Hotstreak: A Bad Boy New Adult Romance (Chaos, Nevada Book 2)

by Liz K. Lorde

  My voice was squeaky in reply, “Which?”

  “Right over there,” he pointed again, bringing his hand to the back of my head and gripping tight my hair. He roughly forced me to look in the direction he pleased.

  “Ow!” I cried out in a hushed breath, “I see it, I see it!” He took his hand away and I rubbed at the section of my scalp he had handled.

  “Gonna be a nigger in there, got my money for my services. Don’t trust them as far as I can throw them,” he informed, looking at me with those dreadful eyes. “You’re going to make yourself useful here, sweet thing. We’re gonna hit ‘em at the back,” he flourished his gun for emphasis, that once silly grin appearing mad as a hatter to me now. “Have you go first. You tell me where he is once you see ‘em. Don’t recommend being caught though, sure this guy’ll light your sweet ass up. Come on now.” His hand smacked at my ass and then he shoved me forward through the grass.

  Fuck this isn’t good. We silently made our way through the small field, passing through a section of clothes line, and then moving up a set of wooden deck stairs. It wasn’t big at all, and there was a distinct lack of outside furniture on it. Tommy pressed his gun to my back and burned a hole where it touched, guiding me along to the sliding glass door.

  “Sit,” he commanded, like I was some dog. Regretfully, I obeyed and sunk to my knees. Tommy pulled out a knife and worked at the handle of the door, cutting off a part of it towards the top. He slipped in what looked like a kind of bobby pin and painstakingly fiddled with the mechanism inside, until it eventually clicked open. His eyes slid over to me and a snake like smile spread on his lips. “Up,” Tommy instructed quietly, grabbing me and forcing me to my feet.

  He slid open the door slowly with his gun at the ready, just enough for either of us to slip through. He motioned with his melon of a head for me to go through.

  Great, nothing more than bullet bait. Either way I’m going to end up dead. I sidled past Tommy and peeked inside, seeing only the vague outline of furniture that were bathed in black. Taking a nervous breath, I steeled myself and slipped inside, padding through carefully and motioning to my captor that the coast was clear.

  After Tommy stepped inside, he closed the door so quietly, that it was barely audible. He whispered for me to get moving, and a frantic heat danced through my veins. I didn’t want to be here, I didn’t want to die alone.

  Hunter. Mom. Sabrina. Never see them again. I wanted to sink down and cry, but I kept on. I padded against the carpet flooring and scanned what I could, trying to keep my mind and heart open to any opportunities of escape. I slinked over to the wall of the, what I presumed to be, den or back living room? Carefully, I inched myself around the wall that led into a small dining room. My heart dipped with relief when nobody was there. I could see light coming off in the short distance, the kitchen nothing but a stone’s throw away.

  It wasn’t much light, and it looked like it was coming from the living room – not from the kitchen itself. I bit down on my lip and turned to face what looked like an agitated and impatient Tommy. “It’s clear. Lights on in the living room.”

  He nodded his head and then motioned with it for me to continue, “You scream, you die. Better I kill you anyway,” he growled low, “after I’m done with you, I think.”

  Chills snaked their way up my spine, and I wanted to retch. Not my body, I thought. Please, anything but that. Hunter loves me, he loves my body.

  “Get moving,” he ordered. I hadn’t even realized that I’d stopped in terror. There was something peculiar and harsh smelling in the air, but I couldn’t place my finger on what.

  I nodded my head wearily, feeling a tear slip from my eyes and roll down my cheek. Stepping through the archway, I turned and sneaked through the dining room, feeling my way past the table and nearly crashing into a chair that had been pulled out. I walked into the kitchen, the smallest glimmer of hope shining through when I spotted a recently used chef’s knife. It was resting atop the island counter, and appeared to have this set of wet, clear smudges and juices running along it. The smell from before grew more pronounced, and I finally realized that it was pot.

