Page 8 of Always Salty

I was a doormat.

Everyone knew it, but Dr. McCinnish definitely knew it.

I hated him with every fiber of my being, and if the man happened to die one night, I wouldn’t care at all.

Apparently “spite” is not a correct answer when asked what motivates you.

—Dima to Nastya

DIMA

I watched her walk past me, and felt my entire body go tight like a bowstring.

She was magnificent.

I didn’t think that scrubs could be attractive, but I was proven wrong in that moment.

The tiny little thing that was all of five foot nothing was so goddamn attractive that I popped a semi in the middle of a mission.

Her curly brown hair was bouncing with each of her steps, and even though I couldn’t see the color of her eyes, I somehow knew they’d be green.

But what really topped off the entire package was the hunting knife in her left hand.

She held it in a backward grip, knife swinging behind her as she walked.

I inhaled my cigarette and cursed myself for forgetting what I was here to do—kill a man.

Shasha had given me the man’s name and address a month ago to take care of, and I’d spent that time researching.

I didn’t kill indiscriminately, even for my brother.

Not anymore, anyway.

Once upon a time, before the US government decided to use me as their rabid dog, I’d have given my brother the same trust he gave me. I’d have been his to point and aim.

Now, I was my own man, and I did things based on how I felt.

So I took my time learning everything I could about Dr. Cordell McCinnish, and what I found out, I didn’t like.

According to Shasha, McCinnish had decided to start supporting a certain bill that was set to go up to vote in Congress next year. The bill would “crack down” on organized crime and give the authorities certain rights to do things, whether they were highly illegal and invasive or not, if the ‘criminal’ was suspected of organized crime.

McCinnish had become quite vocal about it and had gone through multiple avenues to ensure that this bill would pass. Using his voice as a prominent doctor in the community to do it.

Upon investigating him, Shasha had discovered that McCinnish wasn’t clean himself. Where he’d spouted his disgust with organized crime from every rooftop party he could get into, he was assaulting his patients in their sleep after shooting them up with sleeping drugs to ensure that they didn’t wake up.

Over the past week, I’d stopped McCinnish from doing just that twice. Both times during the two nurses on shift’s lunch breaks.

The first time I’d stopped him, I’d given him a little warning on his car as I’d left to keep him in line.

The second time I’d caught him, I’d called the alarm company and told them that I was about to break into the building next door.

Cops had come screaming into the area lights and sirens, and McCinnish had hauled ass away from his patient like he’d never been there.

But it was enough information for me.

I’d seen enough.

Which was why I was here today.

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