by Amity Cross
“We only serve in glasses here,” I spat.
Ugly leaned over the bar and went to reach for me and I jerked backward. The men laughed at my reaction, getting a kick out of toying with me. My gaze flickered down to the gun and back again. I’d have to go within groping range to get it, so it’d have to be quick. No hesitation.
“Either you order a drink, or you get the fuck out,” I snapped. “We don’t take kindly to assholes here.”
The men fell silent, glancing between each other.
“Did Sykes say we had to be hands off?” one said, rearranging his filthy cock in his pants.
“Rough her up were the orders,” the one on the right replied.
“Send a message,” Ugly said with a grin.
Sykes? As one of the men angled away, that’s when I finally saw the logo on the back of his jacket. A Grim Reaper stared back at me, hollow eyes and death, a scythe held over its head. The banner read, Necromancers Motorcycle Club.
Necromancers.
My blood ran cold and I froze. They couldn’t know. They couldn’t be here for-
Ugly went to circle around behind the bar and I made a grab for the shotgun. My hand wrapped around the barrel and I yanked it free, cocking it right at the fucker’s head.
“Get out,” I hissed.
“A bitch with a gun,” one of the men laughed.
“You think she knows where the trigger is?”
Ugly had edged too close for comfort and I jabbed the barrel into his chest. “Try me, fuck stain. Get the fuck out or get blown to pieces. I don’t give a shit which one happens.”
Ugly lifted his hand and grabbed the barrel and twisted the gun from my grasp before I could press the trigger.
“Smart mouthed little whore,” he spat striking the butt of the shotgun into my stomach.
Pain shot through my body and I doubled over, gasping for breath. I was fucked. Weiss wasn’t here. Weiss…
“Look guys, she’s bending over to suck cock already.”
With a cry, I lunged, punching Ugly right in the balls. He doubled over with a grunt, clutching his filthy cock as the other man scrambled to cross the bar. The outside door banged open and things started to get hazy after that.
The sound of a gunshot in close quarters rang out, making my ears ring. Strong arms clamped around me as I stumbled, but it wasn’t the arms I was hoping to fall into. Ugly held me against his fat chest, sticking his cock against my ass.
My gaze settled on the carnage behind me and that’s when I realized that the other four men were down. The dead kind of down.
Weiss stood in the middle of the pub, his arm raised, a gun in his hand. He looked pissed as all hell, but I was more surprised to see X standing beside him. X, who didn’t seem to care about anything.
“Let her go,” he said, his voice all muffled.
My hearing was still fucked up, my stomach aching something fierce. Ugly was going to take me hostage, right? This was how these things worked. They’d come for me and he’d do anything to get me out of here and into the hands of the one person who could never have me.
“No fuckin’ way,” Ugly drawled. “I’m taking her out of here. You try anything and I’ll slit her pretty bitch throat.”
Steel pressed against my skin and my gaze snapped to X’s. His eyes were vacant. He didn’t care.
I guess I was dead then. I wouldn’t get my chance to-
X sprang into life, flicking a knife from his palm like a fucking ninja. The blade flew through the air and I gasped, unable to get the scream that had been welling in my throat to pass my lips. It was going to hit me. I was going to die. I wasn’t ready. I had to-
There was a dull thunk as the blade imbedded into flesh and bone and I stood, shaking as Ugly’s grasp slackened. There was another thud as he fell to the floor behind me, leaving me standing there in shock.
What the fuck just happened?
X-
My gaze flew to X’s.
“Are you alright?” Weiss asked coming round the bar.
He circled his arms around me, but I was still in X’s trance. His gaze narrowed as Weiss pulled me against his chest.
“C’mon,” he murmured. “I’ll take you out back.”
“Is he dead?” I asked.
“They’re all dead.”
Blood. Splattered on the walls, congealed. I was back in the house, the cream carpet stained. Splatters on the wall. I was late and I should be dead too. He’d gotten Ugly right between the eyes. Bam.
“Mercy?”
I blinked hard and Weiss came back into focus.
“Give her something strong,” I heard X say. “I’ll take care of the trash.”
Weiss led me into his office and I followed like a lamb to the slaughter. He sat me on the sofa and shucked off his leather jacket, draping it around my shoulders. Reaching above the filing cabinet, he picked up a bottle of brown spirits. Handing me a glass, he screwed off the cap and poured some liquor into it.
“Drink up,” he said, gesturing to the booze. “It’ll warm you up and calm you down.”
Grunting, I raised the glass to my lips, the alcohol quaking in my trembling hands. Sipping, I gasped slightly as it burned a trail right down into my guts. It was scotch. Tasted fancy, too.
“How did he do that?” I asked, the liquor warming me from the inside out.
“Do what?”
“I thought I was…I thought he was going to get me right between the eyes.”
Weiss rubbed his chin, going for his cigarettes then putting them back into his pocket, thinking better of it. “X is a lot of things,” he said, “but a shit shot isn’t one of them.”
“Why-”
“They were Necromancers,” Weiss said. “Royal Blood and them…well, we’ve never gotten along.”
“You never thought to tell me?” I never knew they had a foot hold in this part of town. If I did, I’d never have come close.
