I quickly kiss Tommy goodbye and give the babysitter instructions as I go out the door and she comes in it.
“Keep the door locked; don’t open it for anyone. I have a few minutes of time left on my cell phone, a very few, so only call it for an emergency.”
I bound down the steps two at a time and out into the cool night air. I wrap my arms around myself half due to the night air that nips at my bare arms and half due to fear. The truck stop isn’t far but the walk means going through an area of abandoned buildings. Cutting through the field shaves off ten minutes and, ironically, the deserted eerie area is less scary than the over populated streets. I trot along through the darkened area and past the graffiti laden dilapidated buildings. I ignore the fact my heart is racing, and it isn’t due to the jog I am subjecting my body to, in order to not be late—it is due to an emotion that has now become a familiar nagging of constant fear. It hangs like a heavy oppressive cloud over me that I can’t escape. I am always afraid—afraid I can’t pay the bills, afraid that social services will take my baby, afraid of the danger that constantly surrounds me, and afraid I won’t be able to resist taking the single blade I keep hidden in open view in my medicine cabinet and slicing it across my wrist to end my nightmare called life. The only thing that keeps me from doing it is Tommy. I love that little boy more than life itself and I definitely love him more than taking the easy way out.
I trot through the parking lot and past the eighteen wheelers and almost right into one of the hookers working the lot.
“Watch where the fuck you are going, girl!”
I ignore the woman wearing more make-up than a mannequin and smacking on gum and continue making my way to my job, intent on not being late. I push through the restaurant door only to hear my boss yell out, “shut the damn door, you’re letting the heat out.”
I hastily make my way to the back, clocking in and tossing my purse in a locker that has no lock. It is better that he is griping about the wind getting in than the fact I’m almost late. It seems to give him a thrill to dock my pay. He has hinted around if I ever needed extra money, he can help me out, but I know all too well help doesn’t come free and I don’t have anything left but my self-respect… and it isn’t for sale.
I quickly adjust my apron and make my way out to the dining hall, placing my pen and pad in my apron as I hurriedly maneuver through booths to start work. A hand reaches out, gently touching my arm.
“May I have some more coffee, please?”
“Certainly, let me go get it for you” I answer.
I quickly make my way over and swoop up a coffee pot weaving in and out of the activity that has already picked up.
I take a moment to speak to the man as I pour his coffee and look into his kind brown eyes—the kind brown eyes of a killer…
Chapter Nine
Miller & Stormy
“No! Jeans and tennis shoes tonight.”
“Do you plan on me having to run?”
“Sit down, Stormy.”
“What, you’re scaring me, why so serious?”
“Doing this kind of work, Stormy, is unpredictable at best, and catastrophic at worst. At any time you have to be willing to put a bullet between somebody’s eyes. You can’t hesitate. If you are too far away to get a clean shot, then aim for the chest, it’s a bigger target. Tonight, you carry this.”
I watch as he hands me what I know to be a .22 Ruger with a disposable silencer. He hands it to me handle first and instructs me to put it in the band of my jeans behind my back. For the first time I feel the adrenaline rush of knowing this could be the first time I kill someone… and it can only mean one thing: the point of no return…
He’s getting bolder, Stormy, and the fact that he is hardly letting the girl out of his sight tells me that he is going to abduct her. It is how he operates. He keeps his distance and right before the abduction he becomes obsessed with them. He starts following them everywhere they go and worries less about them recognizing him. He’s gotten too bold and judging by his M.O. it can only mean one thing: he is going in for the kill soon or, I guess I should say, abduction. It is of utmost importance we kill this guy before he abducts that girl and subjects her to hell on earth. Then there is the issue of the little boy—they will put him in foster care with a shitty family who’s doing it for a check.”
“All foster care families aren’t like that.”
“I don’t give a fuck, I’m not taking a chance.”
The vicious demeanor he is exhibiting makes me wonder just what he has been through. I know he hasn’t been in foster care so what is upsetting him so much? I can tell he isn’t in the mood for chit-chat so I resist the temptation to ask him what happened to make him so adamant about keeping that kid out of the system. I follow behind him keeping my mouth shut. Tonight will be a night I pay close attention to the man who is training me to be a hired killer.
He waits until we get in the car before he begins to speak again.
“Watching me is as important as listening to me, Stormy. Many times we will be in a situation where I can’t verbally tell you what to do. You need to be able to read me. Watch my expressions, my eyes, my hand signals. Pay attention or it could cost you your life.
I shake my head and agree, intently listening to each detail. This isn’t a game, it is a matter of life or death. I am a novice and I don’t know how I’ll react when it comes down to killing someone. I find myself being more concerned about not letting Miller down than about the fact that I am scared. I don’t want to be the reason he goes to jail. He trusts me enough to take me under his wing and he has been here for me when no one else was. I can’t be the reason for his demise—I won’t be the reason for this man’s downfall. I want us to be better as a team than he was on his own. I want him to feel more secure with me than he would with a male partner. I can offer things that a man can’t offer as far as luring men away for the kill. It all comes down to one thing: can I kill when it’s time to?
