Page 119 of Bad Medicine
I couldn’t have asked for a better set-up.
Once they disappeared inside, I slid out of the Chevelle, closing the door quietly and making my way over to Gregor’s vehicle where he’d left it parked, appreciating the negligent HOA in the neighborhood for their poor maintenance schedule. There was hardly any light out here, with two of the three visible streetlights sporting dead bulbs, and it was easier than it should have been to slink from shadow to shadow on my way over there, pulling on a brand-new pair of leather gloves as I went.
It was even easier to unlock Gregor’s Wagon. If I were him, I’d be sending a strongly worded letter to the Mercedes-Benz company regarding their security protocol. I was years out of practice, and I could unlock it with my eyes closed.
I smirked in the darkness, thinking Sway was gonna be pissed he’d missed out on this, too.
Once I had the back door open, I slid in behind the driver’s seat—and fuck if I wasn’t impressed with how comfortable the back seat actually was—and settled in to wait.
I didn’t have to wait long. Gregor was in and out in less than an hour.
Poor girl.
Ducking down even lower, I extracted my borrowed item from my pocket and held as still as possible, waiting as he climbed into the driver’s seat and closed the door.
That was when I struck.
Darting forward, I looped my arms over the headrest, catching the garrote around Gregor’s throat as he leaned forward to start the engine. Taking him by surprise, he didn’t even have time to yell before I had slammed his head back against the seat, pulling the wire tight against his pale throat in the process. He squirmed, his legs kicking uselessly as he started to panic, and I couldn’t help but smile at the sight.
“Hello, Gregor,” I growled, meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror as I spoke. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
Unable to answer me, Gregor clawed at his throat, the wire that was already digging into his flesh there now slicing up the pads of his fingers in his hysterical attempt at escape as well.
“I want you to know something, Gregor.” I kept my mouth close to his ear, making sure he could hear me over the sound of his own thrashing. “I want you to know that you will never,ever, touch Mia or Jasper again. They areminenow, you sorry fuck.” Gregor kicked his feet again, his anger at my statement clear in his eyes as a flurry of sounds hissed out of him.
Nothing he managed to vocalize seemed to actually be words, however, and I smirked at him in the mirror.
“And from now on, I’ll be the one raising that boy, teaching him all the things a father should teach him, raising him inmyimage.” Staring into his eyes, watching as they turned red and bulged, I could see the rage, clear now even beyond the terror.
It made me so fuckin’ happy.
“Then, I’m gonna put another kid in Mia’s belly, and another, until the only thing she knows, the only thing she can even think of, is me.”
Abandoning his attempt at dislodging the wire, Gregor now reached back over the headrest, his clawed fingers scrabbling for purchase on my head, but I leaned back before he could touch me, pulling the garrote tighter as I did.
Gregor was fully choking now, the sound of his wheezing music to my ears. The spittle flying from his mouth sprayed all over his fancy leather interior, and still, I pulled tighter.
“You should also know that I’m ending your reign of terror on the innocent people of Las Vegas, too. No more Frost Bite. No more trafficking. Nothing. By the time I’m done, no one in this town will even remember your fuckin’ name. You will be forgotten. Completely and totally, like the worthless piece of shit you are.”
Pushing my knee into the back of the seat, I hauled on the two ends of the garrote for all I was worth, listening for the telltale popping of cartilage that told me I’d just crushed his trachea.
Mia would be proud as shit at my medical knowledge.
I waited several minutes after Gregor stopped moving, even though the smell of his piss was starting to permeate the cab of the Wagon. Once I was certain he was actually fuckin’ dead, I did like Enzo’d told me and slowly peeled the wire out of his neck, cringing at the wet, meaty sound it made as I did.
Reaching for the plastic bag I’d left beside me on the seat, I slid the wire away and then reached for the next thing I needed: a shit-ton of Frost Bite.
Gregor wanted his product to be all over Las Vegas? Tough shit. I was gonna leave it all over him instead.
Taking a couple of bags of the shitty drugs that Gregor, The Chemist—what a pretentious douchebag—had manufactured himself, I placed one in the cup holder, one in his shirt pocket, and still a few more under the passenger seat.
I mean, there was no way to disguise Gregor’s death as anything other than a homicide, but my hope was that if I staged the scene properly, I could make it look like a couple of thugs had ripped him off for his product, keeping any blowback well away from our crew.
Once I was satisfied that the scene looked enough like a smash and grab that even our shitty police force would be hard pressed to call it anything else, I opened the door, prepared to exit the vehicle and be on my way. But, something caught my eye, and I leaned forward between the seats snagging a photograph out of the center console.
A photograph of Jasper. The one Greg had taken the night he’d broken into Mia’s old place.
No way in hell was I about to let something as simple as a photo link anything about this piece of shit back to Mia and Jasper.
