Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 78487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Two of them are buried in shallow graves, but the third is still breathing. Still going about his day as normal, still staining this earth with his presence, not knowing he is about to die.
I find him in the bar he frequents most weekends. It’s a dive bar off one of the backroads near the county line, dimly lit and smoky with a tired country song playing on the jukebox. He sits at the bar, nursing one of many beers, a cigarette burning between his yellowing fingers. The years haven’t been kind to him. In fact, it looks like they’ve run him down and backed over his unshaven face repeatedly.
I slide onto a stool next to him. Not too close but close enough to strike up a conversation when the time is right.
He glances my way, then takes an appreciative look, his eyes lingering over my long hair and muscles. He likes what he sees because he doesn’t take his eyes off me as he lifts his cigarette to his mouth and takes a deep drag.
“Ain’t seen you ‘round here before,” he says, that familiar voice striking a match to my hatred and igniting a fresh wave of fury inside me. Not that he would notice—hiding my emotions is my fucking superpower.
“Just passing through,” I say.
Behind the bar, a blonde in denim shorts and a tight shirt with the name Cheri embroidered above her ample left breast takes my drinks order. She doesn’t like the man sitting next to me. In fact, she despises him. Her body language and looks of disdain are dead giveaways. She can’t hide her disgust, and it makes me wonder what he’s done to her. Reading people’s silent cues is another superpower and probably one of the reasons I survived prison for nine years.
“You in town on business…” His eyes slide down my body. “Or pleasure?”
It’s time to bite back the revulsion and play the role.
“I’m here on business, but I’m open to some pleasure. You got something in mind?”
My boldness surprises him, and he chuckles. “Well, that all depends on what takes your fancy? If you like a little blow or little special K…”
“I don’t do drugs.”
“Hmm… then what kind of fun are you looking for?”
“I’m not opposed to some company.” My eyes find his. “Of a particular kind… if you catch my drift.”
Cheri brings me my beer, but I don’t touch it because DNA is powerful evidence. And if anyone knows, it’s me. I also don’t pay with a card. Instead, I slide a few bills across the bar.
When Cheri notices my gloved fingers, she lifts her heavily lashed eyes to meet mine, questioning why I’m wearing gloves in this heat.
“Keep the change,” I say.
With a tug of a smile on her lips, she turns away to silently put the money in the cash register, then moves away to wipe down tables, leaving my new friend and me alone.
“You got a name?” the man next to me asks.
“Name’s Duquette. My first name don’t matter.”
He slides onto the stool next to mine. “Are you a cop, Mr. Duquette?”
“A cop?” I chuckle. “I fucking hate cops.”
He studies my face, and I wait for him to remember me, but his brain has been marinated in alcohol for too long, and there is no recognition in his bloodshot eyes.
But he WILL remember.
He WILL remember everything he did in excruciating detail.
He relaxes.
His defenses are coming down, and it makes him easy prey.
“Well, I think it’s your lucky night, Mr. Duquette.”
“Oh yeah?”
“You know… for the right kind of money, a guy can have whatever he likes in this town. I can see to that personally.”
“Is that so?”
His gaze drifts to my crotch, and he sucks in a shaky breath. His lips are wet and eager, his revolting eyes filled with sexual attraction and heat.
Leaning in, he runs the tip of his finger along my forearm seductively. “See, if you let me suck that anaconda I know you’re packing in your jeans, then I’ll let you fuck me for free. Normally, I charge thirty-five for a blow job or fifty for some backdoor lovin’, but I have a suspicion there is something very impressive behind that zipper, and my curiosity makes me generous.”
Despite the bile rising in my gut, I smile. “You think you can handle what I’ve got to give?”
Lust shimmers across his face. Hook, line, and sinker. “Meet me out back in two minutes, and I’ll show you.”
He leaves first. It’s what he always does. I know because I’ve spent the last few weeks watching him from the shadows, absorbing his patterns and behaviors, and studying his quirks and mannerisms because that’s what I do before I take down a mark.
Knowing a man’s routine makes it easier to kill him. And I know everything there is to know about this guy. I know he beats his girlfriend when he returns to their trailer near the swamps full of alcohol and stinking of failure. I know he doesn’t go anywhere without his flannel shirt and trucker cap fixed firmly over his greasy hair. I know he looks like a redneck and likes to suck cock, and that coming here to hustle every Friday and Saturday night is more enjoyable than he’d ever admit to his beer-swilling buddies down at the pool hall.