Chapter 14: Codename: Blackheart Chapter Fourteen

It’s been three weeks of watching Lowell’s every move and it only proceeded to get more boring, which prompted me to move up my timeline. Aside from occasionally ordering-in food, nothing in Lowell’s routine has changed. So, armed with the information Mikhail acquired for me, plus everything I have learned from tailing this guy – which isn’t much – and the observations I’ve made from monitoring the person tailing me, I’ve decided to strike tonight instead of a week from now. Nothing was going to change between here and then and while in any other case, I wouldn’t speed things up, I know this situation calls for it. 

With Crimson already strapped to my ankle holster hidden by my denim jeans, I pull my gun from my glove compartment, check it, slip it behind me in the waistband of my pants and pull my black leather jacket over it. I zip up my jacket, adjust my sherpa collar, and get out as soon as I see Alec exiting his apartment. The sidewalk is busier the closer he gets to the restaurant, so I plan to make my move when he’s on his way back. As soon as I close the door of my car I see my irritating shadow from my car’s side mirror. Good, come and get me.

I follow Lowell, staying about a block back while my tail keeps close to me. This has become an annoying version of Follow the Leader. I wait on the other side of the street while Lowell eats his dinner. As soon as he’s finished, I start heading back towards his apartment. There’s an alleyway near his house that I quickly step into, using the shadows for cover as I press myself against the wall and wait. 

I’ve only waited for a few minutes when Lowell starts passing by. With great speed, I grab him by the collar of his leather jacket and pull him into the alley. Using his surprise to my advantage, I kick out the back of his legs making his knees buckle so he’s now bent to my height. I then place my hand over his mouth, pressing his back to my front as I pull out my gun and place it to his temple. 

“Scream or move and I pull the trigger,” I whisper icily against his ear. He nods while his hands grip my forearm for dear life, but he doesn’t try to move my hand away. As I pull him further into the alley, I hear the sound of a gun firing, followed by a sharp burning sensation coming from my right arm. Motherfucker, that hurts! 

A loud groan manages to escape my lips, my arm dropping in reflex, but I manage to keep a tight hold on Lowell with my other arm and now use him as a shield. I look ahead, the lights from the city street illuminating my attacker from behind while shrouding his face in darkness. I know exactly who it is; the annoying little leach who has been latched to my shadow the past few weeks. He raises his gun to shoot again, but with Lowell as my personal body armour, I’ve stopped him from getting a clear shot. I use his moment of hesitation to my advantage and shoot my assailant in the shoulder that has his gun pointed at me, then both thighs. He drops to his knees screaming like a little bitch as he struggles to decide which wound to put pressure on first. Three wounds, two hands. Tough decision. 

I throw Lowell to the ground, step over him and look back down at him, “You move. You die,” I threaten. He nods up at me, his skin looking ghostly pale in the dark, seedy alley. I walk over, take the gun from my would-be killer, and tuck it in the back of my pants. I pull him up by his shirt as he cries and groans in pain. That’s what you get for shooting me, asshole. “Who are you?” I demand in a murderous tone.

“Ik heb geen idee waar je het over hebt, stomme idioot!” he shouts. Just fucking great, he’s speaking Dutch. I don’t speak Dutch. 

“English?” I ask in annoyance. He quickly shakes his head. 

Definitely not an assassin, most likely a hitman. They’re basically mercenaries. They work for the highest price, but their work is sloppy, and they will happily sell out your secrets. If they can speak your language that is. Questioning him isn’t going to be easy, so let’s keep this short and sweet if I can.

“Peyton Grigoras,” I say as I look him dead in the eyes. His eyes widen significantly, and his breathing picks up. That was easier than I thought. That confirms Peyton Grigoras, my contract, hired this piece of shit to kill me. I’m not pissed off though, I’m fucking offended. I mean if you’re going to hire someone to kill me at least hire someone of my own calibre. This is just insulting. 

Deciding to make quick work of things, I pull Crimson from my ankle strap, tilt his head forward and run the blade across his jugular. This fucker isn’t worth my time. I discard his body to the side and with a knife in one hand and a gun in the other, I get up and turn my attention to Lowell. He looks like he’s shitting bricks. I move closer as I hear the sounds of Mr. Hitman choking on his own blood. He’ll be dead soon.

“I don’t know who you are, or who he is. Just please don’t kill me. I won’t say anything! I swear,” he pleads. Using the butt of my gun I land a couple hard hits to the back of his head, knocking him out cold. 

Well, this is going to be a long night. 

Looking down, I see thick blood trickling down my fingers from the bullet wound in my arm. Fucking hell. I really liked this jacket, but even worse, I’m leaving my own blood behind. What a mess. I tuck Crimson back into my ankle holster, tuck my gun in the back of my pants next to the other gun, and focus on the task at hand. I pull Lowell out of sight and then drag the hitman’s body behind a dumpster as I tune out the sounds of blood gurgling and spluttering out of the cut in his neck. Now I just need to go get my car. 

I calmly walk to my car, get in, drive, and park as close to the alley as I can. I get out, open the back door, and walk over to where I’ve left Lowell. Ignoring the injury to my arm, I drag him to the car and lift him into the backseat. Gotta love adrenaline. I pop open the trunk, toss in the hitman’s gun, and grab the emergency gas tank and lighter I keep there. I casually saunter back to the alley – rushing would only draw unwanted attention – and start dousing the area and body in gasoline. I toss the tank on the ground, light the lighter, throw it in and watch the blaze ignite. 

Given I’m using gasoline as an accelerant and I’m out in the elements, there’s nothing to keep the heat insulated, so this fire won’t burn long or hot enough to do much to the body, plus you can’t burn bones to ash anyway. However, I’m not trying to get rid of the body, I’m just trying to destroy any DNA evidence I’m leaving behind. With that done, I jump in the car and head to my apartment.