less rapist scumbag for the world. Did that make what I did justifiable? Did that make me a hand of justice in a way?

He was still someone's son. Someone was going to miss him. Someone was going to mourn him.

"You are a good man, Roman."

Julianna's words taunted me. Haunted me. How could a bright angel see any light in me?

"Let me tell you what this good man did. I killed Eduardo Sanchez. I pointed the gun at his head and I pulled the trigger."

Every day since I confessed to her I half-expected, half-hoped I'd be arrested. The knock on my door never came. Even with the way I left things, even after I deliberately caused her pain, she would not turn on me. I didn't fucking deserve her. She was better off without me. Soon she would see that.