Page 5 of Three
Mmm, I think I have a possibility there. Wishful thinking? A guy can always dream.
“Darling, prioritize a background on these two fuckers, and please get the feed of this from the alley’s camera.” Need to check my moves when I get home later.
“Got it,” Serena promptly replies in my ear.
“Who the fuck are you talking to?” the blond guy on the right spits out.
“To the voice in my head. It would be rude not to answer back, don’t you think?”
“Crazy asshole!”
I slide my gloved fingers into my left pocket and through the metal knucks’ holes. My other hand grabs the knife handle from the side of my jacket, and the long blade appears between me and the two fuckers, quickly catching their attention.
“This crazy asshole is ready to fillet both of you.” I make a brief feint at them, smiling even bigger when they lurch excessively out of the reach of the blade, their fists balling up in fury. Faces turning even redder.
I swing the knife, forcing them back another step, then I twist it to grab it by the handle, blade against my skin, parallel to my forearm. I can almost feel the coldness and hardness of the metal pressing against my arm.
The adrenaline is doing its work, taking away the perpetual numbness blanketing my body. The slightly chilly spring air is suddenly enveloping me, and I welcome it with open arms—figuratively. Not going to be a punching bag for these idiots.
I’m aware of the weight of my coat across my shoulders, the press of my boots into the dirty ground, the heft of my cell in my jeans pocket, the hard texture of the brass knucks around my fist.
In a perfect Bruce Lee move, I invite them tobring it,moving two fingers toward myself. The right one lets out a Viking-like roar and throws a right hook at me. I manage to get out of the way and avoid his left fist as well, twisting my torso to one side then the other. I bend my knees, cock my left arm back, and then hit the guy’s solar plexus with the hard handle of my knife three times before hitting his chin with the brass knucks.
I register the warmth of his skin, the roughness of his stubble, and the heaviness of his jaw against my hand as his head snaps back.Perhaps I hear a crack of a tooth or two, but I don’t have time to savor it, because the other guy is quickly on me. I ward off his kick, and grabbing his leg, I spin him around and bring up my steel-toed boot against his back, making him crumble heavily onto the concrete.
That was easy.Damn it!
Serena starts the brief background of the two men, “You’re fighting against Douglas Shane, the blond, and John Steed, the brunet, both arrested four times for hate crimes, but released.”Not really surprised by the accusation or the release. Our justice system is mostly a joke.“They were incarcerated twice for harassment and coercion. Now both are on parole. They work together with Marcus Baker at Barnabas and Sal.”
Douglas tries to stand up, but I deliver a couple of forceful kicks to his side while John is still on his knees, shaking his head. My grizzly is where I left him, pinning the hitman to the wall. I can feel his eyes on me. Hot and steady. Observing.
I squat on top of Douglas, and gripping his blond, thinning, but surprisingly soft hair, I haul his head back. The metallic scent of blood fills the air. His nose is bleeding from the hit he took from the fall, and I bring down the handle of my knife on it just to make sure it’s really broken.
More red on his face equals more joy in my heart.
“You just had your ass kicked, Douglas, by—and the right term is—a real man. Congratulations!” I tell him with a ridiculing tone while looming on top of him.
“How do you know my…name?”
His elbow suddenly hits me in the ribs, and the pain? It’s so damn good. But knowing it was delivered by a scumbag like him? Takes away part of the enjoyment.
Keeping my position on top of him, I grab his arm and twist it roughly before shifting my knife and pressing it to his throat.
“I know many things about you. The rest… I can easily find out.” I push the blade to his neck, hearing him almost squick when it slightly cuts the skin. “One more assault, harassment, or weird look to any person, queer or not, and I’ll come back and finish you and your friend, John. Am I clear?”
“Y-yes,” he chokes out.
I can feel him trembling under me. I can smell his blood, almost taste it on my tongue. It’s, as always, exhilarating. Holding my prey captive awakens that old rush, that need to feel, that sense of freedom. I still don’t understand this part of myself. Even Meg, my renowned psychiatrist foster mother, has no real explanation.
The mind is a powerful and mysterious weapon. I stopped trying to decipher it and decided to just enjoy these full but brief moments of sensory completeness.
Removing the knife from his neck, I smash his head on the ground. I stand up and turn just in time to catch a punch to the cheek. He was so loud I could have avoided the blow, but I didn’t want to. The iron taste invades my mouth, making me smile like a loon at the younger Baker brother. I’m anticipating the fun I’ll soon experience at turning him to a pulp.
“Show me whatcha got, debt collector.”
He raises his brother’s gun at me; he must have picked it up from the ground.
“How do you…? Why the fuck are you smiling? Eager to meet your creator?” he barks. Gun does beat knife. But I still have my exceptional, intellectual genius.
