Whispers Of Spilt Blood

Chapter 24

Ace's POV

"Yo, Ace, you ready?" Bronx glances over at me, his hands tapping out an impatient beat on the nearby bar's counter-top. I sigh and run a tired hand through my tangled hair. 

While Bronx may be impatient to get things done, I'm even more so. With the bar closed, the deserted room gives off an eerie feeling. All the stools and chairs are stacked on top of the cleared tables and the only light comes from a dim overhead lamp. 

"You got the gun?" I ask, as I brush past. He nods sharply. I pass by the light switch and flick off the lamp, sending the room spiraling into almost complete darkness. 

Once we've walked out the back door I make sure to lock up behind me. Pocketing the key, we stroll onto the street. 

The sun is just starting to make an appearance as we begin heading towards our destination.  

To anyone unfamiliar with these parts, these streets would appear intimidating, but out here this is my home turf. Which means I'm at the top of the food chain.

"Remember, Ace, the boss said this drug deal needs to go smoothly. So do us all a favor and let's not have ourselves a repeat of Colt." Even though his tone has a teasing air to it, I clench my teeth knowing fully well what he's referring to.

It wasn't my fault my finger had twitched while on the trigger last time. I had refused to listen to one more second of the trash that Colt had been spewing out of his filthy mouth. He should have counted himself lucky that he got off with a simple bullet wound to the shoulder. If it was up to me the piece of dirt wouldn't have kept breathing.

Everyone new fully well what kind of stuff Colt was into. Slavery, drugs, gambling—the list went on. Just because I'm into some shady stuff doesn't mean that I don't have at least a few morals left.

Once I scan the street a few more times, I zone out. I know fully well that Bronx will have my back if anyone decides to jump us. Not that anyone would have the guts to. Both our reputations are well known around these parts. The devil and his right hand.

At this my thoughts turn dark.

I could have sworn I'd seen one of my father's "employees" sniffing around for a few days now. I'd even caught the tall man tailing me at one point. Seconds after noticing, I'd ducked into a familiar bar and headed out the back. It could have been my paranoia kicking in, but when it came to my father I refused to take any chances. If I saw the man again, I'd make sure to corner him until he gave me some answers.

But what could my father want with me? Especially after all these years.

I'm sure it's not to give me all those overdue birthday cards. I think bitterly.

I'm pulled from my thoughts as Bronx places a rough hand against my arm, pulling me to a halt.

"Look man, we're almost at the meetup spot and I need your head in the game." I give a sharp nod and push all my emotions to the corner of my mind.

Emotions are what gets you killed out here. Even a moment of distraction can result in the tables turning against you. It can mean the difference between life and death. It was one of the first things I learned about drug deals. You show even a moments weakness, you'll be swindled out of your money—or worse.

Bronx and I are part of the boss' best, but drug deals like these are a common occurrence in his establishment. So why did he request us specifically for this job?

I voice my thoughts to Bronx, and he frowns as though he'd overlooked the detail. Then he simply shrugs. "Boss mentioned this was some kind of special drug, probably can't afford any screw ups with some rookies. We're two of his most experienced, guess he figured we'd make sure things ran smoothly."

I accept his reply, though I'm not convinced.

I hadn't heard of any new drugs floating around, and I would know. While I've never done drugs myself, I've seen the impact it can have on people first hand. The second I started working I'd made it my priority to know which of my "co-workers" was using. As they said there was no honor among thieves—or gang members. One careless comment from someone could cost me my position and the boss' ear. Both of which I've worked years to gain.

I stop suddenly as we pass by the mouth of an alley. A wave of nausea hits me as a putrid smell fills my nostrils. Bronx seems to register the stench only seconds after me.

With a quick look at each other, we walk into the alley. The sun is still too low in the sky to provide much light so most of the alleyway is cast in deep shadows. With each step we take closer inside the smell only grows stronger. Peering behind one of the trash cans, I gag at the sight of the body which lays there. I step back. Bronx on the other hand steps closer to get a better look at the face.

"Damn, it's Reece, knew something was off when he was a no-show for the deal last week." There's a cool detachment to his voice as he says this. No remorse.

Looking closer, I realize that Bronx is right. Only half of his face is visible and the lighting is poor but it's clear that it's Reece. The long, puckered scar which runs from the tip of his right eyebrow down to the corner of his mouth is a telltale sign.

From the smell I can also tell that he was probably killed a few days ago. He's already starting to decompose, which explains the smell.

Using my scuffed boot, I nudge his face to the other side.

"Whoa, man, that's fucked up." Bronx says as he catches a glimpse of the other half of Reece's face—or at least what's left of it.

The left side of his face has been shredded by what appears to be knife slashes. I try to ignore the smell as I crouch down. Examining Reece's hands, I find that they bear burn marks. The skin on his palms are burned halfway through and he's even missing a finger. His clothes are soaked through with blood and there's no doubt that it's his.

I frown, inspecting the body further.

This doesn't seem like the run of the mill killing. It looks like his death had been a slow one—the result of hours of torture—which could potentially mean that someone was looking for information.

But about what?

Digging through Reece's leather jacket, I manage to uncover his wallet from one of the worn pockets. His cash is still inside, but his ID is missing. This only seems to further confirm my suspicions that this wasn't a simple mugging either.

A piece of crumpled up paper flutters out when I turn the wallet over. Picking it up, I'm about to open it when a noise comes from further inside the alley. My gun is immediately in my hand, pointed in the direction of the noise.

Someone stumbles towards the center of the alley. As they get closer to near us, Bronx flicks open his switchblade. As the figure stumbles closer, I catch a glimpse of their face.

"Reagan?" Her head raises at the sound of my voice. I slowly lower my gun, seeing that it really is her.

"Who?" Bronx doesn't sheath his knife as he glares.

I don't answer and stride over to Reagan. She's standing still, with a look of confusion on her face. Well, I'm pretty confused at the moment too. 

What is she doing in a dark alley with a dead body? 

She could be mixed up in this entire thing, and what happened to Reece. I raise my gun slightly again. Considering I know next to nothing about her, and the fact that she keeps showing up, I'm not exactly sure that Reagan is the little princess I'd first pegged her as.