Warning: This book contains rough language and violent scenes. The rough language is not gratuitous, nor are the violent scenes. ReKill is the second book in the series that started with ReWire
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Chapter 1
He hoped the man resisted so he could mess him up. If the man was armed the boss might let him get away with a kill. Then he could have some fun with the wife and daughters to make sure they did what needed to be done. If the man was unarmed, it would be an execution, and the boss would be pissed.
He wiped sweat off his forehead with the back of his right hand. Of all his old tattoos, he missed the one the on his right hand the most. He had his initials tattooed on the back of his right hand when he was in juvie. BAD were his initials back when he was Bruce Allen Douglas. When he thought of himself, and he thought of himself a lot, he thought of himself as one bad man. But, Bruce Allen Douglas was dead. He was dead and his ashes were scattered on the ground. There was nobody to claim them. But, here he was.
It was too hot. He walked along the trail flirting with a boy in spandex on his five thousand dollar bicycle. Then he flirted with one of the scorching hot women as they ran by. Hey, that was funny. Scorching hot. He knew he looked good. If these boys and girls knew what he had in mind, they wouldn’t be so eager. Maybe they would. A lot of them liked it rough, they just didn’t know it yet. After he killed the dogs and delivered the message maybe he’d take one of the bitches into the woods.
Bad hated the fucking woods. One of his fosters tied him to a tree in the woods for two days. The man beat him with a chain first. He almost fucking died, but when got bigger and went back to kill him, he was already dead. The booze got to him first.
He winked at another one of the fag bike bitches. They didn’t know they were bitches. They thought they were men. Men didn’t wear spandex and ride five thousand dollar toys you peddle. Did he want a girl bitch or a boy bitch today? Decisions, freaking decisions.
You could say one thing for the rich bastard. He was punctual. Right on time and there he was. The man walked toward him with his German Shepherds. Alsatians, they called them in Europe. Fucking European fags. Alsatian. Sounded like somebody sneezing. He stepped out of the bushes.
Dogs didn’t like him. Somehow they knew. The smaller of the two dogs named Frodo or some shit, leaped. Dog didn’t know to stay on the ground, stupid fuck. He stepped in, locked the neck, whipped the dog in a hip throw, heard the dog howl and felt the crack as the dog’s spine splintered. He dropped the dead dog on the path.
He felt the man’s fear wash over him like warm rain. And underneath it, like filling in a pie, was the other dog’s fear. Bruce grabbed the other dog as it sat peeing itself and killed it quick. No time to play.
He looked up into the rich bastards eyes, enjoying the man’s fear, more like warm syrup now, thick and sweet, and said, “I told you, bitch. I told you to let the loan go back to the bank. You wouldn’t listen and now you’ve killed your dogs. Don’t kill your little girls or that fine wife of yours. I’ll take my time with them and make you watch. Let the loan go back to the bank.”
BAD stood in the heat, smelling the fear from on the man and the death smells of the dogs, feeling the sun beating down, swelling from the man’s fear and the rush from killing. Damn it was too hot here, he thought as he turned and walked back into the bushes. He wondered where he could get a beer. Maybe that Sushi place he saw when he turned off the freeway?