Page 45 of A Fine Line

While having women in positions of power is rare, it’s not unheard of, and it didn’t take much for Matt to come up with a decent background story and cover for them. And lord knows, they’re insufferable enough to pull it off.

I left everyone to their own devices and went on with my merry business in a very particular order. I learned long ago that the best way to get away with something is to begin the farthest distance from the heart of the problem as you can and work your way back.

This is how I ended up with a crybaby as my first mark, out in the middle of fucking nowhere, which was annoying and not at all fun. I tend to take these types out more quickly because the crying gets under my skin, and historically, the crybabies don’t know anything, anyway.

My second mark was a blowhard. Those types are the most fun because no matter what you do to them, they continue to talk shit. And while they’re talking shit, they’re actually giving you information without even knowing about it.

My third mark had a wife who was all too happy to let me in. By then, I didn’t really give a fuck who knew I was coming, so once I got done with her piece of shit husband, I didn’t bother killing her. She actually thanked me on my way out, which was a little peculiar, but given his reputation, not at all surprising.

Now, here I am at stop number four, leaning against the door jam in the bedroom, watching this fucking asshole humping a woman who’s doing her best dead fish impression. And from listening to them, I get the impression that’s what he’s going for, and the idea makes my skin crawl.

This one is a two-for-one deal because both their names are on that list, and at this point, it seems likely they’ll know where Carolina might be. I’m greatly looking forward to our conversation.

I wait for him to finish up, relieved that he didn’t bother undressing, and he has his already flaccid dick put away before he turns to face me. He freezes in place, his eyes glancing toward the bedside table, so I say, “Don’t bother.”

His jaw clenches, then he gives me an obstinate look and spits out, “You’re unarmed and outnumbered.”

I give him a half-smile and lift my shoulder nonchalantly. “Go ahead,” I say flatly. “Try me.”

The woman is still lying face down across the side of the bed, unmoving, but I see from the rise and fall of her back that she’s breathing. “Get her up, get her dressed, and then restrain her.”

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Doesn’t really fucking matter.”

The woman on the bed stirs, pushing herself up with her hands pressed against the mattress then turning to face me as she says, “An American.”

“How perceptive of you,” I respond sarcastically. “Cover yourself.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

“I’ll cut off your tits before I kill you. Your choice.”

She frowns, obviously thinking over my words for a moment before taking a step toward the dresser. I raise a hand up to stop her. “Nope. You’ve got clothes on the floor. Use them.”

She gives me a dirty look, but does as I say, and soon, she’s standing there fully clothed. I toss some zip ties onto the floor at the man’s feet. “Get her face down on the floor, wrists and ankles, then secure them together.”

I’ve heard stories about these two, and it’s already obvious that the woman is far more of a problem than the man. I don’t see this very often, but in the rare cases that I do, you have to either restrain her first or kill her outright because the last thing you want is to have her at your back.

He completes the tasks to my specifications, then opens his mouth as if he’s going to say something to me, but I interrupt, “You, stand over there in that fucking corner and don’t move.”

Once again, he does as I ask, and then I walk into the room and double-check to make sure the woman is restrained properly. She doesn’t seem to be in any kind of distress, which isn’t surprising, given what I know about her.

I point to the chair in the corner and say, “Have a seat.”

He sits gingerly as I walk over to him and remains calm as I zip tie him to the chair. But then he spits out, “I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but you’re gonna be a dead man.”

I laugh as I reply, “That’s where you’re wrong, my man. You’re gonna tell me what I wanna know, and then I’m gonna kill you.”

“I won’t tell you shit,” the man says belligerently. “You may as well kill me and get it over with.”

I roll my eyes, already mentally exhausted, and we haven’t even gotten started. “You already know how this is gonna go. Either you tell me easy, or you tell me hard. But either way, you’re gonna fucking tell me.”

“Who are you?” the woman asks from her position on the floor. “What do you want? What did we do to you?”

“Here’s the thing,” I say calmly, walking over and standing over her. “Sometimes, when you do wrong to one person, you’re actually doing wrong to someone else. And this is one of those situations.”

“You’re gonna have to be more specific,” she replies.

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