  If I could just get my hands on it while he deals with whoever’s here…

  I tiptoed closer towards the light from the living room, and braced myself before peeking through the archway. It felt like someone had taken a sludge hammer to my chest when my eyes caught an armed black man sitting on the couch, gun in his hand. The cherry of his joint grew, he then took it from his lips and extended it out of my line of sight. Whipping my head back, my entire body became burdened by this invisible, stressful weight.

  Telling Tommy wasn’t necessary, from my reaction, but I nodded to him anyway, not bothering to tell him there was more than one guy there. I’d hoped that if it went sloppy, I could escape, or even better still, that he would die.

  Tommy re-gripped his gun and brought a hand to my head, forcing me down onto my knees and then moved to my side. He mouthed, “lay down” and forced me onto the cold, hard floor. I could feel the slick layer of sweat on my cheek stick to the cold linoleum, meanwhile my heart hammered away like a rabbit. Every ounce of my mental strength, I poured into the singular thought, that when it was time: get the knife and run.

  It all seemed to go in slow motion when it happened. Tommy rounded the corner with his gun drawn, and as he stepped through into the living room, I bolted up. There was a sound of one of the men yelling “what the f—“. With heat pounding through me, I shot out towards the kitchen island. Bang.

  One shot exploded behind me, sending needles all across my skin and making my heart drop into my stomach. I reached out for the chef’s knife and gripped the handle tight.

  Bang. Another shot, I was surprised how loud they were even considering the silencer. And as I started going to the back entrance in a dead sprint, the sound of two more shots punched the air.

  Tommy screamed my name, but I didn’t even bother looking behind me. Another two shots, this time there was space between the bullets – probably Tommy going up to each corpse and tapping them in the head.

  I threw the sliding door open, nerves making my hands shake. The knife wobbled in my hand, and my knees threatened to quit on me.

  I flew across the wooden deck and leapt off, not bothering with the three steps.

  My sneakers crushed blades of grass with each bound and this twist of hope overcame me.

  It was promptly snatched from me when I felt that first, terrible rip against my shoulder. Pain instantly blossomed in the back of my shoulder, and I heard a voice cut through the air in a strangled gasp – and when I crashed to the ground, hitting the cool, wet grass, I realized that it was my voice.

  I twisted on the ground and slipped the knife into the tuck of my black skinny jeans. I prayed that he hadn’t seen that. The seconds passed in agony, and I writhed, twisting and turning so that my back was on the floor instead of my chest. I pushed out a hard, pained breath – a new set of tears stinging at my eyes. Pain. So much fucking pain. My hand automatically, in all it’s shaking glory, moved to the crimson on my shoulder and squeezed.

  It didn’t help.

  I lifted my head and watched in horror as Tommy strode towards me.

  Howling out a weak series of ‘no’s’ in protest, I did my best to try and crawl away. “Leave me alone!” I roared, “you fucking fucker.”

  Tommy took one final, long stride, and closed the distance between us. He yanked me up by my hair and my scalp became rocked by pain. He stuffed the gun in my mouth, and I could taste the metallic of it – having it clink hard against my teeth, my tongue awkwardly pressing against it; for a fleeting moment I was frightened with the prospect of somehow setting it off. I could imagine the hole in my head. All of that red, and that gore.

  His eyes shone beneath the moonlight and he purred darkly, “I think I’ve decided. Think you can lie to me? Huh? You whore.”

  I tried to control my breathing. Tried to push out the pain that wracked m
y shoulder.

  “Make your peace,” he whispered.

  With the gun still in my mouth, I croaked to the best of my ability, “Wait!”

  To my surprise, he considered my request for a beat of time and then unsheathed the weapon from my mouth.

  I sunk to my knees, the pain making me dizzy. I looked up at him with pleading eyes. I had to think fast. “At least let me suck you off first,” I tried to lay down my sluttiest voice.

  Tommy smirked, bringing the gun back to my forehead, “I’m not letting you anywhere near this dick now, baby. Not after that stunt. You think I’m some kind of idiot?”

  My nerves were running wild, but I shook my head, “No,” I breathed. “But I’ve seen the way you look at me,” I revealed, and Tommy looked around cautiously. We were completely alone out here. “You ever wonder why I vanished?”

