Page 57 of The Butcher

“Can’t do that.” I glance at the omega, who’s now being used as a human shield by Alan, and that really pisses me off. “But I don’t need to kill you.” Which is a bold face lie.

Well, I don’t need to, but I want to.

“Drop it.” The suit says as he tries to keep his balance. “I’m warning you.”

Movement catches out of the corner of my eye and I turn in time to see Alan try to unlock his phone, most likely to call for help, and that won’t do.

Keeping the gun pointed at the goon, I move for the switchblade, open it as fast as I can then throw it at the slimeball, the blade finding it’s new home in the back of his left hand.

“You’ll pay for that!” He cries as he cradles his wrist, holding it against his chest while his blood stains the white of his shirt. “You won’t get one dime for this, and you’ll be the one to pay!”

I keep advancing, a grin on my face behind the skeletal jaw, and when I’m as close as I can get without having my picture taken, I motion for the goon to join the other two. “I don’t want your fucking money.”

Alan steps more squarely behind the omega and yells over his shoulder, “Then what? You want an omega? Is that it?”

My chest goes tight as Indy flashes through my mind, the image of her wrapped in a tarp, frozen and left for dead. I growl as I picture the marks on her body, the wounds someone like this asshole inflicted without a second thought, and how hard it was for her to heal from them. I imagine something like that happening to her again, Indy ending up on this fucking ranch because of me, all because I refuse to act on what I know to be true, and I lose it.

Without a second thought, I whip my gun toward Alan, squeezing off two rounds before I hear three more. I don’t feel them enter my body but the way it jerks tells me they did, and I quickly change hands and empty my clip into the goon as I go down to the pavement under my feet.

I watch him fall to the ground through a red haze, guilt, and fury blinding me to the pain, giving me tunnel vision as I make sure the fucker is dead and when I can tell he is, I drop my head back and take a few seconds to breathe.

Right before I hear movement to my left.

“Shit,” I groan as I roll to my side and push myself up. “Hang on.”

I crawl on all fours toward the omega, who is trapped underneath a very dead Alan Harden.

“Calm down,” I grunt, tossing the empty gun before grabbing the corpse and tugging it toward me.

The kid—now that I’m close I can see that he’s a lot younger than I originally thought—is panicking; his chest is heaving, his eyes are wide, and I can tell he’s seconds away from screaming his head off. Which makes sense, considering the force of the hollow points spun them or some shit, and he now has a good majority of Alan’s skull and brain matter on the side of his face and front of his coat.

“Get him off me,” he whispers before his voice starts to crescendo. “Get him off me, get him off, please, get?—“

“What’s your name?”

He stops and blinks tear filled eyes at me. “Wh-what?”

“Your name, kid. What is it?” I scoot closer to get a better grip on Alan since it appears I can no longer use my right arm. “Or don’t you have one?”

“Arrow,” he whispers.

“Arrow?” He nods as I grunt, “Ok, Arrow, I’m gonna need you to push when I pull, got it?” Alan Harden weighs damn near as much if not more than I do, and all the extra pounds had nowhere to go but his gut since he’s maybe a foot shorter than I am.

I might be strong, but I have one good arm, I’m pretty sure I was also shot in the leg, and I’m most likely going into shock soon. Getting that asswipe off this kid is going to be a two man job right now.

“On three, ok?”

Arrow looks down at his chest, Alan’s face pressed against it while the gaping hole in the back of his skull faces up at him. “I-I can’t. I can’t do this, I?—“

“Hey,” I bark before using a softer tone. “You can, and you will. We’ll get this shitbag off of you, then I’m going to clean up before I get you the hell out of here.”

He blinks at me a few times before he nods, bracing himself the best he can against the side of the car, and on three, we manage to roll the fucker far enough for him to slip free.

After a little more coaxing and a lot of reassurance, Arrow helps me to my feet and starts walking us away from the garage, but I stop him.

“I need to clean up.”

“What?” He looks around as I stand on my own. “How… how are you going to clean up?”

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