by Monica James
“Give me their names, and I won’t be forced to.” I point the knife in his direction, indicating the choice is his.
“I can’t.” He begins to cry. The sight unnerves me.
“Can’t is going to determine the fate of your kids.” I go to stand, giving Kong credit as he tries to kick me. “All I want is their names. I will take care of the rest.”
“Man, please. I was good to you,” he has the audacity to say.
Laughing sinisterly, I begin to pace in front of him. “Good to me? I was of use to you. That’s all this was. A business transaction on both ends.”
“No, it wasn’t for me! I thought we were friends.”
“Friends?” I snicker, still pacing. “I don’t want to be your friend. The friends you kept are the reason you’re here, begging for your life. Why did they do it?”
“I don’t know!” he screams. The air begins to blister. A storm is coming. “There is no reason. It just happened! We were bored kids.”
His response is like spitting on Damian’s grave. Storming over, I punch him in the jaw. His head snaps back, connecting with the pole.
“Bored?” I exclaim, kicking him in the stomach. “If you were bored, you could have done a million other things! But instead, you chose to kill someone who didn’t deserve to die!”
Kong is wheezing for air as I’m pretty sure a rib has ruptured his lung. But we’re not done.
“You said to me…”
But Kong doesn’t allow me to finish. He fills in the blanks, sealing his fate for good. “It’s time you became a man,” he pants, repeating the words he said to me fourteen years ago. “That’s what I said. And it looks like you did. Their names are…”
His head lolls to the side. He’s on the cusp of passing out. “No, you don’t!” I grip him around the neck, forcing him to stay awake. “Tell me!”
A gargle spills from his lips. “Benjamin Solomon and…”
“And who?” I scream, tightening my grip around his throat.
“Jaws is…”
He has three fucking seconds to talk before I slit his fucking throat. “Motherfucker! Jaws is who? Give me a name!”
“I can’t, man,” he pants, tears spilling from the corner of his eyes. “Just don’t hurt my family. They’re just kids.” He won’t talk. His loyalty would be admirable, but it’s just sped up his death.
I wanted to be patient and torture him until he spilled, but I can’t do this any longer.
Reaching for my knife, I look him dead in the eye and growl, “So was my brother. And so was I.” And with that, I drive the blade straight through his heart. I have what I came here for.
Our gazes never waver as I watch the life drain from him slowly. I wish with each gurgled breath he takes he could breathe life into Damian, but it doesn’t work that way. Sometimes, things happen. There isn’t a reason for what happened to Damian. He was in the wrong place, at the wrong time, which just makes this so much worse. His death was in vain.
But I have a reason to kill the remaining two players. I know who they are. They’re fucking dead.
It takes Kong about two minutes before he takes his final breath. With each second, I breathe with him, growing stronger as his weakness feeds my strength. One may feel remorse, but I don’t. My only regret is I couldn’t inflict more pain.
Once he’s still, I yank the blade out from his chest and wipe it across his shirt, leaving a slash of red in its wake. Inhaling, I tip my face to the heavens as a sense of peace washes over me. I felt this way only one time before.
However, when a strangled gasp sounds behind me, my heaven soon becomes hell. Turning to look over my shoulder, I stare into gentle green eyes, shattering my high.
Lily
“B-B-Bull?” My voice is foreign because, at this moment, life as I know it has been shattered beyond repair.
Even though what I’m seeing is clear as day, I don’t, I can’t accept it as truth. There has to be another reason Bull is standing before me with a bloody knife in his hand and a dead man at his feet. But there isn’t. The man is dead because of Bull.
Covering my mouth, I swallow down my vomit. My hysteria can wait. I need to get the fuck out of here. Turning too quickly, I lose my footing and almost fall onto my ass. When I see what I slipped on, a hollowed cry leaves me.
Blood.
“Fuck!” Bull storms forward, but I place a shaky hand out in front of me, begging him to stop.
“Pl-please do-don’t hurt me. I won’t tell a-anyone.”