“Sorry, love. Sorry we weren’t here.”
I shrugged. “No use giving a shit about it now. You’ve got five dead bodies in your pub.”
“Mercy,” Weiss said, sitting beside me. “We would’ve killed them regardless.”
I stared at him, not believing what I was hearing. “What? You just kill people you don’t like?”
“It’s the way we do things,” he replied matter-of-factly. “An eye for an eye.”
“But they wouldn’t of killed me, they said-”
Weiss straightened up, his expression turning serious. “What did they say?”
“They said they’d been sent to rough me up as a message. They mentioned some guy named Sykes.” I knew who Sykes was, but everyone did. Sykes was the meanest son of a bitch out there.
“Stay here,” Weiss commanded and shoved the door open and disappeared out into the pub.
“Glad to,” I drawled, waving the glass of scotch at the closed door.
Shivering, I clutched the glass in my hands like it'd warm the chill from the shock that had settled into my bones. I needed to get a grip.
The door opened abruptly and I jumped. X stepped in and closed the door behind him softly.
“I didn't think you gave a crap,” I said.
“Should I have kept my knife in my pocket?” he asked, perching on the edge of the desk.
“They came for me,” I said, hugging Weiss’ jacket around me.
X just sat there, a nothing look on his face. “They won’t bother you again.”
“Because they’re dead,” I exclaimed.
He stared at me like I was a raving lunatic.
“You’re not going to say anything?” I asked. “Not after-”
“I don’t owe you anything.”
I ground my teeth together, trying to keep my smart mouth in check. The only thing he owed me was an explanation, but all I got was a mystery. A bad news kinda mystery.
I reached for the bottle of scotch and unscrewed the cap.
“That’s Weiss’ secret stash,” X said as I downed a
mouthful.
“Who gives a fuck?” I downed another, the liquor burning right down my gullet and into my guts. It chased away the images of blood. Dead bodies everywhere. X had to be some kind of…
He shifted from the desk we’d so unashamedly fucked on and sat next to me on the sofa. I wanted to lean against him, to feel his arm around me, but I was smart enough to know I wasn’t getting any comfort from X. Not now. Not ever.
“You had to know that by working here, working for Royal Blood, that you’d have to deal with this shit, right?”
“Yeah, I know.” I fucking knew, but I was a target. I just worked the fucking bar, I knew shit all about what Royal Blood got up to. That meant they were trying to get to someone through me. It had to be either Weiss or X.
I stared at X. He was the prime suspect because Weiss was a desk jockey. A numbers man.
He shrugged. “Didn’t mean it.”
“Asshole,” I shrieked. “You- I should never of let you stick your finger up my ass.”
“Mercy.”
“Fuck you, X.”
“If they touch you again. If they even look at you…” He hesitated, his eyes flashing with something… “I will kill them. You hear me? I will kill them.”
Fear started to replace anger and I leaned backward. All I could do was nod, because seriously? X wasn’t fucking around. He didn’t even seem to care that he’d killed a bunch of Necromancers. He seemed to enjoy it.
Weiss was right. I should stay away from him…but it was far too late for that.
If I could trust X, if he said he would do these things for me, could I ask him to…? No. No, I couldn’t. But maybe he could help me. I had to trust him first and trust was hard to come by.
X stood, flicking up the collar on his leather jacket. “I have some things to do,” he said, his voice returning to its usual bland monotone. The tone he used when he was being secretive. “Weiss will look after you and make sure you get home.”
He went to leave the office, but I called out, “X?”
He turned back, glancing down at me.
“Are you coming back?”
A tiny hint of a smile curled his lips and he nodded. “Soon.”
Eleven
X
I was supposed to say I was sorry. That’s what I knew I was meant to do, but I didn’t feel sorry…did I?
Remorse. That was a fucking bad thing to feel when you were a contract killer.
Sykes was sending me a message. Stick to the job, no fucking around. By lingering at The Gambler's Inn, by fixating on Mercy, I'd made her a target. Those Necromancer fucks stupidly thought I cared. Mercy was just a fuck.
If I kept telling myself that, then maybe I'd believe it. Mercy was just a fuck.
An image of her underneath me, writhing in pleasure as I fucked her in her bed, splintered into my mind's eye. Delight. What kind of fucked up thing was that?
I stared at my apartment wall, sinking back into the sofa. I had to get back in the game. Killing was what this was about, after all. Killing Alison Crawford. I hadn’t even put all the pieces together and I was almost certain it’d been her and so were the Necromancers. What I needed was a lead to her whereabouts and the rest would follow.
Blood. Make her deader than dead. Cross her out.
Freedom from Royal Blood was inching closer. I needed it. I needed my life to be programmed to something else.
The wall was plastered with photos, newspaper articles, drawings and the entire contents of the envelope. It was the wall of a madman plotting murder, crossed with lines and marks, important pieces of information highlighted. Macabre crime scene photos pinned to the plaster.
I had to pay her home town a visit. There was no way I was picking up any trail by sitting here burying myself balls deep in Mercy’s pussy.
