stomach turned from the sight and smell of you. You, along with your entire family lineage don’t have enough money. Now step, the fuck, out of my way.”
He scurried out of my way so fast that his dirty, white tennis shoes with the flapping tongues, scraped against the cracked sidewalk. His heavy breathing sounded behind me as he scrambled to pick up his money. His rapid steps faded before he ducked into his room and slammed the door shut.
Picking my target’s door lock was easy. The hard part was taking apart the housing of the chain lock without waking up the loud snoring asshole who had been following me.
Grateful for the three uninterrupted minutes it had taken to complete the task, I eased into the dark room and locked the door behind me. The creak of the door’s closure along with my movements caused the man’s snores to hitch before he flipped over, making the cheap mattress springs squeak.
The sparse illumination from the bedside digital clock provided the lighting I needed to stroll quickly across the dark room, but my movement heightened more of his awareness. He hopped up with a start, and I froze in front of the nightstand on the opposite side of the bed. Was he glaring into the dark to determine if I was real or because he knew I was?
I made quick work of tossing the lamp shade aside, picking up the thick wooden base, and yanking the plug out of the wall.
“Who the fuck—”
I swung the lamp like a bat, unwilling to wait to find out his intentions. The hard lick connected with the side of his head as the force from the impact vibrated up my arm. The hit stunned him, but he managed to roll out of bed, causing me to lose sight of him.
Like a seasoned stunt woman, I jumped, tucked, and rolled across the springy mattress to reach him before he got to his gun. I swung the lamp base like I was at a golf tournament, sending three solid licks upside his head that lured him to la-la-land.
Moments later, a low thud from my heels sounded against the dirty, puke-green carpet as I inched closer to the bloody asshole lying at my feet. A glass of cold water to the face had sprung the lock on the stupor he had been in.
“Why the fuck were you spying on me? Who do you work for?”
I couldn’t even eat a decent meal in peace without someone casting spying eyes on me, but thankfully, I had discovered this one lurking. He had no idea at the time that he was loitering his ass up on a bullet, because I made it my business to know who was keeping tabs on me.
The base of the motel’s cheap lamp became the whipping stick I continued to use to beat…his…ass. I pounded into his flesh, not caring where the licks landed as long as they connected.
His pale skin was now marred with a rainbow of bruises and cuts. The lamp’s cord, torn pieces of the white stained bed sheets, and the man’s belt were used to secure him in place.
“If I talk, I’m dead,” he managed to push out the words through his cries as his wide anxious eyes followed my every move. Despite his situation, I had caught him looking up my skirt twice. Men... This one was on his death bed but he couldn’t resist the urge to sneak a peek while I, the personification of death in Versace, stood over him.
“If you don’t talk, I’ll make your death a long, painful one versus the quick relieving bullet to the head you’ll receive from your people for being a rat. And please, whatever you do, don’t make me raise my voice.”
My gaze fell to my nails as my foot tapped out the seconds near his bloody quivering lips. “I was thinking of soaking you overnight in a tub of gasoline, high octane, and lighting you on fire just to see how crispy you can get.”
I lifted my cold, dead I-don’t-give-a-fuck-about-your-life eyes and set them on his wide searching gaze. “Your choice. Talk and die in seconds, or die in pain keeping a secret for a group of people who probably don’t give a flying fuck about you.”
His hard breaths released his rancid stench against my toes as he lay there, shaking, bleeding, and thinking.
“What the fuck is there to think about? You’re dying either way. Stop wasting my time and tell me what