Execution Style (3 page)

I looked at the toilet bowl, thankful that the cleaner had come only two days ago to clean the apartment. I wasn’t a big fan of puking, and puking in a toilet that stank of piss and shit wasn’t my favorite thing to do.

“Well, that explains a lot,” I said, sarcastically, before pushing myself to my feet.

He eyed me warily wondering if I’d finished or not. He probably stood there and took pictures of me the entire time.

He was a nice brother like that.

“How was her place?” Foster asked, following me into the kitchen where I promptly chugged a full can of beer.

He watched me in silence, waiting for me to finish before I answered.

“Ghost town. After she went to bed last night, I called her pop and then Chief Rhodes, who took it upon themselves to
clear that mess up.
They let every single radio station, news station, and newspaper in the Ark-La-Tex that was there, know that if one video showed up of Mercy, that they’d personally sue them,” I said, just before I belched.

“Five,” Trance said, walking through the front door without knocking.

I flipped him off.

We were going shooting today, or had been three days ago.

Now, I was fairly sure I was dehydrated, and I’d need something more than just a beer to help me recover.

Sadly, beer was all we had, and I’d have to wash a dish in the pile at the base of the sink if I wanted water.

So, beer it was.

After my third, I was finally okay enough to regard my two brothers who were staring at me like I was broken.

“What?” I snapped.

They both shook their heads.

A gesture so much alike that it was comical.

We all looked alike. I was the biggest and oldest. Trance was the middle and slightly less muscled than me, but the same height. Foster was the youngest, and the leanest. He wasn’t small by any means, he just didn’t have the bulk like Trance or me.

I sighed and walked to the bedroom, shucking my shirt and pants on the way.

My socks followed as I headed to the closet where I yanked out a fresh t-shirt that smelled like flowers and shit, courtesy, yet again, of the maid.

My jeans were hanging up
again
, too.

Ugh
. I think she starched them as well.

“Look at this shit!” I yelled at my brothers.

Taking the pants, I rounded out the leg holes and set them down on the carpet where they stood on their own.

“Wow, Mandy does a good job at starching your pants,” Foster observed dryly.

Trance’s eyes rounded as he watched my starched jeans stand on their own. They’d probably stand up against a stiff wind, too.

“Are you wearing those?” Trance asked worriedly.

I gave him a look and yanked up all of

+41 my starched pants, then walked to the wash room where I threw every one of them in the washer
and turned the water on scald…or hot. Whatever.

Then I poured two cups of detergent into the wash with it and put it on its longest cycle before turning around to paw through the dirty clothes.

I unearthed a pair of jeans I’d worn last week, happy to see that only a few stains from, what I suspected was dirt, on the knees.

Slipping into the jeans, I walked back to my bedroom where I slipped my feet back into my boots.

“Did you get a new piece?” Trance asked when I stood up.

I nodded. “Colt .45. Snub nosed. Fits perfectly
in my ankle holster. I can even run with it comfortably.”

“Sweet. I just got five boxes of shells for my .45. I want to shoot it,” Trance said as he walked with me out of the house and down the stairs.

Foster and I each had three bags a piece, plus I had two rifles slung over each shoulder.

Trance walked to his own truck and removed his rifle and bags before depositing them in the bed of my truck.

We all piled into my ’87 Chevrolet, sitting three across in the single cab pickup.

The rifles went into the floorboard and behind the seat, all barrels pointed towards the floor.

It was a tight fit, but we made it happen.

Although, if we were pulled over right now, we’d probably be arrested just on general principle.

“Why do we always take your stupid truck? I have a brand new one,” Foster grumbled from his position in the middle seat.

I shifted into reverse, being sure to nearly nail him in the balls, and backed out of the parking lot.

He cursed and covered his dick, causing us to laugh.

“Because I’m the oldest,” I said with wide eyes.

He just shook his head, and I drove to the shooting range where we were members.

“Do you think they think we’re gay?” Foster asked as he eyed a car of chicks to our left at the first stoplight we hit.

I looked over to find them all giggling and tossing glances our way.

“No. We look alike. Unless they think we’re incestuous, that is,” I offered.

