Marked (A Dark Serial Killer Romance)
Marked: Chapter 21

I look, but I replace no traces of anything like what Harley described to me. No one connected to Arthur owns a warehouse or a workshop or mechanic’s shop. Nothing that would have the oil and gasoline smells she remembers.

“I’m sorry I don’t remember,” Harley says quietly from the passenger seat in my car. We’ve been sitting in it for the past hour, waiting for Vince to come out to his own car.

It’s midnight. The bar’s open for another two hours, but he won’t stay that long. Most of the assholes he was sitting with have already left.

“It’s not your fault.” I squeeze her knee, so she knows I mean it. “I’m sure Vince will be all too happy to show us the way.” I cut my eyes to a figure walking toward us on the sidewalk.

His car, parked behind us, beeps, and the front lights flicker as he unlocks his Challenger. Other than him, the street is empty. He shouldn’t have parked a full block away from the bar, but he’s probably not expecting anyone to hold his ass accountable for any of the evil shit he’s done.

“Wait here,” I tell her as I open the middle console and pull out the syringe I prepped for tonight’s clubbing adventure.

She gives a little nod, so I know she heard me, and she sinks lower in her seat to keep him from seeing her.

This man hurt her, and he’s going to fucking pay a dear price for it. But first, we need information. So, he’s not going to get his full punishment yet.

Steeling my anger, I quietly get out of the car as he approaches. He’s got his head down, swiping through his phone while humming to himself.

Fuck, this asshole’s oblivious.

I wait until he walks past my car before rushing him from behind.

His phone flies. I’ll get it later. He screams from the surprise. The prick had no idea he wasn’t alone on the street.

“What the fuck! Let me go!” His feet scramble for purchase as I wrap my arm around his neck, yanking him backward until he loses his footing and falls flat on his ass.

“I am going to fuck you up!” His empty threat dies in the midnight air as I sink the needle into his neck.

Wide, panicked eyes replace mine, and he tries to hit my arm away. It’s too late though, the drug’s already in his system. Letting him go, I stand up and move back a step.

He thrashes, tries to get to his feet, to run away, but the drug is already working. Probably could have given him a higher dose; he shouldn’t be this mobile right now, but that’s fine, I can be patient when it’s called for.

“What did…?” His eyes roll, and he folds, his knees hitting the sidewalk before he faceplants right into the cement.

There.

Harley pops the trunk open for me while I gather him off the sidewalk. He’s bigger than Artie was, more muscle, and taller, too. With my arms hooked beneath his, I drag him to the back of my car.

“I can help.” Harley hops out of her seat and grabs his booted feet. “He’s big. Are you sure he’ll fit?” she asks as we get to the trunk.

“Yeah, baby, he’ll fit.” I readjust my grasp. “On three, we’re gonna lift and swing, yeah?”

“Got it.” She gives me a firm nod and reworks her grab on his feet, so she’s got a good grip on him.

“One…two…three!”

We hoist his ass up, then swing him into the trunk. His legs dangle out a bit, but that’s fine. Humans are damn flexible when they’re not awake to fight the pain of being stretched in a new way. I fold his legs in and contort him until he’s stuffed inside.

Once I have his feet bound tight, and his hands tied behind him, I slam the trunk.

“I think you hit him with it.” She winces.

I lift a shoulder. “That’s nothing compared to what’s coming to him.” I gesture with a nod to the car. “Grab his phone and get in. It’s late already.”

She snatches his phone from where it flew off to, then jumps into her side of the car and buckles up.

“Are we going back to the storage unit?” She is almost giddy with the prospect of getting this monster off the streets.

I take his phone from her, cutting off the location services so he can’t be tracked by his GPS.

I hand her the phone and shift into gear.

“There’s a barn about forty-five minutes from here. That will do.”

Vince is a heavy motherfucker, but we got him out of the trunk and onto the dolly so I could drag his ass into the barn.

“I think he’s waking up.” Harley hops off the surgical table and leans down to look up into his face. Slumped over the way he is, it’s hard to get a good look at his eyes.

Fisting his hair in her hand, she yanks his head back and slaps his cheek.

“Yeah, he’s getting there.” She pushes his head back against the head rest. “Do you have some rope in here? We can just tie his head up.”

“Good idea.” I grab a leather belt from a drawer and bring it over to her. She uncurls the belt and straps it around his forehead and buckles it behind the chair. It’s just small enough to hold his head up.

“There.” She smiles at me, resting her hands on his shoulder. “Are his eyes open yet?”

“He’s awake, but he’s trying to keep his eyes closed.” I curl my finger at her, beckoning her to my side. “This is how you know the difference between a man like him and a man like Artie. When Artie came to, he flopped around like fish pulled out of the water. Vince here is fully awake, but he’s pretending to still be out so he can assess his situation.”

“That’s smart,” she says.

“It’s what I would do if I were in his position.” The blade opening on my knife makes his muscles stiffen. Oh yes, he’s very much awake. “Though if he doesn’t open his eyes soon, I’m going to have to stick this knife into his kneecap.”

Harley’s lips curl with anticipation. She wants his blood.

She deserves his blood.

“Ah, there he is.” She laughs when Vince’s eyes pop open. He tries to move his mouth to speak, but the drugs are getting in the way.

