Page 68 of Hitch
Duane’s lips pull into a dark smile.
It’s not a good sign when a killer wants you to get your gun.
We walk outside, the grass crunching under our feet. The sky is dark and cloudy, without any stars. Duane stomps toward the barn, and my throat constricts like I’m having an allergic reaction. There’s no reason for us to be going into the barn in the dead of night. It’s just a storage facility.
All of those red flags keep waving, but I still follow Duane into the darkness.
The barn doors slide open. Duane flips a switch, and the lights flicker on, a dim aura filling the space. In the middle of the equipment, a man sits bound in rope, crumpled on the straw covered floor. The familiar styled hair. The undershirt streaked with dirt. White briefs on his hips. Everything in my body stands on edge. I know this man. His eyes fall on me and widen.
The Mortician.
He cries through the gag, begging for help, but his words are muffled. His body twists, but he’s bound so tightly that he barely moves.
“What have you done?” I whisper.
My vision spins like a kaleidoscope as I find Duane. He leans on the side of the building, his posture relaxed. As if this is just another day to him.
“He disrespected you,” Duane says. His jaw ticks as he turns toward me, and my stomach cramps at the attention. I cover my abdomen, and Duane’s eyes flicker at my body language. Anger ignites in his eyes. “Do you know how much I value what’s mine, Reggie? I’m not going to let anyone do that to you.”
I bite my bottom lip, my chest trembling.
“You captured him,” I whisper.
“This surprises you?”
My hands quake at my sides. “He means nothing to me, Duane. Let him go.”
“Funny thing is, I can’t do that now.” Duane steps forward, his boots thudding on the floor. “You see now, I’ve got a witness. I’ve already let one witness get away, and look where it got me.” His eyes trail over me, and my body spikes with anxiety.
A witness who got away.
He’s talking about me.
“We already talked about that night,” I say cautiously. “I didn’t see anything.”
“And yet you started blackmailing me. Threatening my entire operation. Ain’t that right, Hitch?”
My fingers twitch, but I close them in a fist. “I don’t know anything about blackmail,” I argue, but it comes out in a desperate whine.
“You think I believe you when you don’t even respect me?”
Duane pulls out a switchblade, the metal clicking into place.
I don’t have much time.
“I can take care of myself, Duane,” I say. “I’ve already proved that.”
“Then kill him.”
The Mortician cries, his sobs soaking the rag in his mouth. The Mortician has been my regular customer for months now, but that’s all he is—a customer. A way to make money. That’s all Duane was supposed to be too.
And yet, I don’t want to kill either one of them.
“I’m not going to kill him,” I say. “Not for disrespecting me. Not for—”
“Then kill himfor me,” Duane howls. Adrenaline jolts through my body and I flinch. “I’ve already killed for you.”
“What?”
