Chapter 36
Even in the dark, I can follow the bloody stains in the grass.
Romero might have dragged himself out of sight, but he’s hurt.
I’m tempted to find him just so I can sit there and watch his life seep outta him, one drop at a time, but it’s more important to get back to Quinn and get out of here ASAP. Axel needs help.
Romero’s still armed, so I track him carefully. Like a wounded animal, he’s making his last desperate attempt to get away. I hear him before I see him. A soft gurgle of a gasp. His pain is a sound I can appreciate.
But the next sound is of a car door being opened.
Fuck, maybe he’s doing better than I thought.
I hurry until I’m able to look around to the back and spot him climbing into the front seat of a sports car I remember seeing Sheila drive.
Bright red, chrome trim, four exhaust pipes—I bet it cost him a shit-ton of money.
It looks like it was built specifically to impress people who have better things in life to spend their hard-earned money on.
It’s as good a coffin as any.
He doesn’t hear me, too focused on getting himself inside the car. Is he thinking about getting to a hospital? Too bad he won’t make it.
Walking quietly behind him, I take way more fucking joy than I should in seeing him suffer. In seeing how much he hurts as he arranges himself in the driver’s seat. And still I wait, letting him slam the door shut and throw his head back onto the headrest while he catches his breath.
Finally, he gathers himself, and with a last glance towards the building, a little smile touches his lips, like he thinks he’s gotten away with it.
He starts the car. The headlights rise up from the hood and click on.
And there I am, my gun pointed right at him.
There are few things more beautiful than the terrified expression of his open mouth and wide eyes as he realizes he’s reached the end of the line.
It’s my turn to smile. I pull the trigger.
The bullet hole in the windshield aligns perfectly with the bullet hole in his forehead. His mouth is still open, but his wide eyes aren’t seeing shit anymore. Fuck you, Romero.
Before I turn off the engine, there’s a thump from the back of the car. Something in the trunk? It takes me a minute but I figure out where the release latch is.
Why, hello.
Sheila, bitch that she is, is tied up like a Christmas ham with a gag in her mouth. Looks like Romero wanted to make sure he got away with at least one Callahan. Her eyes go wide. I slam the trunk closed.
I’ll let Quinn decide what to do with her, but Sheila doesn’t have to know that.