Again, the man screamed through Grady’s bloodied fingers and bit down in an effort to free himself. Grady gave him another stab wound to the stomach. His struggling lessened. That one did the trick, Grady thought, letting a savage grin crease his face.
The stake sank surprisingly easily through the man’s armpit into the vital organs in his chest. All fight left him completely at that point and Grady released him. The corpse’s manhood slid out of his partner with an audible squelch of wetness.
He bashed the second man’s head in from the side, caving his features in until he looked more like roadkill than a human being. A quick check of both men’s pulses confirmed that they were dead. There was blood soaking into the mattress, and arterial spray across the headboard, floor, and nearby wall. It would have been a crime scene investigator’s wet dream if that sort of occupation still existed.
The wound in his left palm bled profusely, adding to the chaotic bloodbath. He would need to bandage it as soon as the opportunity arose. But first, he had to make sure that the house was clear. “Actually…” Grady mumbled aloud.
He searched the two piles of clothing on the bedroom floor and was rewarded with a folding knife that boasted a four-inch blade and a pair of brass knuckles.
“Worst. Gang. Ever,” Grady said slowly, making himself chuckle. These two idiots were obviously the lowest of the low on the gang’s hierarchy, otherwise they wouldn’t have been left to guard the guy who was supposed to be their boss soon. Unfortunately, the terrible arsenal of weapons they employed was not indicative of the group as a whole. The ones he’d faced the night before had a much more varied and deadly selection of weaponry than these two. He’d yet to go up against anyone in the city with a firearm, which was surprising given the sheer number of guns in the police stations alone, never mind the street gangs, or even the private citizens who had weapons out on Long Island.
He tossed the brass knuckles back onto the pile of clothes and opened the knife. He tried to hold the closet rod in his left hand while he held the blade. It was no good. The guy had bit him too deeply. Weighing his options, Grady folded the knife and slipped it into his pocket. The club was a better weapon choice out of what he’d been given.
“Hey!” The voice made him whirl around, prepared to strike. “What are we supposed to do?”
He lowered the club. The brunette stood in the hallway, still topless. The other one peeked around the doorframe and gasped. “Just go back into the bedroom,” he ordered. “I’m going to try to get out of here.”
“Bullshit. Scorpion will kill us for not warning everyone. We’re coming with you.”
“I can’t have you—”
“Shoulda thought about that before you went off and killed Rico and… Is that Jefferson?” She looked over to the black girl and asked, “Did you know Jefferson was gay?”
She shook her head, but didn’t say anything.
“Ladies, I need you—”
“You need to protect us,” the brunette interrupted. “This is your mess. I ain’t gonna get killed over some Captain America motherfucker coming in here and busting up our meal ticket. You did this shit.” She pointed at the bodies on the bed. “Now you’ve gotta help us out and protect us from Scorpion.”
He sighed deeply. She was right. They may have been the gang’s whores, but it didn’t appear that they’d chosen that lifestyle. It was simply where they found themselves. And now he’d fucked up their “meal ticket” as the girl called it. “Fine. Fuck. Go get your clothes on.”
The white girl put her hands on her hips and thrust one to the side. “You really think we’re that dumb?”
“What?”
“We go back to the bedroom and you leave us here. No way, Mister Hero. You come back with us while we get our stuff.”
“I’m not gonna leave you.”
The girl marched into the room and grabbed his wrist. He grimaced. She turned his hand over to examine the wound. “You need to get that cleaned up.” Her features had softened seeing his injury.
“Later.”
“I heard Scorpion. He’s expecting you to spend an hour with me and Carla. You got time to let me wrap that hand up.”
Grady cursed under his breath and allowed the girl to lead him back to the bedroom. “Get dressed, Carla,” the brunette directed the other girl. “I’m Mandy.”
“Grady,” he replied as the girl picked up the bedsheet.
“You don’t have a knife or anything, do you?”
“As a matter of fact.” He dug into his pocket and emerged with the pitiful folder. “Here you go.”
He sat on the bed while Mandy used the knife to cut several strips of cloth. By the time she was done, Carla had her boots and coat on. “Can you wrap him up while I get dressed?” Mandy asked.
Carla nodded and took the strips of cloth. She bent over her work, wrapping the bandages expertly. “Great work,” Grady stated once she’d tucked away the running end. “Not too tight, but not too loose.”
“She was a second-year nursing student when everything went to shit,” Mandy offered.
“You don’t talk much, do you?” Grady asked. Carla looked into his eyes for the briefest of moments, then looked away, shaking her head “no”.
“She don’t talk much,” Mandy confirmed. “Scorpion and the boys beat the shit out of her about six or seven months ago and she ain’t been the same since.”
Grady frowned. “I’m sorry that—”
Muffled gunfire outside
