Page 9 of The Silent Night Stalker
Eventually, he pins me to the mat, face down. His arm is around my throat, and my arm is pinned to my back.
I growl at him and struggle to get out of his vise-like hold, but I can barely move and breathe.
“Call it, Enz. You hadda ‘nough.”
I growl at him again, needing more pain and to hit something harder than Manny because I don’t fucking feel better. “No…” I wheeze through my broken nose.
He tightens his arm around my throat and growls in my ear, “Enough.”
I see spots dancing behind my eyes as he squeezes the air from my lungs. Seeing no way out, I tap my hand on the mat.
Manny releases his hold, stands, and then helps me up. I’m slightly dizzy, so I lean forward and shake my head. He grabs my face with gloved hands and looks at me. “I don’t see no concussion. How d’ya feel?”
“Like I got run over by a herd of elephants who are all named Manny.”
He grins crookedly, exposing a missing front tooth. “But do ya feel better in yer head?”
“Not really,” I sigh.
“Let’s getcha cleaned up. After that, go get drunk or somethin’, then go home and sleep fer a day.”
I want to scream at Manny that it won’t help. That I’m going to miss Enrique forever, and nothing will dull the pain, not until his killer’s head is on a fucking plate. But I say nothing. What’s the point? It won’t change a goddamn thing.
“Yeah,” is all I say.
After we unwrap our hands, Manny cleans up my face in the locker room, placingSteri-Stripson my brow and on the bridge of my nose. When he’s finished, he claps me on the back and saunters off. I stand and stare into the mirror, watching him go before my eyes land back on my battered face. I should probably ice my nose, but I can’t bring myself to care. It’s only a minor fracture anyway, but my eyes, staring back at me, are already swelling and bruising.
I want to say the sparring helped, but now, I’m not only in pain on the inside, I’m in pain on the outside. Maybe Manny’s right. I should go out and get fucking wasted. It won’t take much afterthatworkout.
I take a quick shower to wash off the sweat and blood, and then I get dressed. Once I have my jacket on, I grab my duffel bag and toss it into my car, but I don’t drive since Frank’s Bar is walking distance from the gym. My house isn’t that far either.
The guys and I often go there after a good workout or training. Because it’s close to home, I can just leave my car and walk home if I get too drunk.
When I reach the bar, I tug on the brass handle of the old wooden door and open it. I’m blasted with dry heat, the scent of old beer, and classic rock from the 70s blasting through the speakers.
It’s not too crowded, but it’s still early, so there are plenty of seats at the bar.
As soon as Max, the bartender, sees me, he frowns and instantly pours a shot of my favorite tequila. When I sit down, he slides the glass toward me.
“Took a beating, it looks like,” he says, jutting his chin my way.
“Yeah, Manny got me.”
Max chuckles and shakes his head. “Maybe Manny isn’t the best to take your aggression out on. Anyway, I just heard, man. I’m really sorry. We’re all gonna miss Enrique around here.”
I nod, staring at my drink, not yet tossing it back. “Thanks.”
“Do they know who did it?”
I shake my head.
“Whoever did this, I hope they fucking pay.”
“Yeah…” I say as I grab the tumbler and toss the burning liquor down my throat. Max instantly pours me another. “Yeah…” I say again.
Chapter 4
Constantine