He halts, overcome by melancholy. “I would never hurt you.” When I don’t reply, he sincerely adds, “You know that, right?”
But I don’t. I don’t know anything at all. “Please let me go.”
“You’re not my prisoner. You’re free to go,” he says, slowly lowering the knife onto the stage and raising his bloody hands in surrender.
The vision will be burned into my memory forever.
I want to ask him why, but does it even matter anymore? He just killed a man…another man. I need to get away from him. For good.
“Tiger, you believe me, don’t you?” He interlaces his hands behind his neck, pleading I believe him. But I can’t.
Spinning around, I run through the club, images of Bull taking me down like a gazelle in the wild, prompting me to run for my life. I shove open the front door and sprint toward my truck. The moment I’m inside, I slam down the lock and wait for Bull to emerge.
He doesn’t.
My hands are shaking so badly that I can’t get the key into the ignition. I take a steadying breath. Once they stop trembling, I start my truck and pull onto the highway. I drive on autopilot, barely blinking, too afraid to relive what I just witnessed.
I went to The Pink Oyster because I wanted to know why Bull was giving me the cold shoulder. When I saw the place was closed for a private function, I let myself in with the key I still had. Now I know why he’s been MIA. He was too busy planning someone’s murder. I don’t know who it was. His chin was downturned. But the trickle of blood seeping from his lifeless lips was a sure sign he was dead.
As I clench the wheel, tears stream down my cheeks because I don’t know what to do. A normal person would go to the police, but even still, after everything I just saw, I can’t do that to him. Something is seriously wrong with me.
I believed him when he said he wouldn’t hurt me. How fucking tragic is that?
Pulling into the parking lot at Blue Bloods, I barely have enough time to put my truck into park because I’m going to be violently ill. Yanking open the door, I dry heave outside, wanting to dispel this feeling within, but I can’t.
The sickness I feel isn’t something I can purge. It will fester inside me for as long as I keep his secret.
The fresh air soothes me somewhat, so I kill the engine and make my way inside. I’m not working tonight, but I can’t go home. I don’t want Jordy to see me like this. I don’t want Jordy to know his mom has… feelings for a murderer.
Keeping my head low, I quickly make a dash for my dressing room. Once inside, I lean against the door and brace my head against it. I need to gather my thoughts.
I just saw a dead person, killed by the man I’ve allowed to touch me over and over again. Reaching into my back pocket with trembling fingers, I grab my cell. There is only one thing to do.
“911, what’s your emergency?” The operator is waiting, waiting for me to finally do the right thing. I need to tell her there is a dead body at The Pink Oyster and his murderer is Bull. I open my mouth, but I suddenly can’t speak.
“I would never hurt you.”
Bull’s words play on a loop, haunting my decision because I just can’t. If I call the police, Franca will have his ass thrown back into prison, where he will remain for the rest of his life. The thought of never seeing him again, never feeling this ever again has me quickly ending the call.
It’s selfish and morally wrong, so wrong, but I would rather deal with this eternal guilt than be the one to rat Bu
ll out. I knew he was dangerous, hell, he even told me he was. But I never really believed it…until now.
Sliding down the door, I crumple into a heap and draw my knees toward me, hugging them to my chest. Although my mind is racing, I know one thing for certain—I can never see Bull again. No matter how badly I want to fight it, I won’t.
My cell chirps endlessly. But I ignore it. I know who it is.
I don’t know how long I sit on the floor, staring into thin air. Each minute, each second all morphs into one colossal clusterfuck, and all I’m left with is my utter stupidity staring me in the face. I think about all the times I allowed him to touch me, how I liked it, and how I wanted more.
Those hands brought me to the pinnacle of pleasure and pain, and even when the line began to blur, it was never enough. His hands brought me back to life, but to someone else…he choked the life right out of them. How can someone be so wicked—in every sense of the word?
Running a hand down my face, I wipe away my tears and decide to freshen up before I go home. Coming to a stand, I make my way into the bathroom and avoid the mirror. I don’t need it to know I look like shit.
