Combative Trilogy

by McLean, Jay

  She didn’t fight.

  She didn’t make a sound.

  Maybe she knew.

  Somehow, she must have felt it.

  Her life was over.

  And I, no doubt, would be the one to end it.

  Chapter 5

  It’s said that your life flashes before your eyes when you die.

  It must only happen to those whose lives were worthy.

  Clearly, mine was not.

  The only thing that happened to me was a repeat of what I thought was my death. The blast of the gun as it went off. The loss of my breath as two hundred pounds of dead weight dropped on top of me. And then darkness.

  This replayed over and over.

  When the guy squatted down next to me and asked if I was hurt, the only thing I could see, feel, hear, were those last few seconds. Even when I was in the back of a blacked out van—it was the only thing that ran through my mind.

  Gunshot, breath, darkness.

  The man who lifted me into the van moved in front of me, trying to get in my vision. His mouth moved, but I didn’t understand him. I couldn’t hear through the constant banging running through my head.

  Just take me, I almost told him. Kill me already.

  His eyes pierced mine and they seemed to turn darker the longer I looked at them. He didn’t break the stare, his eyes shadowed by the crease in his brow. I averted my gaze and looked at the man I’d just killed. My eyes trailed from the blood still dripping from his stomach, down to his dick, left exposed by his open fly.

  He was that close to taking me.

  I looked at his face. His eyes were open, looking right at me.

  But there was no life.

  He was dead.

  Dead.

  Dead.

  DEAD.

  I wondered for a moment if he was someone’s dad. Someone’s brother. But it didn’t matter—he was someone’s son. And I’d just killed him.

  And the worst part?

  I couldn’t find it in me to care.

  Not about him.

  Or about me.

  I looked into the dark eyes watching me intently. “Can you please kill me now?”

  Chapter 6

  The guy talked heatedly to the men in the front seat while he sat in the back of the van with me.

  His gaze moved back to me, his eyes narrowed. Then his mouth opened, and I knew he was trying to talk to me—to get me to understand him. His head dropped forward, his shoulders heaving once. Then he looked up, and his mouth moved again. Though I couldn’t hear it, I saw it. “I’m sorry,” he said. And for some unknown reason, I believed him.

  He reached into a gym bag behind the driver’s seat and pulled out a black dress shirt. He ripped off one of the sleeves using his bare hands. Then he lifted the stretched material and nodded at me as if assuring me that he truly was remorseful. The fabric covered my eyes as I bent forward, allowing him to tie it behind my head.

  I’d already surrendered to my fate. It would have been useless to fight, and honestly—I had no fight left.

  I felt him sit down next to me, our arms touching. I tipped my head back and leaned against the cool metal of the van.

  I thought about my life.

  About everything I’d been through.

  I wondered if, or even how they would identify my body.

  If somehow, somewhere, my parents would be notified.

  And I wondered if they’d even care.

  * * *

  After driving to PJ’s house and Tiny forcefully removing him from the car, we drove to Uncle Benny’s. Technically, he wasn’t my uncle, but he’d known me since I was born. Benny and my dad were business partners up until Dad died when I was sixteen. At the time, it was just Dad and me.

  The business ran well. Uncle Benny was the muscle. My dad—he was the brains. And when he died, I was given the opportunity to learn his trade and one day take over his position. The truth is—I had my own reasons for making the choice I did—one I kept completely to myself.

  I quit school and did what was expected. I learned the ins and outs and committed my life to the job. Soon enough, the business became my family. Still, Uncle Benny reminded me I hadn’t earned shit. If not for my dad, I’d be another punk peddling dope on the streets.

  But he was wrong, and he fucking knew it.

  Six years on and I’d done my service.

  Or at least, I made it seem that way.

  * * *

  When Tiny announced our presence through the intercom, the gates to Uncle Benny’s house swung open. My eyes were fixed on the girl, her head tilted back, her chest rising and falling with each quiet breath. Tiny parked in front of the door and hopped out. A moment later, the side door of the van slid open. “You got a game plan?” he asked.

  “The truth,” I answered.

  Uncle Benny’s eyes went huge when Tiny and I walked through his office doors, the girl stumbling between us. I was surprised PJ hadn’t called him yet—ratted us out like the prick he was. “What the fuck is this?” Benny snapped.

  The three guards he kept around immediately stood up when they heard the anger in his voice.

  “Settle down,” I told them. “In fact, I need a minute alone with Benny.”

  Uncle Benny quirked an eyebrow at my casual tone. He was “Don” to everyone else. Just like I was “Boss.”

  It was a rule.

  No names.

  “Don?” One of his gorillas asked.

  He shooed them away with a wave of his hand. They left, no questions asked. I knew they hated me, twenty-two-year-old punk they had to call “Boss?” Of course, they despised me. But they respected my dad, so they kept their mouths shut.

  I sat down on the other side of Benny’s desk. Tiny moved to the seats the guards had just vacated and helped the girl sit down before doing the same.

  “Start talking,” Benny bit out.

  With a shaky exhale, I told him everything I knew, which wasn’t much at all.

