Page 11 of Complete Me
“We don’t know his name. Only ranked members do. We’re just grunts. Told to do a job, and we do it.”
Malice stands next to me, moving from foot to foot, cracking his neck from side to side, and I know this wild fuckeris barely hanging on by a thread. He’s practically rabid, ready to get into the fight.
I hear the footsteps a second before the release of a gun, and the bullet flies between us, causing Malice to jerk. I know he’s been hit, but I’m fairly certain it was his arm, and I’ve seen him take worse, so I push my worry back to deal with it after we take care of this shit.
Malice turns eerily slow in the direction of our shooter, his eyes freakishly wide, a scary-ass grin filling his face.
“Fuck,” I curse under my breath. I fire two shots in quick succession, one in the head of the asshole wailing on the floor for his mom, the other in the knee of the dickhead still standing. He drops to the ground with a loud groan, flinging every curse word in my direction.
“That wasn’t very nice, now was it?” I hear Malice say before a loud, high-pitched scream ricochets off the walls. Not turning my back on the one in front of me, I let Malice handle our shooter, knowing there won’t be much of him left when he’s done.
I take several steps in the direction of the one I just shot, planting my foot to his chest and pushing him onto his back. He holds his knee up to his chest, tears falling from his hollowed-out eyes.
His pant leg is drenched in blood, but I know it wasn’t a kill shot. I read the name off his cut and chuckle. I watch as his eyes dart all over me, either trying to remember my features or reading my road name on my cut, it doesn’t matter either way.
“Well, Scab, it’s your lucky fuckin’ day. You’re gonna live and you’re gonna take a message back to your compound.” Screeches and maniacal laughter mix in the other room, and I cock my head down at the lowlife piece of shit at my feet. “Or do you want my friend here to play with you next?”
“Nnnn-no,” he sputters, spit dribbling from his cracked lips.
“Let your president know that Hell’s Heathens isn’t going to tolerate you in our territory or bringing harm to our people. We’ll cut down every single one of you until there’s nothing fucking left.” I fire one more shot into his shoulder for good measure before walking backward to the front door. Malice returns from the other room, the screaming silenced, leaving only the heavy panting of my brother walking toward me.
“Jesus Christ, the fuck did you do to him?” I ask as I take in his bloodied body. Dark red blood drips down his naked torso from under his cut, his arms covered, a handprint on his cheek like he was slapped with red paint.
“I wanted to make a coat, but it wouldn’t fit.”
My eyes bug out of my skull. “Did you fuckin’ skin ’em?” I ask incredulously. Malice shrugs, and I take one last look at our new messenger. “You want that to be you, asshole?”
“No!” he pleads.
“Then you make sure your prez gets the message. Get out of our territory and don’t fuckin’ come back.”
Malice and I retreat from the building, the humid summer air a welcome reprieve as I heave in lungfuls of fresh air. “Fuck, man, how were they just chillin’ in there? I could barely stand there without dry heaving.”
Malice gives me a look that conveys he didn’t notice, and I shake my head as we sneak back to the waiting van. Wrath opens the back door and takes one look at Malice before laughing, knowing he isn’t covered in his own blood. The gunshot wound to his arm luckily looks like it’s just a graze.
“What the fuck happened?”
“Apparently he wanted to make a coat,” I deadpan.
“A coat? Like a human one?” he asks, slightly revolted.
“Unfortunately.”
Wrath gives me a look that says, ‘what the fuck’ and I just shake my head to let it go. I grab a towel and some bandages to take care of the flesh wound, blood getting all over me in the process.
“You’re a crazy sonofabitch, you know that right?” Wrath challenges.
Malice throws his head back in a maniacal laugh that startles both of us.
“What the hell’s wrong with you, dude?”
“You two idiots think I would actually skin someone?”
Wrath and I share a look that conveys our feelings. You never know with him. Wrath beats me to the punch, though. “You do know what your road name means, yeah? And how you got it?”
“Yeah, but I wouldn’t skin anyone.” Malice stops and his eyes do a weird thing where he’s looking up and to the side, his lips pursed like he’s trying really hard to think and failing miserably at it. “Yeah, no. I couldn’t. I stabbed him in the neck and hit an artery. Or two. Shit erupts like a geyser.” He motions an explosion with both of his hands as he talks animatedly. “There’s no stopping it once it starts. Did you know hearts are slippery?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Get in the damn van!” Wrath says in exasperation.
