Page 9 of Sinner: Before Rain
Joe Gregor, he works with the local authorities. He is trying to make a name for himself. He won’t be around much longer to do so.
Street lamps line the residential area. Looking down at my watch, it’s nearly midnight.
Where is this motherfucker?
Just as I look up, bright headlights reflect in my rearview mirror and turn into his driveway.
Go time.
Getting out of my car, I close the door quietly behind me. Not to raise suspicion, I walk casually towards his home where his car has just now parked. Reaching his driveway before he gets out, I walk up it and lean against his trunk. The door opens quickly. “Hey, who are you?” There is good ol’ Joe.
The car moves behind me as he gets out and slams the door. I hear his shoes against the cement as he walks up to me.
Grabbing my shoulder, he pulls me to face him.
Which is the first of many mistakes he makes tonight.
Slowly raising my head, my eyes connect with his. They widen with realization. A sinister smile forms on my face, I fucking love this part.
“Don’t move, Joe. If you try to run, I will catch you and make your last moments on this earth un-fucking-bearable. Do you understand?”
The lie flows freely out of my mouth. Either way, I’m going to have fun with him.
His lip trembles as his chest rises with each heavy breath.
Holding my hand out, “Give me your cuffs.”
Joe’s head shakes like he has a choice.
“Hard or easy? It’s up to you how this ends.” It’s not.
Slowly moving his hand to his holster, I am aware he could grab his gun and shoot me. But I am also very quick. I would turn it around on him before he was able to pull the trigger, resulting in him shooting himself in the head. But it seems like he is being a good little boy for me, he unlatches his cuffs with shaking fingers.
Tired of the waiting, I rip them out of his hand.
“Turn around, place your hands behind your back.” Oh, how the tables have turned. He listens, turning slowly on weak knees. The guy is in his mid-thirties and in good shape, with no family. And acting like a complete bitch.
Reaching out, I pull his wrists together and cuff him tightly, not caring if circulation gets cut off and his hands die. I almost prefer it if that did happen, strictly for my own enjoyment.
“The CCTV has been put on a loop. The cameras here and at the other neighbor homes will be rendered useless if your station even bothers to investigate. Which they won’t. Because they are far wiser than you, Joe.” Taunting him as I push him forward towards my waiting vehicle.
Reaching into my pants pocket, I grip my keys and click the trunk button, it pops open with a dim light shining within it. Lined with clear plastic to not leave stains should this have gone another way.
As we reach it, I push him forward. Losing his balance, he falls face-forward into my trunk. I grab hislegs and toss the rest of him in before slamming the trunk closed. Homeboy is in shock. He hasn’t screamed once. Perhaps he is saving them all for me later?
Pulling up to The Chapel, I park my car in front of the entrance which is an archway within a giant wall of rock. Just on the other side of this cliff is the ocean. The coast is lined with them, many of which are home to caves and alcoves.
Reaching behind me, I grab my black backpack which carries my supplies needed for this evening, and then my bat which is on my passenger seat. As I get out, I throw the bag over my shoulders and slip the bat through a strap so it hangs off it. Moving to the trunk, I open it. Joe has gotten brave but I expected it, standing back as his feet kick out with a monstrous roar leaving his mouth. Rolling my eyes, I reach forward with my fist tight and punch him on the side of his head, right on the temple. This knocks him out, making him nothing more than dead weight.
Gripping under his armpit, I drag him up and over the lip of the trunk. Dropping him to the dirt ground, I close my trunk before re-gripping him and dragging good ol’ Joe into The Chapel.
Torches line the passages, dirt and gravel crunch beneath my boots with each step. There were no other cars here, but I can always count on at least twofollowers being here watching over the place. Not that they would do anything if anyone did come snooping, but they like to feel tough.
As I turn, Joe’s body follows, his heels dragging, leaving a trail behind us. Entering the main space, it’s large with unlit white candles surrounding the perimeter, lit torches are on the wall. At the front of the space is a long, dark wood table which is my workstation today. Just behind it is an elevated piece of stone where Maxton rules from and just beside the table is the sacred fire, which they worship.
Throwing Joe on the table, I roll his body so he is on his stomach. Tossing my bag and bat down, I reach for my bolt cutters inside of it and snap the cuffs off.
Dropping my cutter and cuffs to my feet, I roll him back over and begin securing his hands and feet with the leather restraints attached to the table.