  When I was done, he leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin with the back of his hand. “So she killed Pauly?”

  I nodded.

  The girl clasped her hands on her lap.

  Benny’s eyes moved to her quickly before returning to me. “So she’s seen you. Seen Tiny and the other men. You come here, and you say my name, and now she knows that, too.”

  I opened my mouth to interrupt, but he raised his hand, stopping me.

  I cursed under my breath—realizing the mistake I’d made.

  Benny leaned forward and rested his forearms on the table. “You know what your dad would do?” he asked.

  I shook my head, my eyes narrowing in confusion.

  “He’d kill her. She knows too much, and she killed one of our men.”

  “My dad wasn’t a killer,” I said, my tone clipped.

  Benny chuckled. “Not that you know of,” he mused. “And say you’re right … your father was a Boss,” he said like the term Boss was a form of royalty. “He had an entire army beneath him. An army of killers.”

  The girl’s breath caught.

  “Do what you have to do,” Benny said, standing up and walking toward his door. “You’re a smart kid, Nate DeLuca.” He punctuated my name, saying it with purpose, using it to fuel the fire—to fuel the need to make sure she didn’t get out alive.

  I swallowed my nerves—my anger.

  No matter what, I was fucked.

  He opened his office door and added, “I don’t understand why she’s still breathing… why the fuck you haven’t done it already. Do you need me to send one of my men with you?”

  “No,” I said quickly. So quickly his eyebrows rose in surprise. I added, “I’ll take care of it.”

  He nodded.

  I stood up. Tiny followed, helping the girl to her feet.

  Benny cleared his throat. “I trust you’ll take care of Pauly’s body too?”

  It was my turn to nod.

  “Good. If anything comes back to us, it’s on you, Nate.�
�

  “Yes, Don.”

  I drove Tiny’s car while he followed behind me in the van. I gave him instructions on what to do when we got to the cliff on the outskirts of the city. The place I drove to was secluded. There was nothing around—nothing but the river two hundred feet below the cliff’s edge.

  I heard the van park next to me, but I kept my head down, focused on attaching the silencer to the pistol. My heart rattled in my chest while my hands shook, making it almost impossible. The van door closed and a moment later, Tiny was tapping on my window. My brow bunched as I lay the gun on my lap and wound it down.

  “You sure about this, Boss Man?”

  I jerked my head once and wound the window back up. My head tilted to the side—assessing the weapon. One bullet. That’s all I’d need.

  I heard the door of the van slide open and Tiny speaking quietly—too quiet for me to make out the words. I listened for a response, but nothing came, only the sounds of their footsteps becoming louder and louder.

  Shadows cast over me as Tiny and the girl walked past and approached the cliff edge.

  I knew it was time, but I wasn’t ready.

  I’d never be ready.

  I should’ve taken Uncle Benny up on his offer, had one of his men do it. But it didn’t feel right. Because, clearly, there was a right way to end someone’s life. I shook my head and dropped the visor, looking at myself in the mirror.

  My eyes were red. My forehead damp. My jaw pressed tight.

  I fought hard to inhale.

  Struggled to exhale.

  I blinked hard and pushed down the knot in my stomach.

  Then, gasping for air, I pushed open my door and stepped out.

  One step at a time.

  One foot in front of the other.

  Toward the girl on her knees, her blindfold still on.

  I realized it then; she hadn’t made a sound.

  Why wasn’t she screaming or pleading for her life?

  I slowed my steps as I approached her, doing everything I could to delay the inevitable. The gun swayed in my hands, my fingers unable to control their trembles.

  I stopped a foot in front of her. She must have heard me coming, sensed me somehow. Her head lowered, almost as if she was welcoming me. My throat closed up as I lifted the gun. She sniffed once. Then raised her chin and pushed forward until the end of the barrel made contact with her forehead.

  It was stupid, but it was the only thing I could think to say. “Are you ready?”

  She nodded half-heartedly against the cold steel.

  I clicked the safety on the gun.

  Tiny stepped closer.

  Silence surrounded me, all but the mixed sounds of our heavy breaths.

  “Please,” she whispered, and I didn’t know if it was for me to stop, or for me to just do it already.

  My free hand curled at my side, trying to grasp on to the courage I needed. Needed, I told myself. I needed to do this.

  Suddenly, her shoulders squared.

  She held her breath.

  I pressed the gun firmer to her head.

  And then, somehow, she found her strength, but she didn’t use it to fight me. Instead, she started to sing. “You are my sunshine,” she sang.

  My hand loosened its grip as her voice filled my ears.

  “My only sunshine…”

  What the fuck was happening!?

  “You make me happy…”

  Her voice became so strained I could hardly make out the words. “When skies are gray…”

  An image filled my mind, one I’d suppressed so many years ago.

  “You’ll never know, dear…”

  I closed my eyes—the thumping of my heart causing the armor to fall away.

  “How much I love you…”

  I stepped back and dropped my hand to my side, barely gripping the pistol.

  “Boss?” Tiny said, stepping up to me.

  “Put her in the car. Take care of the evidence,” I ordered, turning my back and walking away.