Part of me wants this to come to a head tonight, I need to know if I am going to make it as Miller’s partner. I need to know if I am moving on with my life or if I’m going back to being the fearful hermit I was before he came into my life. I cringe at the thought and purpose in my mind that I will put a bullet in a serial killer before I will ever go back to that drab existence. I need to get to that place that will offer me a new future, to the point of no return…
Melanie
I look outside at the pelts of rain and inwardly kick myself for not bringing an umbrella—more like not buying one. The last time I had been faced with the decision at a thrift store, shoes for Tommy won out.
I look up from my locker and view the early morning biscuit maker of the day; she comes in at 3:30 am.
“I’d give you a ride if our ass wipe of a boss would let me, but he is already bitching about me getting clocked in.”
“It’s fine. I’ll jog.”
“Be careful, Melanie. I worry about you.”
“I’m a big girl, I answer, scurrying past the employee and making my way to the door and out into the drizzling cold rain. It is great that somebody cares enough to be worried, but I can do without the pity. I hate the way the look on her face had said, I feel sorry for you. I don’t need or want anyone’s pity. I can make my own way. What I need is a better job, better housing, and a better life for my son who didn’t ask to be in this shitty existence.
I trot through the parking lot and the eighteen wheelers, once again eager to make my way home. My mind isn’t on anything but getting home to my son. The rain that started out as a drizzle is now becoming a downpour as I enter the open field. My cheap black Crocs only serve to slip and slide on my feet. They sure aren’t providing the traction promised in the advertising I noted when I purchased them. Right when things can’t get any worse, I trip out of them and fall face first in the mud.
Rather than getting up, I find myself in a heap crying in the pouring rain. I feel like I just can’t take anymore, like I am going
to have a mental breakdown if life throws any more shit in my direction.
“Hey, are you ok?”
“I’m fine,” I answer, looking up into the kind brown eyes of the customer I waited on earlier.
“Come on, this is ridiculous, you need a ride home,” he states, offering a hand to pull me up out of the mud.
“No, I’m fine. I really don’t want to soil your car.” Once again, I break down in tears as I note the mud caked uniform I now don due to the fall.
“Nonsense, I’m giving you a ride home.”
I never see the chloroform soaked rag as it is pressed over my mouth and nose. If I wasn’t unconscious, I would know now it is only a matter of him getting me into the cargo van he has parked at the edge of the field. I would know the adrenaline coursing through his body is giving him the strength to drag me, because his small frame doesn’t possess it. I would feel him grab a handful of my hair, allowing me to crumble back down into the puddle, and drag my body towards the van that awaits him.
Yes, if I was conscious I would hear him cussing me out as if he hates me.
“Fucking cunt!” He cusses as he struggles with my body, dragging it over broken glass and debris. If I was conscious, I would know he is reaping the bad karma of his actions when he slips, falling down to his knees in the mud. I would feel him begin violently shaking me by my arms that he has clenched in his fingers, and though I’m not conscious he unloads the full barrage of verbal abuse he is feeling due to his hatred of women. “You stupid fucking whore you’ll pay for this when I get you back to where I’m taking you—oh you’ll pay—before it’s over with, you’ll pay with your life.”
Yes…if I was conscious I would know this is the last night of my life. Maybe it’s better I don’t know…
Miller & Stormy
Everything in me wants to beg Miller to give this poor girl a ride. Even though there has been no sign of her stalker, I know not to ask him because it will only enable her to identify us later on when we do have to rescue her.
As soon as we pull up on the side street that opens to the field she has entered, I know something is wrong. She hasn’t exited the field, but the van parked in the field entrance is a dead giveaway of her demise.
“He’s got her,” I yell, as I tumble from the car giving Miller no time to even stop. I walk as fast as I can, edging close to the buildings and standing under an awning to peer around the corner and see the meek, mild-mannered man I previously witnessed in the park. This time he is anything but mild-mannered as he crashes his victim’s head into the dirt over and over, indulging in a full-blown verbal tirade.
He is going to kill her if I don’t do something. Mud and water squishes in the running shoes I wear as I ease around the corner and he never sees me coming up behind him. With no second thought, I place the Ruger at the base of his brain stem and pull the trigger. His lifeless body slumps down into a mud puddle right as Miller comes on scene and grabs the girl, tossing her over his shoulder, but not before his gloved hand plants a Ziploc baggy with individual smaller baggies of coke into the killer’s pocket.
As quickly as we appeared, we disappear tossing the unconscious body of the woman we have rescued into the black SUV we’re driving.
“Listen to me, get that bandana and that baseball cap out of the backseat, tuck your hair in, and tie that bandana around your face.”
The woman in the back begins to stir.
“Get her out and walk her to her apartment door like she’s drunk, knock on the door and leave her and then get your ass back out here as quickly as you can.”
My eyes watch him as he speaks and I can only manage shaking my head yes in agreement as we pull up to her entrance and he pops the latch on the back opening.
