Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 75107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Because I knew he was going to get away.
And I wouldn’t have the time I needed to go after him.
As if reading my thoughts, his hand shot out to the side, fumbling with the door until he found the handle, flinging it open, and shooting out.
The driver’s body was limp, slumped, dead.
Making sure his buddy was running for his life first, I shoved the driver over into the passenger side, climbed into the driver’s side, threw the truck into reverse, and backed out of the alley.
There was a chorus of beeps as I pulled into traffic. I ignored them, my mind racing with enough issues as I did the only thing I could: I drove back to the warehouse.
Because if that driver woke up alone, without his truck, he was going to call the cops. Then there’d be a BOLO out on the truck I was in with a dead body.
I couldn’t have that.
I drove into the lot, searching for the driver’s wallet in the glovebox, then grabbed a wad of fast food napkins and used them to wipe down any visible signs of blood on the windows, wheel, and dashboard.
Only then did I pull back into the lot.
Just in time, too.
The guy was just starting to stir as I carefully shut the door then rushed over to his side like a concerned citizen.
“Hey, man, you okay?” I asked, reaching down to help him sit up, facing conveniently away from the damn truck.
“I don’t… I don’t know what happened.”
“Think you must have slipped on the ice, man,” I said, forcing some concern into my voice. “Shit. You hit your head good. You’re bleeding all over.”
His hand rose, feeling for his head, wincing at the comment, then again when he pulled it back and saw the blood on his fingers.
“You should probably go to the hospital.”
“I… my truck.”
“Right behind you,” I told him. “Think this fell out of your hand too,” I said, passing him his wallet so he had his ID, insurance cards, and no excuse to go back into the truck. His phone was in a belt holder. He had everything he needed.
“I… yeah,” he agreed, the small slits of his eyes indicating that while the damage wasn’t bad, the headache must have been.
“Let’s get you a cab, bud.”
I’d never used the word ‘bud’ in my fucking life.
My voice didn’t even sound like me.
I was in full-on Good Samaritan mode.
“I can’t leave…”
“You’re at the warehouse,” I told him, waving back at it. “This is where the truck needed to be unloaded. I’m supposed to be doing the unloading. I will keep an eye on it until you get back. But you need stitches, man. Maybe a scan…”
His eyes widened.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, think so.”
“My wife is going to freak out.”
“You don’t have to call her until you know more,” I said, helping him to his feet. “That way she doesn’t gotta worry. Or nag you while your head is banging.”
He let out a huff of a laugh at that as he let me lead him out to the street.
I hailed a cab and lowered him in, having to bite back a smile at how fucking easy some people were to manipulate. Especially when they were confused or in pain.
“I’ll be waiting here for you until you return,” I told him, giving the driver directions to take him to the hospital.
It would be fucking packed this time of year. Lots of slips and falls. On the black ice. On the fucking ice skating rink. People hurting themselves falling off ladders putting stars on their Christmas trees.
Hospital waiting rooms in the city were a nightmare on a good day. During the holiday season? I imagined I had six to eight hours to get my fucking mess cleaned up.
I waited twenty minutes to make sure the driver didn’t change his mind about going, then sucked in a deep breath and went inside the warehouse where I knew I’d find some basic cleaning supplies—enough to get me to my next location, at least.
Wearing cleaning gloves I found under the bathroom sink, I came back, lifted the dead guy’s head, and slipped it into a black garbage bag. Then, with some wiggling, his lower half went into another bag.
With that, making sure there was no blood getting tracked, I snuck him into the back of the truck, closed the door, and got to work on cleaning the blood out of the cab, off the door, and anywhere else it sprayed.
The carotid was one efficient way to take someone out, but fuck did that damn artery gush.
I left the doors open afterward, wanting to vent as much of the scent of cleaner out as possible so the driver didn’t suspect anything went down.
Then I cleaned up, emptied the illegal merch into the back of my rented moving truck, carried the body over to it, then made sure I locked that shit down good before making my way back to the other truck to unload the toys as quickly as fucking possible.