Seeing her in that Necromancer’s ugly fucking arms, a knife pressed to her throat…my blood seared with something I didn’t understand. I understood a lot of things, but my ability to feel emotions had been cut from my body and soul a long time ago. They’d been flayed from me...bled dry.
What I’d become and what I was becoming were two different things. It was Mercy Reid’s fault. She’d done something to me. She’d-
The phone rang, vibrating across the coffee table. Seeing it was a blocked number, I let it ring for a while before I deigned to lean forward and pick it up. No guesses who was on the other end.
Lifting it to my ear, I stared at the photograph of Alison Crawford as Sykes barked his displeasure at me, not even waiting for me to answer.
“You killed five of my men,” he roared.
“And I’d do it again,” I said, not even taking my eyes off the photo. “You went back on our terms. A truce between our clubs until this matter is settled. You sent five thugs into our bar, Sykes. Five men on one woman with the order to do whatever they pleased to send a message.”
There was a crash in the background.
“Greggor has been notified,” I went on. “I’m sure he will have something to say about the incident.”
“As long as you play your part, pretty boy, then we won’t have any more issues.”
“As long as you stay away from the girl, we have a deal.”
“I thought you didn’t feel anything,” Sykes said. “Word has it you’re an emotionless bastard. Seems like you care about something.”
“Do not presume to know anything about me, Sykes.”
“The cold and calculating killer, Xavier Blood, brought to his knees by a woman.”
“She belongs to Royal Blood,” I snarled. “You mess with our women, I don’t give a shit who you are, I will deal with you.”
Sykes started to laugh. “You’re not serious are you? You’re trying to put this on Royal Blood?”
I didn’t know who his informant was, but they’d seen way too much. I’d been careless.
“When we find your rat Sykes, I’ll be glad to put a bullet in their head myself.”
“Good luck with that,” he drawled.
I tightened my grip around my phone, trying to keep my rage down to a slow simmer. “Do not threaten me, Sykes. You don’t want to find out what happens when you cross me.” Seemed like I was losing my grip on a lot of things lately.
There was silence on the other end of the line before he cleared his throat. “You’ve just made a powerful enemy, X.”
“Lucky me.”
“If you fail, I won’t just shoot you. I’ll enjoy hearing you scream as I bleed you dry.”
The line went dead. Charming.
The Necromancers would be watching Mercy now from dawn till dusk. If I didn’t follow through, they’d take her. They’d take her, imprison her in their fucked up world, and beat and rape her to get back at me. But, I didn’t care right?
Mercy would be collateral damage if I failed.
I never failed.
Alison Crawford had a rich mummy and daddy and grew up in a small community just outside of the city. She graduated with honors from a well-to-do private school before going on to study Art History at one of the best Universities in the country. She’d just come home from her final exams to visit her parents when she found them and her deadshit of a brother dead in their home.
I pulled the car up into a space on the main street and turned the ignition off. The engine clicked as it cooled and I scanned the shop fronts on either side of the road.
Alison worked her summer and winter breaks at the teahouse a few doors down. One thing that Necromancers were terrible at was staying inconspicuous. You go asking questions in your leathers, or send in the brawn to do the delicate work and everything falls apart. No, they needed to send the pretty boy killer, dress him up in a nice looking suit and send him to talk to the target’s friends at her old workplace.
Winter was losing its chill, but snow was still collecting on rooftops and window sills in this part of the country. The sun beat down on the pretty little cottage town, melting the snow away flake by flake. It was quaint, but the mark
of the terrible murder that had happened a few streets over still hung in the background like a cold shadow that they couldn’t shake.
I’d stopped at a service station to grab a coffee just outside the town limits and even they had been shocked at the news. They still had a memorial photograph of the family on a noticeboard in the cafe. No questions had been required for that sliver of information. The Crawfords had been well known and well liked in these parts, except for the son. He’d trod a dark path long before he left school and became a man.
There was a pub down the way called The Golden Lion, and across from that was a small grocery store that seemed to double as a home and hardware. Beyond was the teahouse called The Golden Mayflower. Small town people stuck together in name and business, it seemed.
The map showed a country club and golf course through the woods and a variety of large houses with acreage. The place stunk of old money.
Money and not much to do always resulted in gossip mongering. It was big business and there was plenty still being flung around about the Crawford’s murder. More than one person thought that Alison had gone out into the woods and killed herself. Over her grief, over guilt, over a lot of different things, but nobody had ever found a body. Someone disappeared and people automatically thought the worst.
It may well have been that she’d taken her grief and used it to plan her own murder.
Opening the door, I stepped out of the car and into the sunshine, pushing my sunglasses up my nose. Running over my cover in my head once more I pressed the fob on my keys and pocketed them, strolling towards the teahouse.
Pushing open the door, I took in the quaint little room that smelt like roasted coffee and cake. Little tables were crammed into every available nook and cranny, each one covered in a red and white checkered tablecloth. The place was almost empty, being the end of winter and all. An elderly man sat by himself at a table by the large front window, nestled in a pool of sunshine, a teapot with a cup and saucer in front of him. He looked like a local, so I weaved through the tables and pulled up a chair at the table next to him, which happened to be the only other table coated in warmth from outside.