Page 21 of The Devil and I
“Gotta take a leak, dude.” Mark's speech is a disaster as he begins pushing a few boxes out from the wall to tuck himself between them. “There's no way I'm s-standing in that fuckin' line.” The sound of his zipper being pulled down is the catalyst, and with the precision and silence of a honed predator, I move.
While Mark fumbles with his dick in an attempt to get it out and aim it away from himself, his buddy is taking repeated puffs of his cigarette, facing off in the direction Mark disappeared. This gives me the opportunity to hit the back door of the club first.
I hop up the tiny flight of steps, pulling a small steel bar from my pocket as I land on my feet. I slide the bar home, effectively jamming the door from the outside. With the pounding beat of music seeping through the walls, I don't make a single discernible sound. Jamming the door should afford me some time to take both men out, because once someone realizes the door is jammed, they'll need to use the exit on the opposite side of the building.
I reach back and pull one of the loaded syringes from my pocket, using my teeth to pop the top and toss it aside. Considering the amount of syringes and other drug paraphernalia all over this place, it won't matter where it lands. Nobody will think anything of it.
“I dunno, man... have you seen Kelly's tits?” Mark is getting louder, trying to be heard over the din of the music thrumming through the thick club walls. A box rattles and I assume he bumped into it, but I keep my focus on the nameless idiot standing between me and my real target.
The man stands there swaying on his feet, enjoying his smoke. He doesn't notice when I come to a stop behind him, angling the needle point of the syringe towards his throat. I watch the side of his neck until I catch the heavy pulse of his jugular vein. There it is. Home sweet home.
“Slip 'er somethin' so you can fuck her ass all night, man.” He laughs, and as soon as the sound dies, I lean forward and slip the needle into his throat. Before his alcohol-impaired brain registers the subtle sting, I depress the syringe and wrap my hand around his nose and mouth. I leave the needle lodged in his skin so I can focus on grappling the panicked man and hauling him back along the wall of the club.
He tries to fight me, but he is too damn inebriated to give me any real trouble. The alcohol makes him weak and messy, and he just isn't strong enough to pry my hand from his face. I've cut off most of his air supply with a single hand. Besides, I hit the mark like a trained professional. The chemical reaction erupts within him immediately, that large vein carrying the fast acting drug and the big bubble of air down towards his heart. He tries to scream, but his throat is already numb and the fog is starting to settle in. I hold him securely as he tries to thrash against me, his hands coming up to claw weakly at my heavily clothed shoulders.
“Ohhh yeaaaahhh. I'm takin' that ass for sure, my guy,” Mark shouts, and I listen carefully as the sound of his piss hitting the concrete starts to weaken. Restraining his friend is easy, considering I'm more than twice his size and professionally trained. I hold tightly to him, waiting for the drug to take full effect. I don't give a fuck if this guy lives or dies, as long as he's out like a light while I go after Mark. Unfortunately for him, between the purposeful overdose and the bubble of air in the syringe, things aren't looking good.
The man's panic works in my favour here. His rapidly beating heart is sucking the drugs down into his chest, all of those distress reactions making his blood flow nice and fast. Mark is fumbling around behind those boxes up ahead while he empties his full bladder, giving me all the time I need to render his buddy incapacitated.
As the sound of Mark pulling his zipper up reaches my ears, his friend goes limp in my grip. I let out the breath I'm holding and shuffle us further back behind a set of garbage cans and boxes, where I dump his body carelessly. Crouching, I lean forward to peer around the pile of trash and spot Mark stumbling back in our direction. I shuffle back again and make my way around the pile in a crouched position, coming out from somewhere behind Mark as he walks towards the back door.
“Kyle, man, where you at?” he calls out, glancing around for his buddy.
Unfortunately, he'll never see his shitbag friend again. I smile as I rise to my full height, pulling another syringe from the stash in my back pocket and uncapping it. I jog towards Mark as he turns to walk up the steps towards the door.
“What the f-fuck?” he stammers, his hand reaching out to grab the jammed door handle in confusion. I hop up behind him and grab the side of his throat, taking the fresh needle and jabbing it into the thick vein, pulsing wildly at the side of his neck. He sputters as I inject the drug, taking a step back off the steps and grabbing his shirt as I go.
I use my momentum as I step down to fling him to the ground, shock and fear electrifying his features as he lands on his ass on the filthy alley floor. He lifts a hand to fumble with the empty syringe hanging off the side of his neck, peering up at me with terror in his eyes.