  He stared me down, keeping his finger tight on the trigger.

  “I work for the newspaper,” I began, swallowing at the tightness in my throat. I didn’t like this plan, but it was all that I had. “Hunter?” I laughed nervously, “his four inches can’t keep my satisfied. I used him. Used him to get to you and the rest of the Reapers.” I slowly brought myself from my knees, to my feet, the pain flaring in my shoulder.

  Tommy kept the gun on me, “Stay down,” he warned, but I didn’t listen.

  “Tell me the truth,” I looked at him with fake, hungry eyes. “I couldn’t care fucking less about these freaks,” I lightly chuckled, looking down at his crotch, “just let me go, and I’ll keep you out of what I was writing. Anyone that makes it out of whatever you’re planning? I’ll help to put them in prison.”

  The man glanced his eyes around nervously once more, “Yeah?”

  “Mm-hmm,” I moaned, “come on, baby, I’m tired of this charade. Nobody’s here,” I slowly sank back down to my knees, and kept my eyes locked on his. Watched as his breaths came quicker, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “Let me suck off a real outlaw,” I purred, moving closer and closer to his crotch, until I finally reached it and unzipped his pants. “You have all the power,” I winced in pain, “who knows, maybe I’ll be the best you’ve ever had, Tommy.” It took every ounce of my will power to go through with this, a sickness spreading through my stomach.

  But he was going for it. He moved the gun to the side of my head, and sucked in a tight breath of air. “You do anything, you bitch, and I’ll blow you away. If you get any funny ideas with that mouth of yours…” he trailed off, “I don’t want to feel your teeth.”

  When I released his pathetic, hard dick, I took him in my mouth. I knew that he wasn’t going to let me live after this, and that made it all the more frightening. But I just needed this one chance.

  I closed my eyes and tried to think of something else. Anything else. Anywhere but here, anyone but him. I focused on the beating of my heart, focused on the pain vibrating in my shoulder. Focus was all I could do as I rocked against his crotch, bobbing my head up and down – though I couldn’t get the sound of his groans out of my head.

  Hurry up. Hurry up you prick.

  It was all so wrong. I wanted to curl up and die, but I knew that I had to be strong.

  When I felt his cock twitch and the fingers of his hand run against my scalp, I knew that it was time. I ever-so-slowly brought my hand up to my waist, fingering the blade’s handle through my tanktop. I felt him reach the height of pleasure inside of my mouth, and my stomach twisted with repulsion.

  Tommy involuntarily rocked his head back, his eyes closing for a heartbeats time. Though his gun was pointed at my skull, in his moment of gratification – his aim wavered off an inch from where it should have been.

  With one quick motion, I unsheathed him from my mouth, moved out of the way and revealed the knife, stroking it in an upwards motion and flicking the blade across the vein below his wrist.

  He screamed and fired off a silenced bullet, the sound temporarily deafening my ear. It missed and I shot up to my feet. He cursed and I spat out his disgusting seed.

  It didn’t take much, that was what I thought. That it didn’t take much effort at all, for the blade to sink deep into his chest.

  I thought that I felt something, when the bloody blade struck him again. Something firm, like a thick muscle.

  The gurgling stopped when he collapsed onto his back. Laying there with the knife in him still, red pooling out from his center – each blade of grass, and every inch of soil drinking in his last, leaking life. I found myself lost in this despondent trance.

  I don’t know if it was the pain or what, but something snapped me out of it, and I ran back to the house, slipping inside and fumbling all around in search of the money.

  If there even was any.

  When I got into the living room, the two men that Tommy had killed were asleep in thin, red sheets on the floor. The carpet was stained, as was most of the couch – and the joint that the two were sharing had started to burn into the rug. I stepped over the mess and searched underneath the cushions of the couch; when I didn’t find anything, and with my heart still hammering away, I got to the floor and peered underneath. Still nothing that I could spy. Getting back to my feet, I sidled over nervously beside the red couch, pulling it away from the wall in willful little tugs.

  In the back of my mind, paranoia had nestled. Like a bug it burrowed and deposited its eggs. More people are coming. The cops will figure out what happened. There’s no money. You killed a man. You just killed a man and you liked it.

