Page 31 of Making Choices

Seems we’re headed in the same direction.

Venom can take the pliers to his target’s teeth first because I’ve got my own prey to disarm.

Literally.

As soon as we’re out of the elevator, I use my second phone—a burner that gets discarded weekly—to text Cub.

SLASH: Cut the CCTV to the hospital carpark. Basement level. Now.

My tech officer responds a moment later to tell me it’s done. The bounce in my stride takes on an obnoxious quality as I bound after the arsehole doctor. For a minute or so, he seems oblivious to my chase, and I’m almost affronted by how easy this is going to be, until he stops next to a Jaguar and whirls around to face me.

There’s a well-maintained Glock in his hand. It’s pointed at my gut as he enquires in a laconic tone, “Is there something I can do for you, peasant?”

“Yeah,” I tell him. “Although it’s more for Bebe than it is for me. The enjoyment I’m going to get from it is purely coincidental.”

He’s holding the gun, yet I gain the upper hand when confusion flares in his eyes and the muzzle droops toward the concrete floor. With serpent-like precision, I surge forward and snatch the weapon out of his hand before he can blink.

“What the—”

Poor Jack doesn’t get to finish his question because I shove him backward into his expensive set of wheels. My fingers dig into the back of his neck as I drag him to the bonnet and pull his right arm straight so half of it’s draped over the front of the car. I had planned on stomping him, but the gun he pointed at me gives me a better idea.

“This is gonna hurt,” I warn him a second before I bring the steel barrel down hard on his ulna. He bellows as the bone breaks and drops to his knees. “And one more for good luck.”

The second strike, another crunching blow, makes him pass out.

“Fuckin’ hell,” I grumble beneath my breath as I let him drop to the concrete. “Listenin’ to ’em cry is half the fun.”

With my steel capped boots, I make quick work of breaking each finger on his right hand. He startles every now and then, and a pained wail erupts from his trembling lips. Determined to fulfil my promise to Bebe, I drag him into a sitting position and lean his back against the Jag. A couple of slaps to the face rouse him long enough for me to pass on her message.

“That was from Dr. Du Bois. She hopes you enjoy your time off work.”

“That little fucking bi—”

Rather than allow him to finish his insult, I drop the Glock in his lap, take hold of his broken arm and wrench it until I feel his shoulder pop. “I hope your attitude toward women improves… ’cause we might meet again if it doesn’t.”

“You’ll pay for this.”

“Nah, your money is no good to me,” I tell him with a one-shouldered shrug. “Plus, she’s already paid me.”

Without waiting to hear whatever new pathetic threat he’s no doubt formulating, I pat his cheek, then all but skip my way back to my Harley. The engine kicks over, thumping and growling as I roar out of the underground parking lot with a shit-eating grin on my face. One thing beats the adrenaline rush of a good beat down, and that’s fucking. Since my dick isn’t on board with the first, I’ll settle for a couple doses of the second to get my kicks.

A little more than an hour later, I arrive at the hobby farm Venom used to share with his father before he bought the house he and Cherub currently live in. The gravel drive is slippery under my back wheel so I take it easy as I approach the barn.

In the low hanging evening sun, the shed that houses the supplies for one of the pig farms Hades runs on behalf of the Shamrocks—the same farm we use to dispose of bodies and other evidence—gleams with evil intentions. It’s a beacon to my depravity. A shining light that illuminates my need for blood. In the past three years or so, the Shamrocks have enjoyed a lull in competition so I haven’t had as many opportunities as I’d have liked to get out my tools and really make our enemies cry.

Although I hate the circumstances that have led to an uptick in requests for my particular skills, I can’t say I’m not enjoying the faster pace. The skerrick of guilt that makes the back of my neck prick with awareness is easily shoved down, and I do my best to push all thoughts of Cherub and the ordeal she’s been through out of my head, as I kick down my stand and pull off my helmet. After refastening my hair on the top of my head, I grin at Venom when he emerges from the side door of the barn-sized shed wiping his hands on a bloody rag.

“See you started without me.”

He smirks. “You took too long.”

“I had business to attend to first.”

“At the hospital?”

“Yeah. The deal with the little doctor had to be fulfilled.” Rubbing my hands together, I match his maniacal grin with one of my own. “Consider my appetite whet. Hope you left somethin’ for me to carve into.”

“He’s a beefy fuck, so there’s plenty to go around.”

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