Splashing some water on my face, I rinse out my mouth, wishing I could wash away the feel of Bull’s lips on mine. But I can’t. He’s imprinted on every part of me.
Sighing, I reach for the towel, needing to get the fuck out of here. But when the door bursts open, fleeing is no longer an option. I lunge for the only weapon within reach—a small silver nail file. Bull is across the room in three long strides, coming to a stop in the bathroom doorway as I shakily extend the nail file out in front of me.
He peers down at the weapon with a deep frown.
I can’t control the tremble that wracks my body, but I steady my hand. “Get o-out of here. I’ve called the po-police.”
My warning falls on deaf ears. He storms forward, and I instantly back up until my ass hits the wall. I expect him to disarm me, but he doesn’t. He stops inches away and slowly raises both hands in surrender. “Please, please let me explain.”
I’m caught completely off guard because his request holds only sincerity. I should shout out for help because nothing he can say will ever excuse what I saw. But my heart, the traitorous bitch, begs I listen to what he has to say.
He takes my silence as submission. “That man I…killed.” His pause has my lower lip quivering. “He deserved it. He, and three of his friends, changed my life when I was fifteen years old. They are the reason I am the way I am. Or maybe they triggered who I was always going to become.”
The nail file trembles in my hand.
“They took away the only person who really understood me. They killed someone who didn’t deserve to die,” he reveals, lowering his chin as his chest begins to rise and fall dangerously slow. “Fourteen years ago, they ambushed me and my brother. The asshole I killed; he was the muscle. He held me back as I watched his three friends beat, humiliate, and eventually, kill my seventeen-year-old brother by splitting his head open with a fucking rock.”
Tears stick to my lashes. I try to blink them away.
“I went to prison because I found one of them two years later and shot him dead. A perfect fucking bull’s-eye straight through his heart.”
A stunned gasp leaves me; the mystery behind his nickname has been revealed.
“I went to prison for twelve years for killing one of my brother’s murderers. But prison didn’t reform me. I didn’t repent,” he states, slowly lifting his chin to meet my wide eyes. “It just gave me time to plan my revenge. I envisioned all the ways I was going to make those who hurt my brother pay.
“Two down, two to go,” he utters, nodding once. “Before I ended his pathetic life tonight, he told me who the remaining two are. Now, I just have to find them and make sure they receive the same punishment as their other two friends. This is about revenge. It always has been.”
He yanks down the collar of his T-shirt, exposing the inked flesh over his heart, before reaching for my hand. When his hand locks over mine, a surge of fear and excitement swarms me. He draws the nail file to his chest and forces me to dig the point into his flesh.
I try to recoil, but he holds me tightly.
“You can do whatever you want to me, but all I ask is that you let me finish this. When I kill those responsible for hurting Damian, then I will have no reason left to live.”
“Bull, no!” I frantically attempt to pull away, but he continues to coerce my hand until, eventually, a trickle of blood seeps from the wound he forced me to create.
His gaze never leaves mine. “I deserve to die. Tonight, I robbed two kids of their father, and even though I was well aware of the fact, it didn’t change my mind. I have no heart, Tiger,” he says, revealing why he asked the question in my kitchen about Jordy growing up without a dad.
But his question contradicts his claim. If he didn’t have a heart…he wouldn’t care. But he does. He may not realize it, but I do. It’s why I didn’t call the police. It’s why I allow my tears to fall.
“I’m sorry for making you cry,” he says with regret.
But I shake my head, confusing him. “These tears aren’t for me…these tears are for you.”
His lips part, and his grip on me slackens, allowing me to release the nail file, which tumbles to the floor.
“I’m the one who’s sorry. I can’t even imagine what you went through. You were just a kid. You and…Damian”—he squeezes his eyes shut—“both were. I’m not excusing what you did…but I understand.”
God strike me down, but I do. There is no right or wrong in this situation. I don’t condone taking a life, but the circumstances aren’t black and white.