“It’ll be another minute before you can talk,” I tell him, pressing the tip of my knife to his chin. “In the meantime, I’m going to ask you some yes or no questions and you’re going to answer by blinking. One for no, two for yes. Understand?”

He stares up at me. His panic is well under control, and there’s only a trace of fear on him.

Poor bastard still thinks he has a way out of here.

“The knife to the kneecap is still an option for noncooperation.” I point the tip of my knife at his legs. “Do you understand what’s happening?”

Two quick blinks.

“Good.” I pat the flat of the blade against his cheek. “Do you work for Jimmy Blackwood?”

Again, his stare goes blank.

I sigh. This is going to be a very long conversation if he makes me hurt him every time I want an answer.

But he’s a grown man, making his own decisions.

In a quick motion, I drive the knife just above his kneecap. A gurgling sound of a scream bursts from him, rising up in volume a bit toward the end.

Good, his vocal cords are starting to come back to life.

Jerking the knife back out, I bring the blood covered tip to his view.

“Do you work for Jimmy Blackwood?” I repeat my question.

Two quick blinks.

“See. All you have to do is answer.”

“You move his product?”

Another two fast blinks.

“Great.” I turn to Harley who’s chewing on the inside of her lip. “He’s finally getting the hang of this.” She smiles a little, but having him so close to her has to be hard. This man hurt her. He played with her like she was some dirty toy for them to pass around.

“And product is girls?” I turn back to him, my skin hot.

“Y-yeah.” He blinks but his mouth is working.

“Oh, good. You can talk.” I step back a little. “You sell girls for Jimmy?”

He swallows then licks his dried-out lips. “I set up the sales, yeah.”

“I thought Jimmy was in the loan sharking side of things. I’d heard Jacob doesn’t like the flesh trade.” And as big a deal Jimmy is in Chicago, his cousin, the head of the whole operation, is fucking huge in all major cities.

“He doesn’t.” He swallows again. “Jimmy takes the girls as payment.” He coughs a little, turns his head best he can with the strap holding him in place, and spits on the ground.

“No fucking manners,” I mutter. “What does that mean, payment?”

“If they can’t pay, they put up collateral.” His head rolls the side. The problem with this drug is, even when it starts to wear off, sometimes it kicks back in for certain muscles. If it wasn’t for the strap, he’d be face deep in his chest again.

“So, if someone takes a loan from Jimmy, they have to put collateral in the form of a person?” Harley steps up.

His eyes roam over her. Memory strikes and all color drains from his face.

“Fuck,” he moans.

“Fuck indeed,” I laugh. “So, you realize now there’s no happy ending here for you, right?”

He turns his gaze to me. “You took out Arthur?”

“Dustin too,” I add.

“Fuck, man. It was years ago. And it was Jimmy.”

“It was you, too.” Harley straddles him in the chair, sitting on his lap. “You were there. You came in, you wanted to play. Don’t you remember? You dragged me out of the room and put me in an office. You tied my hands behind my back, and you tied my ankles to the legs of the desk. You bent me over the desk, don’t you remember?” She slaps him hard across the face.

“I wasn’t wearing any clothes at that point; you’d already taken them from me.” She slaps him harder, his head snaps.

“Don’t you remember your little game?” She leans back, putting pressure on his wounded leg, making him cry out.

“I remember! Get off!” His bindings won’t let him off the chair, and his muscles are too weak still to do much other than jerk.

“What was the game?” She scoots back more on his lap, and he howls. Blood soaks into his jeans, into her skirt.

“You might want to answer her, Vince.” I hand her a knife, it’s smaller than mine, and I was planning to give it to her later as a little present, but she’s in need of it now.

“It was so fucking long ago,” he wails.

She brings the knife up to his face. “What was the game, Vince?” She pushes the very tip of the knife against his neck until a small bead of blood forms.

“We don’t want him dead yet, little bird,” I remind her.

“I know how deep to cut before there’s a problem,” she says sweetly, pushing a tiny bit more.

He winces, finally sensing the danger.

“Hide the salami,” he says with as much regret a grown man can show at such speaking such a juvenile phrase.

“That’s right. You hid the salami, didn’t you?” She drags the knife down his neck, cutting just deep enough to make him bleed, but not near any major arteries.

He hisses, tries to twist away from her, but she’s in the zone.

She slices another bit and then another. Until his neck is drenched in his own blood.

When she’s finished, she hops off his lap and stands next to me. Her hand drips his blood, and there’s a small smattering of it on her cheek.

“I’m done playing now.” She moves to hand me the knife back.

“It’s yours.”

“Good. I like it.” She smiles and wipes the blade clean with her skirt. “Thanks.”

“Just fucking kill me if you’re gonna do it,” Vince yells. He’s getting enough strength back that he actually got some bass behind his demand.

“Not yet.” I drop my shoulders. “If you’re really good and answer us, I won’t make you suffer.”

“Too much,” Harley adds. “He needs to suffer some.”

“Of course he does, little bird,” I agree.

“Did my mother take money from Jimmy?” she questions.

“She was the one paid, but she didn’t make the deal.”

“Who did?” She steps closer, tension builds in her shoulders.

“Your father.”