I half drag her out and stand her up, leaning her against me, and quickly make my way into the hallway entrance. I do exactly what my partner in crime has instructed me to do: I knock on the door and as soon as I hear footsteps, I gently drop her to the floor, turn, and quickly make my way out to the SUV. We speed off and make our way out of the neighborhood having completed our first successful kill together.
Miller & Stormy
The ride is spent in awkward silence. When we do reach our destination, it isn’t home—it is a warehouse in a very secluded location.
“Get those clothes off,” Miller commands as soon as we enter and he slides a large bolt through the metal hasp on the large metal door.
It is evident he isn’t in the mood for a mouthy attitude so I peel out of my shoes and clothing until I stand nude before him. I watch as he does the same thing and makes his way over to an incinerator and tosses them into a fire hot enough to destroy evidence.
The slap across my face comes so sudden and hard that my head swings around. I crumble to the floor confused. His rough hands flip me over on all fours and I cry out when my knees scrape against concrete flooring from the force of him shoving his rock hard cock into me.
I am wet—how can I be wet? We just killed a man.
“You ever jump out of the car again without my instructions and I’ll make that slap look like a tap. I fucking own your ass now. You crossed a line tonight and the way I see it, I fucking own your ass until the day you die. Tears from the pain of my knees being cut open by concrete, the humiliation, and the sting of the slap still throbbing on my cheek pour down my face as his threats ensue and I become wetter and more turned on. What the fuck is wrong with me? I have just blown the back of a man’s head off and here I am letting Miller fuck me like a rabid animal. He is violently taking me with a fury I have never experienced before with him. I have no way of knowing he is marking me—purposely subjecting me to a violent sexual rage.
Cries of ‘please don’t hurt me’ spill from my mouth as I look for something, anything to grab onto. There is nothing, so I grab onto his arm, the arm that is connected to the fingers he has locked onto my ass. It feels like he is crashing into my cervix and it hurts better than anything I have ever felt before. Waves of orgasm roll through me, one after another until it becomes one continual tsunami of pleasure. He is taking me and I like it. He is hurting me and it feels good. He is degrading me and I am enjoying it. Yes…I am becoming more and more like Miller with each passing day…
Chapter Ten
Stormy
I’m sitting at my computer the next morning using the time Miller is gone to write. I am glad he isn’t here but not because of anger towards him—I’m not mad. I just want time to sort out why committing cold-blooded murder last night isn’t bothering me. Oddly enough, neither am I angry about being smacked in the face and fucked until my knees were bloody. It’s official, I am a sick pup who loves the way my killing partner treats me—so the best thing I can do is own it.
I’m more concerned why killing a man in cold-blood isn’t weighing on my conscious right now. Maybe the fact he had the intention of not only killing an innocent woman, but also subjecting her to months of physical and psychological torture, helped me to make the decision to separate his brain stem with a bullet.
I purposely call to remembrance the rush of seeing his brain matter splatter like a watermelon dropped from a six story building. I enjoyed it—all of it. The hunt, the capture, and the takedown—especially the take-down. I don’t think I’m a cold-blooded killer, but I do think that there could be a trace of vigilante in my psyche. Throw a woman or a child in the mix and I’m ready to fight for them, even kill for them. The woman I protected last night has nobody to help her. I’m honored to have assisted her in her time of need and I would do it again if faced with the decision. I only wish I could have seen the surprise on his face when I shot him; the bastard never saw me coming.
Pretty stealthy for a first timer.
I look up to see Miller entering with coffee. He is holding his sunglasses between his teeth and kicks the door shut with his foot before making his way over with the tray of goodies. He has set the door up to automatically lock when shut. It is only one of his security contraptions tha
t he spent time and money on to ensure our safety.
I rub my hands together in anticipation of coffee and danishes.
“Smells good, and I need coffee.”
He sets the tray on the desk and bends down whispering in my ear, “If you ever fucking jump out of a moving car again, you’ll be looking at a lot worse discipline than a smack in the face.”
“Are you going to tell me that you didn’t enjoy doing it? Your cock felt like steel last night when you were fucking me.”
His whisper is hoarse when he answers, “Are you going to tell me you didn’t enjoy it?”
“Yes Miller, I have come to terms with the fact that I am just as kinky as you are.”
“Good, we’re in agreement. Now who is that on your chat line? Do you have a boyfriend I don’t know about? That will get you killed! I don’t play well with others. I hope you have sense enough to take me seriously. I own you…till death do us part.”
“I don’t have a boyfriend, it’s probably somebody wanting to know why I don’t blog anymore. Let’s go look.” I click on the chat box and nothing could have prepared me for what I see: the picture of a black rose.
“Son. Of. A. Bitch. A black rose… huh…”
“That’s all you have to say, Miller?”
“Scoot over,” he says, pulling a chair up.
“What do you want with my woman, brother?” He types in the chat box.
“Don’t you mean brother in arms?” An answer replies.
“Don’t fuck with me, why are you messaging my woman?”
“Oh calm down, Miller, she’s not my type—though I do have to say I am impressed with her skills, jumping out of that car like a stunt woman and shooting that mark in the back of the head like she was a pro. I am truly impressed.”
“What do you want, black rose?”
The Contract Page 6