And before me, an amber-blue kiss flickers to life as he opens his eyes. “Understand?” he asks, shaking his head slowly.
With a hesitant touch, I place my hand on his cheek. “Yes. If anyone hurt someone I loved, I would want revenge too. And the way your brother suffered…oh, god, Bull, I’m so sorry you went through that. Who are the other men?”
He hisses, turning his cheek to sever our touch. But I won’t let him escape, not this time. Gripping his chin, I force him to look at me. “Tell me. The thing about secrets is that they’re not secrets if you tell someone. Let me be that someone.”
“Why?” he questions, the desperation heavy in that single word. “Why would you want to get messed up in my shit? After everything I just told—”
But I don’t let him finish. “It’s because of what you told me that I want to know. You’re not a cold-blooded murderer.”
“Then what am I?” he questions, begging me to shed light on this.
“You’re human,” I conclude, using his words back at him.
Bull sees himself as nothing but a monster. He’s not. He is acting on the one emotion that proves he is anything but a villain—love. His love for Damian has driven him to do some awful things. But he has happily sacrificed his life to ensure his brother’s death doesn’t go unpunished.
Do two wrongs make a right? Maybe this is the exception to the rule? I honestly don’t know.
“I hurt everything I touch. I hurt you,” he adds, recoiling from my grip angrily.
“Yes, you did, but you also made me feel good. Not just physically, but emotionally as well. From the first moment we met, you’ve protected me. You didn’t have to. But you did. If that doesn’t prove you’re a good person…then let me show you what I see.”
Bull stands rigid, his fists balled by his sides. Undeterred, I wrap my fingers around his wrist and draw his hand to my chest, placing it over my hammering heart. “Every time you’re near me, I can’t take in enough air fast enough. You leave me breathless with your brutality because you live life unapologetically.” His jaw hardens as he slowly unfurls his fist and lays his hand on my chest over my heart. “You’re here with a purpose. While most are stumbling through life, you know what you want. Yes, it’s not conventional, but it shows your loyalty, your strength to those you love.
/> “You tell me you’re dead inside, but how can you be? You’re doing all of this to ensure your brother is never forgotten. You have sacrificed your life to pay homage to his memory. Those men took something away from you.”
Interlacing our fingers, I lock eyes with him, realizing my feelings for him are deeper than I thought. “I could only wish for that sort of loyalty. That love.”
My cheeks heat because a part of me wishes Bull would show me that sort of dedication.
“Where do we go from here?” he asks, tightening his grip.
Sighing, I pray for my soul for what I’m about to say. “I won’t stop you. You do what you have to.”
His steady breaths reveal he’s weighing over what I just declared. “And you’re okay with having that on your conscience?”
“My conscience was stained long ago,” I reveal, thinking of what I did to Christopher. If I didn’t follow my heart, things would have turned out so differently. At the time, I thought my love was unbreakable, but how naïve I was.
“I need to stay away from you,” Bull confesses, cupping my throat and running his thumb over my racing pulse.
“I know,” I reply, hating how this must end. Just because I won’t stand in the way of his justice doesn’t mean I can stand by and happily watch him hunt down two men—no matter how badly they deserve it.
“I never expected to feel…”
“Feel what?” I whisper, licking my lips.
He inhales, releasing his hand over my heart. “Feel…anything,” he clarifies sincerely, which touches me in ways it shouldn’t. “Thank you.”
“For what?” I question, my skin coming to life as he continues to stroke my neck.
“For seeing something in me that I never will.” And this is our closure. Bull is putting an end to something that could have been something wonderful. But it never will be because of what he has to do.
“Who are the other men?” I press. I don’t know why it matters. It just does. Maybe this is what I need for my own closure.
Bull slides his fingers behind the nape of my neck and draws me toward him. Our lips are inches apart. “Like me, we all go by aliases. Tonight, I killed Kong,” he reveals, while my heart constricts and the world tilts, sending me off balance. “Tomorrow, I kill Scrooge and…” But his words all morph into a spiral of destruction because it can’t be.