  A half sob, half yell rolled from my chest and burned my throat on the way out. The stress was choking me, and it felt like I would never be able to stymie the darkness within.

  However, my heart soared when I saw a small, black shoebox tucked away behind the couch.

  The first thing I did when I got in the car was lock the door and threw it in reverse, hoping there was time for me to get back.

  41

  Hunter

  Brad boomed like a God for us to take cover.

  But I could only stare at the lifeless, still body of my fallen brother. All around the edges of the parking lot, Niners showed themselves from the shadows; one firing off rounds from inside of the back of a car, an old tarp exploding as the bullets zipped from it like embers kicking out of Satan’s fireplace.

  Everything was just a blur and a haze. We’d been shot at, we’d been hurt for that matter.

  But I’d never seen a brother die.

  I went to him in a dead sprint as the Reapers and Niners went into all-out war. Chaos consuming the floor. The popping of gunshots echoed throughout, bouncing off of the walls and the pillars and cars – the thunderous applause of MAC-10’s spitting out round after round. The click of pistols triggers squeezed one too many times in the heat of battle.

  Something clipped the top end of my right hand as I went for Pooh and I grunted out in pain, immediately bringing my gun up and firing in a blind rage from where I thought the shot came. I wanted to kill them all. Wanted to do it with my bare hands. The need to feel their skulls fall beneath my boot, that was all that filled me – all that sustained me was this churning sea of hate.

  I didn’t have time for sadness.

  After firing off a burst of bullets, I screamed at the fuckers and announced that they would all perish for what they did. Off in the distance, as I tried to drag Pooh’s body, Reyes and Jameson yelled for me to take cover.

  Brad ate a bullet to the cheek and a gore of red flashed across his face, this bone-chilling yell was summoned from the depths of his chest. He went and took cover while Lex and Reyes fired off some rounds down range, each of them getting a single confirmed kill – square between the eyes for Reyes, and double-tapping one of the motherfuckers for Lex.

  I only dragged Pooh’s body a couple of feet, every muscle in my body and every bone begging me to get him anywhere but here – hoping beyond hope that I could move him towards the protection of a stripped Oldsmobile.

  The thought crossed my mind that I did not hav
e to do this right now, that I could get him when we were done. I felt a fire rage through me, and instead of listening to the light of reason – instead I got up to my feet and fired my AR, walking towards a pair of two black assailants. The two Niners ducked for cover, and when a red clothed man came out of a pillar all the way at the end of the floor, I flicked my aim towards him. Over his red button-up shirt, he was wearing a ballistic vest. I pulled in a breath as he brought his two pistols up at me.

  I squeezed off two rounds straight into his skull, turning before he folded in on himself limp.

  When I brought my gaze back to the two men that were in cover, I squeezed off in a mad burst the last rounds of my gun. I hadn’t packed any additional ammunition for the gun, and I understood that I had my 1911 at my hip.

  Knowing these things, I still charged toward the car they were hiding behind like a mad bull. I jumped onto the car as Brad killed one of the Niners that was trying to run from one set of cover to the next. I leaped from the hood of the car and onto one of the men. I tackled one of the Niners onto the hard floor, his body thudding beneath me and absorbing most of the blow – the cracking of gunfire punching the air with a cacophonous melody. From the corner of my eye, I was able to make out the fear that was forcibly etched on his face.

  Bombing little thrills raged through me, and I lifted my emptied gun high into the air as the Niner beneath me was still reeling; he was only able to just start bringing his hands up to try and block the blow.

  Not happening. “Fuck you,” I lashed out in a venomous fury, throwing the butt of the gun down with all of my might – it felt like I sprouted these wings of pure, body-numbing ecstasy when the end of the AR crashed into the man’s skull. His screams were even sweeter, and the tiniest gushing of blood found its way to my cheek.

  I brought the gun up again; his still-living-for-now friend beginning to aim at me. His arm was shaking, and he was on the verge of squeezing the trigger when a well-timed bullet blew a dime sized hole in his wind pipe.