Page 153 of Dark Romeo

“Turn. The fuck. Around.”

Eddie kept whimpering, blubbering as he shuffled around as if his shoelaces were tied together. He was trying to tug on my heartstrings—as if there was something for him to pull on—moaning about being the only support for his wife, for his daughters.

After Merc left the warehouse with Julianna, I’d pulled a favor and got a background check on good ol’ Eddie Sanchez before I’d untied him. There had been several complaints from neighbors about late night rows from their house. His kids and wife all had files at the local ER from their various “accidents”.

Wife beater.

Child abuser.

Even if he hadn’t tried to rape Julianna tonight, the fucker deserved to die.

I’d pulled another favor—I hated to admit it but sometimes having the surname Tyrell helped. I had a million dollar life insurance policy taken out on Eddie Sanchez, backdated to two years ago so it didn’t look fishy. Guess who the sole beneficiary was on the policy? His wife.

So yes, Eddie, you will be a real fucking support to your wife and kids. When you’re good and dead.

“Pull your zipper down,” I said, the barrel of my gun pressed to the back of his skull.

Eddie froze, his shoulders hunched up around his ears. “W-What?”

“You heard me.”

“M-Man, I ain’t gay. I ain’t?—”

“Do it before I give you a second asshole.”

His zipper cut over the low hum of the car engine, still on.

“Now pull your dick out.”

He let out a pained whimper over the rustle of his jeans.

I shifted my fingers on the grip and tried to block out his sobbing. I wondered if his daughters would mourn him. Or would they sag with relief when they heard he’d died, knowing that their beatings would stop. Knowing what I did, they would probably do both and it would tear their tiny insides apart. Bastard as Eddie was, he was still their father. I was about to take him away from them.

I forced my finger onto the trigger. To my surprise, a trickle of sweat beaded on my forehead.

Come on, Roman. It’s not like this is your first kill.

But Vinnie had been forced on me, my father’s gun at my back. The second attacker, Tate Jackson, whose neck I’d broken earlier, had been an accident. I hadn’t meant to kill him. I was just so fucking furious when I saw his hands on Julianna, when I heard the tearing of her clothes, when I knew, knew, what he wanted to do to her.

“You promised me you’d get me to safety,” Eddie garbled. “You promised.”

Do it, Roman. Do it to make sure this scumbag never reveals what he saw tonight—the heir of the Tyrell Mafia empire saving the life of a cop.

Do it to protect her.

“I lied.” I pulled the trigger.

The bullet rang out like a bang, echoing out into the night. Eddie dropped forward like a sack, his dick hanging out of his pants like the poor unlucky fucker just stopped for a piss.

For a second I just stood there, my gun still pointed at where Eddie’s head once was, whips of smoke reaching for the heavens from the end of my barrel.

No weapon, no evidence, no witnesses, a voice echoed in my head, spurring me to action.

There were no witnesses to worry about.

I would take the gun with me, throw it into the river on my way as I drove back to Verona.

As for any evidence I might leave behind… I strode to the seat behind the driver’s side where I had stashed the two cans I’d bought in the gas station earlier. Eddie hadn’t even noticed I’d returned with them, to his detriment. I grabbed the one marked “bleach”. Good old household cleaner. Will remove all scum, stains and DNA evidence.

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