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“So don’t fuckin’ tell me you didn’t do anything to me!” The rage is overtaking me, and I yearn to lean down and bite his ear clean off. I restrain myself long enough to remind myself I don’t want to touch him. That when I kiss my old lady, I don’t want to have his blood in my mouth.
I pull the gun out of his mouth and instruct him, “Get on your knees.”
I step back to give him room to move. Myles walks the wife back into the space, and she’s clutching a backpack to her chest.
“Sit,” he orders her.
“Did she give you any trouble?” I ask.
“Nah. She even offered to suck me off if I let her leave. I told her I’d rather stick my dick in the garbage disposal.”
I laugh.
“What’s gonna happen to her when you’re finished with me?” Masters asks.
Narrowing my eyes, I think it over. “She’ll live, but if she ever breathes a word of this night, I’ll hunt her down and send her to you in the afterlife.”
Myles leans down and asks her, “You’re not gonna say anything, are ya?”
She shakes her head frantically.
I turn back to Masters, ready to end this, and then a shot fills the air. Thank fuck we’re using silencers. I’m not prepared to run out and leave yet.
“What the fuck did you shoot her for?” I ask my brother.
He leans over her and produces a gun from her hand, hidden between her and the backpack. “Guess I missed her sneaking it out of the bedroom. My bad.”
Masters doesn’t waste a single tear. So much for his wedding vows whenever the fuck he made them.
“Brother, make it look like a dodgy deal gone wrong while I finish up here.”
While he leaves drug paraphernalia and traces of heroin on the coffee table, I shoot Masters in the dick. He doubles over and cries out like a bitch.
“You’re a sick fuck, and you’re going to Hell where you deserve to be,” I tell him.
“I didn’t fuckin’ do anything to you!” he cries out.
Crouching down, I press my gun against his forehead. “You did enough.”
I squeeze the trigger, and Masters is no longer. His lifeless sack-of-shit body looks up at me, and I stomp my boot on top of his head.
Myles snatches the backpack from the dead wife, and we split. Whoever finds them will think it’s a drug deal gone wrong, and the police shouldn’t look too deep into it.
Once we’re back in the van, Myles tosses the backpack in the back, and I pull away. Within the hour, it’ll be burned out, with the clothes we’re wearing.
There’s two hundred miles and a state line between us and home, and I sigh with relief. I can finally put the past where it belongs.
“Mase?”
Clearing my throat, I say, “Yeah?”
“He didn’t actually… rape you, did he?”
My hands tighten around the wheel, and I swallow the sickness, wanting to erupt.
“No.”
“Then what happened? Whatever you say doesn’t go further than this van. Your secret will go up in the flames when the van does.”
