Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Midas
After squeezing all the body pieces into the case, I wheeled it out to the truck and took it to the MC’s quarry.
It’s not the first time we’ve burned bodies here, and it won’t be the last, but it’s the first time I’ve done it alone.
I stand watching as the flames flicker and jump, gorging themselves on the offering I bestowed upon them.
I wonder, not for the first time, how I let myself drift so far away from everything and everyone I care about.
It’s not just Legs, though she may have been the catalyst. It’s the ease I find in lying to my brothers, the lack of remorse I feel, distancing myself from them, and the disinterest I have in their lives when I’m over here barely functioning.
I pull my gun and hold it in my hands, noting a smear of blood across my palm.
The gun feels lighter than usual, and I can’t help but wonder if that’s a bad omen.
A gun should always feel heavy, at least emotionally.
The ability to shoot and kill a person can never be something taken lightly.
There is that age-old saying, “a life for a life,” which you always hear about in old gangster movies or those mafia books Legs likes to read.
And though they mean it literally, there is always an element of truth to these things when applied to the real world.
You can’t take someone’s life without it taking part of you in the process.
I’m not sure when I became numb to it all, but then maybe I wasn’t as horrified as I should have been to start with.
My formative years were darker than what my peers were experiencing.
In comparison to them, my learning curve was a steep hill I had to crawl up on my hands and knees.
The thought of what might be on the other side is what kept me going.
Only my focus on finding something better, or being more, made me blind to everything else around me.
I still remember that kid being bounced around home to home, feeling like I was never enough, but I never realized my actions were making others feel like that.
I turn the gun over in my hand, studying it, remembering exactly when I first fired one.
I don’t like to let my mind go back there.
It was a lifetime ago, and I spent a decade pretending it was all a bad dream.
Now I’m wondering if maybe I didn’t survive that day.
If I was really the one who died, and this is my twisted version of the afterlife.
It’s not like heaven’s gates would open for me anyway.
I place the barrel of the gun against my temple, wondering for a moment if the world might be better off without me in it.
Maybe Legs could finally carve out a life she deserves without me following her around like a shadow.
I press it a little harder, my finger twitching on the trigger.
But then I see her clear as can be as she’s given the news of my death.
I watch as she falls to her knees and clutches her unborn baby.
I wait for her tears, but instead, all I hear are her screams. They’re so fucking loud that I have to cover my ears, which is when I realize I’m the one screaming.
It echoes as it bounces off the stone quarry, amplifying the sound until it surrounds me.
I drop to my knees and suck in a lungful of air, my screams shutting off abruptly.
“Jesus, I’m losing my fuckin mind.” I grip my hair with my free hand, staring at the gun in the other for what feels like hours before I put it away.
I get to my feet and walk back to the body, burning in the metal drum.
There isn’t much left now, and the accelerant I used made sure the flames burned hot and bright the entire time.
It will burn through the rest of the day and night before it burns out.
I came out here to do it so nobody would accidentally stumble across it.
The responsible part of me knows I should stay.
It’s a hell of a risk to start burning a body and then walk away before it’s done, but I can’t find it in me to care.
Who knows, maybe part of me wants to get caught.
I sure as hell deserve some kind of punishment for the shit I’ve caused.
I look over at my truck, warring with myself.
In the end, the need to be close to Legs trumps everything.
It’s as if seeing her in the flesh again has pivoted my whole world on its axis.
People say you don’t know what you have until it’s gone, but that was never true for me.
I always knew what I was losing when I pushed her away.
I just didn’t know I wouldn’t be able to live without her.
I’d convinced myself it would get easier.
It’s not as if I buy into the whole love thing anyway.
Sure, I see it with G and Amity, and Havoc and Nevaeh, but they’re exceptions to the rule.
And let’s be honest, it took Havoc blowing up Lola’s world to end up where he is right now.
No, as far as love is concerned, I think it’s overrated. Except when it comes to Legs.