  I ignored her heavy breaths from the back seat as I watched Tiny set the van ablaze, Pauly’s body inside it. After a moment, he opened the driver’s door and started the engine. A second later, the wheels turned, and the van moved forward. Tiny stood with his hands in his pockets as we watched the van plummet over the edge.

  Once he was behind the wheel of his car, he asked, “What now?” There was calmness in his voice that shouldn’t exist.

  He reversed out of the clearing and drove back to the main road.

  Tiny didn’t break the silence.

  Neither did I.

  It was her.

  And it was two words I’d never expected that left me ruined. “Thank you.”

  Chapter 7

  It was three in the morning by the time we made it home. Luckily, my house was a gated cabin in the woods. No neighbors for miles. It also helped that no one had been to the cabin since my dad had died. I liked my privacy. I also liked my safety. It was easier just to keep everyone at a distance, regardless of how lonely it got.

  I faced the back seat and looked her up and down. Her hoodie was black and hid most of the blood. Her jeans, however, that was another story. And it dawned on me then; she never told me if she was hurt or not. “Is any of that your blood?” I asked.

  She shook her head slowly, but enough for the blindfold to slip down her nose a little. Sighing, I reached over and started to remove it. She flinched beneath my touch. “I’m just taking the blindfold off, alright?”

  Her shoulders dropped, and once she’d scooted forward in her seat, I removed the blindfold. She kept her eyes closed a moment, her breath catching as her eyelids slowly fluttered open. Tiny turned to her. “No screaming.”

  The girl nodded but kept her gaze lowered.

  Tiny helped her out of the car and led her to my house. With each step closer to my door, my pulse quickened. By the time we got there, my head was spinning, and my heart was on the verge of exploding through my chest.

  My fingers shook as I lifted my key, trying in vain to unlock it. Tiny—he must have sensed my struggle, because his hand covered mine and he muttered, “I got you, Boss.” I was grateful he was there, that he could somehow see the sense in whatever the fuck it was we were doing.

  The girl just stood there, completely silent. When Tiny swung the door open, I placed my hand on the small of her back, guiding her through.

  After disarming the security alarm, I walked to the kitchen and switched on the lights. I needed a drink, something to take the edge off.

  Tiny grasped the girl by her elbow and followed behind me.

  I reached up to the liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of whiskey, and without bothering to get a glass, I took a long, well-earned swig.

  The girl’s eyes fixed on mine. She stared at me so intently, for so long, that I had to look away. After taking another swallow, I offered her the bottle. “No, thank you,” she said.

  I nodded and was about to replace the cap when I saw her move from the corner of my eye. She was rubbing her wrist, red raw from the tape Tiny had used. She unzipped her sweatshirt, revealing a worn white T-shirt with large holes in a few places. But that’s not what stood out. It was the amount of blood that had seeped through. She attempted to speak, forcing me to look up at her bloodstained face.

  “What?” I asked, but it came out harsher than intended. I tried to settle my pulse, tried to calm my breathing, tried to put some perspective into the situation. “What did you want to say?” I asked, my tone calmer.

  She shook her head.

  I looked up at Tiny, but he was looking down at her. After a moment, he let out a sigh. “What’s your name?” he asked her.

  And for some reason, it pissed me off. Maybe because he was the one in control when it had always been me. He, at least, could speak, while all I could do was stare at her.

  “B-Bailey.”

  Tiny threw out his hand. “I’m Tiny.”

  Her hand trembled as she accepted
his offered one.

  He smiled warmly or, at least, attempted to. “Are you hungry?”

  She shook her head.

  “Thirsty?”

  Another head shake.

  “Shower?” he asked her.

  Her eyes widened slightly, then she faced me. “Would that be okay?”

  I took another drink, my eyes never leaving hers. Then I walked between them, past the living room and down the hallway toward my room. After finding her a change of clothes, I made my way to the guest bathroom and ran the shower, letting the steam fill the room before stepping just outside the door. “All yours,” I told her.

  Slowly, she walked over, stopping only inches in front of me. Then, looking me right in the eyes, she ruined me again. “Thank you.”

  Tiny moved in his seat opposite me at the kitchen table. We’d sat in silence up until the point he said, “This is bad news, Boss.”

  I laughed once. I couldn’t help it. “No shit.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  Shaking my head, I leaned back in my seat. “I have no fuckin’ idea.”

  “You should say something to her.”

  “Like what?”

  He shrugged, his fat gut moving with it. “I don’t know, but it’s not helping you just staring at her the way you are.”

  The pipes clanked when her shower ended.

  Tiny added, “Just talk to her. Tell her she’s safe.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “For now?”

  “Better than her not knowing anything at all. She probably thinks you’re going to off her in her sleep.”

  Sighing, I stood up quickly, the chair beneath me tipping back from the force of it. “Fine.”

  * * *

  The second I knocked, the bathroom door opened, and she was there—wearing a pair of my boxers and one of my long-sleeved gray shirts. Her hair was wet, her arms wrapped tightly around her waist. But she was clean. No more blood. The bruising on her cheek had darkened since I’d first seen it, and the cut on her chin and bottom lip had closed up.