“T-the fu-uck?!” he stammers again, his panic helping make my chemical cocktail work better and faster as it courses through his veins.
“Surprise, motherfucker,” I say with a snarl, taking a few steps forward. “Rayna sends her regards.”
The shock that spreads across his face is chased by a ghostly paleness, and I respond by spitting at his feet. Lifting one heavy foot, I kick forward to hit him square in the face. He is too damn drunk to do anything but register my boot as it soars towards him. The heavy sole of my boot connects to his face with a fleshy thud, and I watch as Mark falls back, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he goes.
The grin that spreads across my face is that of a psychopath, I'm sure. It grows so wide it hurts my face, and I'm suddenly immensely grateful for just how damn easy it was to take both of these men down. I don't stand there to appreciate my work, especially with the sound of someone trying the back door. I glance over to see it rattling, grunting in irritation that someone is interrupting this deeply satisfying moment.
I walk forward and bend down so that I can haul the smaller man up in my arms, tossing him over my shoulder like a sack of flour. Adrenaline spikes in my blood as I move along the wall down the alleyway towards my car. Before I reach the fence, I squat with the bastard on my shoulder and grab my duffle bag from the dark corner I left it in. I grunt as I heave us upright and step towards the chain-link fence, ducking slightly to slip through to the other side.
My car is still parked on a dark piece of the quiet street, and since I left the trunk ajar it pops open when I swat it. Rolling my shoulder forward, I dump the fucker in and slam the trunk closed. I'll need to properly secure him for transport, but I can't do that here.
I keep my eyes on the streets as I round my vehicle and slide into the driver's side, but nobody is out here on this tiny side road. Starting my car, I gently pull back onto the street and maintain a reasonable speed until I'm 10 miles out from the club. Once I'm far enough away from it, I pull the balaclava off my face and toss it into the passenger footwell. With a deep sigh, I drag my hand through my hair and scrub my palm down my face. The hard part is done, which leaves me with needing to find a spot to better secure my new passenger before we head North to the cabin.
It doesn't take long to make my way over to one of the smaller, less frequented overpasses along the outskirts of Toronto. This remote industrial area is rarely used by anyone right now other than some construction companies developing the area during the day and a very small homeless population. When I pull under the massive concrete slabs, it's empty. I flip my lights off and slide into the darkness, rolling to a quiet stop somewhere dead center.
Eager to get back on the highway heading North, I reach behind my seat for another bag I've stowed away, pull it up and exit the car. I make my way around the car to the back, where I unlock the trunk and pop it open. Mark is laying there in a mess of limbs, breathing deeply and evenly. I wish I could appreciate the reddened imprint I'm sure is marking his face, but the entire area is bathed in the heavy blackness of the overpass.
I work as quickly as I can, securing his arms and legs, connecting them along his spine with a heavier chain. It is tiring to shift his limp weight back and forth in the small space, but I get it done. Making a few more connections in his binds means he won't have the room to struggle, so it's worth the effort on my end.
Once everything is locked in place, I grab a thick rag and stuff it into his mouth. A wide strap of leather tied around his mouth over the rag is overkill, but my methods have kept me safe in the past so there's no reason to change things up now.
Lastly, I amble around to the passenger side of my car and pop the door open so I can grab my little black box of sedatives. Once I'm standing in front of him again, I open it up and pick out a reversible sedative to keep him out for the ride. With that, I give the man a once over and then lock him in. A quick look around the perimeter of the area as I'm getting back into my vehicle confirms we're still alone, other than some fat rats scurrying around along the pillars.
The silence that settles over me as I drive feels like a living, breathing entity. An insidious creature slithering between the dark places in my vehicle, reminding me of what is ahead. Normal people imagine the weight of taking a human life being heavy beyond measure, an overwhelming and soul rotting undertaking. For me, it feels like taking all the sickness inside of me and putting it to good use.
Ending the lives of rapists, pedophiles, abusers and criminals that get away with their crimes feels like my own personal brand of fucked up justice. Or perhaps that's just what I tell myself. In the end, it doesn't really matter how I justify it. It just doesn't weigh me down like it would somebody else. Even the most hardened criminals face remorse at the end of their days. I shrug it off like beads of water down a duck's back, letting it roll away and disappear until it is nothing but a memory. I did what needed to be done, and once it was over, I rarely gave it a second thought.
This time, however, I knew would be different. There was a whole new level of satisfaction to be had from killing my future wife's rapist. This time, it would be a sweet vengeance I wouldn't want to forget.