“Fuck it.” I stalk to the truck, climb in, and head back to Legs’s apartment block. I tell myself I need to go back so I can clean up the crime scene properly, but I’m lying to myself.
It’s dark when I get back, but I still park on the other side of the building, not wanting Legs to see the truck. I walk up to her door with my hood pulled over my head and press my hand to the wood, hoping to feel some of her heat seep through it.
“Such a pussy,” I snap at myself before stomping next door and letting myself in.
I lock up just in case and begin the arduous task of cleaning.
Once I’m done and the previously bloody bathroom is spotlessly clean, I strip off and take a shower.
I scrub up and steal one of the dead guy’s hoodies.
It’s a bit snug, but it will do. I bag up my soiled one so I can throw it away later.
I raid the fridge and make myself a sandwich before flicking on the TV.
If people hear normal sounds coming from this place, they’ll assume the dead guy is alive and kicking, so I’m not trying to be circumspect in that regard.
If anyone knocks, I’ll ignore it. Having only met the guy once before I offed him, I’m pretty sure that’s something he’d do anyway.
When I hear a door slam, I pause the TV and listen. When I don’t hear anything else, I move to the front door and look out the spy hole, sucking in a breath when Legs passes by.
“What are you doing, woman?”
I give her a few seconds, pull my hood down low, and head out into the hallway.
I pull the door closed but don’t bother locking it before I follow the path she took.
It doesn’t take me long to realize she’s in the basement doing laundry.
Whose fucking idea was it to put the laundry room down there?
Do they have any idea how fucking dangerous that is?
I fist my hands and stand next to the door so I’m out of sight but I can hear if she comes back out.
She doesn’t, of course, not for an hour.
If I hadn’t been paying such close attention to the sound of her breathing or the little laughs she lets slip, which tells me she’s likely reading something on her phone again, she’d have probably caught me.
As it is, I hear her curse before her footsteps approach.
I duck around a corner and watch her leave, frowning when I see she’s left the basket behind. She’ll have to come back.
I follow her back up to ensure she’s safe, then sit on the floor inside the apartment next door and wait for her to head back down.
When she does, I follow close behind her and wait before following her back upstairs to make sure nobody messes with her.
I frown when I see she’s empty-handed again.
Once I know she’s safe inside her apartment, I jog back down to the laundry room and see that the dryer is still going.
I see the pile of her washing folded in the basket and run my hands over the fabric of the T-shirt sitting on top.
I lift it and hold it to my nose like a fucking creeper and breathe it in.
It might not smell of her perfume, but she’s used the same laundry detergent the whole time I’ve known her, so it’s still a smell I associate solely with Legs.
When I go to put it back, I see a pair of red lace panties. I lick my lips at the memory the material invokes. I put the T-shirt back and grab the lace. I shove the panties in my pocket and head back upstairs to the dead guy’s apartment.
Once I’m inside, I lean back against the door and pop open the buttons of my fly.
I pull my cock free before wrapping the lace around my palm and gripping my cock.
I start slowly, fucking my fist with even strokes.
But once I start picturing Legs lying before me with her thighs spread open in invitation, it’s game over.
I soak my hand and the scrap of lace, imagining shooting my load all over her pussy, using my fingers to push it inside her as she comes screaming my name.
I pack a bag and leave it in the apartment above the shop, ready to grab later. If I’m going to be hanging around Legs’s place, I might as well use the apartment next door to keep up the charade of the dead guy living there.
That’s my excuse anyway. Being close to her helps as much as it torments me.
I thought the longer we were apart, the easier it would become.
Instead, it’s like a gnawing ache in my bones that gets worse the further from her I am.
As much as I want to go in guns blazing, I can’t until I have my head straight.
If I push back into her life now, only to turn around and fuck her over again, she’ll run and I might never find her again.
“Alright, I’ve got it,” Powers says, snapping me out of my thoughts.