Page 152 of Dark Romeo

“Yes?”

Her lashes lifted, her eyes locked on mine, confusion swirling around in them. “It wasn’t his signature.”

ROMAN

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I pulled over into the gas station, the single sign of life along this lonely stretch of road leading out of Verona. I snatched the cap off Eddie’s head, ignoring his cry of annoyance.

Trust the fucker not to have the gas tank of his getaway car full. Idiot.

“Wait here,” I commanded.

Eddie Sanchez, sitting in the passenger seat of his own car, nodded. His nose was already swelling. His left eye was bulging like the end of a rotten eggplant.

After I untied him at the warehouse, we took my car to his car, still sitting several blocks from where he had attacked Julianna. We swapped cars under the cover of night.

It was a risky move on my part, pulling over for gas, but I couldn’t risk getting stuck out here.

It was past one a.m. We were the only customers at the station. I filled the black late model Ford with gas, keeping my head low. I could see one of the tires was softer than it should have been. I tsked my tongue against my teeth. Eddie didn’t treat anything with respect, this much was clear.

I was in and out in less than five minutes, picking up something I needed from the shelves before I paid cash, pulling the cap on my head down so that the rim covered most of my face from the camera positioned high over the cashier. It must have been my lucky night that the young pimple-faced cashier paid more attention to his tiny TV, blaring some cop show on his counter, than to me.

I got back in the car and pulled back onto the road. The farther we got from Verona, the more Eddie seemed to relax. It didn’t take long for him to start talking like we were buddies.

“Are you banging her? The hot cop, I mean?”

It took all my willpower not to shove my fist in his mouth. “I’m not banging her, as you so eloquently put it,” I said through gritted teeth.

“She’s so fucking hot. Shit. I can see why you helped her. Like, maybe she’ll suck your dick to say thanks.”

How much longer did I have to listen to this fucking degenerate? I said nothing, hoping he’d get the hint and shut the fuck up.

But Eddie, the dickwad, was obviously not the sharpest tool in the shed. He was just a tool. He kept talking, kept making it easier for me to do what I needed to do.

“The ones who start out saying no, like they’re pretending to be good girls or some shit, they’re the ones who usually want it the most.”

Just keep talking, fuck stain. Keep making it easier for me.

I eyed the passing landscape, dark and soulless. We hadn’t passed another car for miles. The road looming long and straight ahead showed no oncoming traffic. There were no street lights to light up the bleak darkness, no houses around, just a long stretch of farmland on a single lane road. Good enough.

I slammed on the brakes. Eddie went flying forward, smashing himself against the dashboard. Fucker should have listened when I told him to put on his seatbelt.

“Jesus fuck man,” he moaned around a flood of blood coursing out of his already broken nose, “why the hell did you do?—”

I held the gun to the side of his head, shutting him up with a gasp. I cocked the gun. It made a lovely cracking sound. “Get out,” I said, my voice a hard, mean growl.

“Aw shit, man. I didn’t mean any of that shit I just said. I just talk?—”

“Get. Out. Now.”

“Okay. Okay.” Eddie tumbled out of the car, his hands up in the air. I slid out of my car door, my gun still pointed at him in case he tried to run. Go on, run. Just try, I taunted silently.

The idiot was still rambling as he stood on the side of the gravel road when I strode up to him. “Turn around.”

I saw, in the glow of the internal car light, the second that Eddie realized that I wasn’t just kicking him out of the car.

“Fuck, man. Don’t do it. I won’t say shit, man. I swear.”

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