Page 2 of Bleeding Blackheart

The useless scrap of fabric gets carried away by the current as quickly as it fell in, and then I’m left in the stream, naked. I squeeze out my damp hair that has fresh blood in it from my open wound, thinking my day can’t possibly get any worse when I hear gunshots.

Close gunshots.

Someone’s near, and they’re after me.

2

Blackheart

Ipocket my revolver after firing it three times and wipe my bloody hands on my faded denim shirt.

Only one more to go.

Fridays are usually reserved for working on my ranch, but I picked up two jobs last minute because the money was good and I love to kill. Being a part-time hitman wasn’t what I planned to do when I grew up, but this path found me, and I headed down it with my head held high. Killing people fits in seamlessly with my lifestyle. I don’t have neighbors, so no one sees me bringing people back to my house to torture or loading my truck with guns. And while business is good, it could be better, and my side gig helps me keep the lights on. There’s not a single thing I’d change.

Now to get rid of the body.

I don’t know why I was paid to kill this old bastard, but I don’t care. I don’t ask. Knowing why my clients wantsomeone killed isn’t a part of my job. It’s not what I get paid for. I’m not a fucking therapist.

But killing my victims by the requester’s due date is not up for negotiation, and for some reason, someone wanted this poor grandpa dead before eight a.m. on a Friday morning.

Like me, this guy lives in the middle of nowhere. I don’t know if he has family. That’s not a concern of mine. All I know is that I have one more person to kill before the weekend’s up, and I want to get a head start, so I don’t have time to give this guy a special burial.

Leaning down, I tuck my hands under his shoulders, dragging his limp, large body behind his house. I can just leave him here for the buzzards and get on with my day.

After leaving him out back, I run in his house for a moment to clean my hands. I just got my truck detailed, and there’s no way I’m getting blood all over it. I take a look at myself in his bathroom mirror at my worn face. I’m thirty-eight, but right now I look forty-five. My dark brown hair that sticks out the sides of my hat could use a trim just like my overgrown beard. Noting both things as tasks I can take care of later, I leave the lived-in home and head out to my rusty blue Chevrolet.

I have a list of clients I typically work with, but every now and then, I get a new one.

My newest client is a man named Mason Barnes. I don’t know much about him, but I’ve heard his name whispered here and there before. Apparently he’s someone you want to keep on your good side. Actually, he’s someone you probably want to stay away from.

But he’s loaded and lives on a big ranch in Jackson. And he’s hired me to kill his daughter.

Mason called me around seven a.m. saying that his daughter had run off from some shed in the woods, and that he estimated she’d been gone for about two hours. He gave me the coordinates to the shed, and I’m headed out that way now. If she’s been running for two hours, she can’t have gotten too far. And although Mason is out of town and can’t look for her himself, I’m significantly closer and can locate her in no time.

After driving down the highway for twenty minutes, I turn off to a back road that should put me close to my victim. I don’t know anything about her other than her physical description and her name. I asked for a photo of her, but Mason declined, saying that if I’m as good as I claim to be, I can find her based on his description alone. There aren’t many women that look like her around here, so I’m confident that the one I find will be the correct oneto kill.

Fifty thousand dollars. That’s how much I’m going to get when I kill Montana Elizabeth Barnes. Five-foot-four, one hundred and sixty pounds, with brown skin, hazel eyes, and long, wavy brown hair. I can’t wait to find her and put her in the ground.

My average profit is around seven thousand per person. Fifty grand is unheard of for me. That money is life changing. That’s enough money for me to get the fuck out of here and leave everything behind. I can have a fresh start by morning. And after the life I’ve lived, a fresh start sounds nice.

I get to a point where I can’t take my truck any further. Getting out, I grab my phone and shotgun, and I close my door stealthily while I walk into the brush. The only other thing Mr. Barnes mentioned is that his daughter would be in search of food and water, and that she’s probably headed to the nearest town.

The nearest town is an hour and a half away by car, so she’s going to be searching for food and water in these woods.

I still, trying to listen out for an animal or the sound of water. If I can find water, I can find the girl. As long as she hasn’t gotten herself killed before I get to her.

And I need to kill her. Mr. Barnes made it very clear that if I don’t kill his daughter, I won’t see my money. And no one gets in the way of my money.

I walk steadily and stealthily deeper into the trees with my gun in hand ready to shoot. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a moose, and I hear water in the distance.

The moose looks up at me, and I don’t know what, but something about me pisses him off because he starts to charge straight at me.

I point my weapon at the animal and fire into him three times as he collapses with the third shot.

Shit. If Montana’s near, I’ve surely just scared her off. I head toward the sound of the water quickly, hoping I haven’t missed my chance. Even if she did run off, I’m not leaving here until I find her. Then when I find her, I’ll kill her and deliver her lifeless body to her father per his request.

I almost slip in the slick mud when I increase my speed. It must’ve rained out here yesterday as parts of this place look like a swamp.

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