Foster eyed where Trance had his arm running along the back of his shoulders, and I had my hand resting on the stick shift that was in between his legs. “No, I
can’t see how they’d think that at all.”

I snorted and put it into first gear as the light turned green.
“Well, then,
let ‘em think that. We don’t have anything to prove to them.”

“What if my future wife was in that car?” Foster tittered.

I shot him a glance. “Foster, those girls were all of sixteen. If your future wife was in that car, she’d have to come visit you in the state pen for statutory rape.”

Trance snorted. “You used to be like that, too.”

I shrugged. “I’ve changed my ways.”

I had, too.

Over a year ago I’d been going through women like they were fucking candy.

Then I’d, literally, fucked one of my dates so hard that the wall between our apartment and the one on the other side had fallen with my exuberance, and I hadn’t had sex since.

I’d nearly
killed someone. Two
someone’s.

Granted, the wall had been flimsy and a piece of shit,
and had withstood not just me having sex against it, but the previous occupant as well.
I’d literally never been so scared in my life. Not even when I was in a middle of a fucking warzone with thirty
Taliban pointing their weapons at my face.

Trance and Foster snorted. “You’ve turned into a little bitch.”

That comment came from Foster, and I made sure to nail him in the balls the next time I shifted gears.

“Fucker,” he wheezed.

I pulled into the driveway of the shooting range after thirty minutes of listening to their bullshit, and was relieved to see the place deserted.

It was helpful that we’d come on a weekday.
If it’d been a weekend it would’
ve been hopping.

“Rifle or handgun first?” I asked at the T in the road that led to the separate ranges.

“Rifle.”

“Handgun.”

Rolling my eyes I took a right, choosing handgun first.

Foster shot Trance a triumphant grin, and Trance slugged him in the shoulder.

“Oww,” he whined.

I pulled into the spot next to the only car, thankful that I got a close parking spot.

I hated nothing more than having to haul all of our stuff back and forth to the truck. It was inevitable that I’d forget something.

Grabbing my ear protection from around the shifter, I placed it over my ears since I could already hear the lone occupant of the handgun range shooting up a storm.

It’d literally not stopped since we’d arrived. Nine shots, reload a clip, nine more shots.

That didn’t surprise me, though. Some people did it like that.

Though I was surprised to see that the shooter was a woman.

A sexy woman in jeans so tight that it made my mouth water.

She’d also caught the attention of Foster, too.

Her long black hair was down to her ass in soft waves, and her shirt declared her to have some affiliation to the Kilgore Fire Department.

Foster nudged me, moving his head towards the woman.

Trance didn’t even bother to look. He had a woman at home that he loved more than the air he breathed, as well as two beautiful children.

He didn’t need to look. He had it all.

Everything that I wished I had, but never told anybody about.

We waited for another five minutes for her to stop shooting before we announced ourselves, and when we did, she whipped around like she’d been shocked with a cattle prod.

That’s when my mind started to put together all the pieces.

“Hey Mercy,” I said softly. “It’s okay.”

I said it soothingly, mainly because she was gripping the gun like she’d pull it up at any second, even though we all knew she was out.

Her eyes darted between Trance and Foster, her mind rapidly taking in their huge forms before she settled on me.

When she did, she visibly relaxed, all the tension that’d worked into her body the moment we announced ourselves dissipated, flowing out of her as if it’d never been.

“Miller,” she breathed with relief. “Y’all scared me.”

We could tell.

Trance looked at the woman curiously, but Foster realized who she was just about the same time that I had.

Foster had kept himself scarce while Mercy had been over at our place. However,
he wasn’t deaf. He’d heard the conversation
,
courtesy of the shitty walls in the apartment. He’d also seen her while she was sleeping.

Now, though, she looked pretty badass compared to her previous broken state at my apartment.

“You look good, Mercy,” I said softly. “Whatcha shootin’?”

I knew what she was shooting, but it was an ice breaker to get her to talk.

My brothers took that as their cue to start setting up, and I sat my bag on the counter when I walked over to Mercy slowly.

She really did look better.

Dressed in her own clothes and shoes, with her hair washed and down, she looked like a totally different person.

Even when I’d seen her yesterday,
pressed up against the window…she looked like someone else. This Mercy looked like she was comfortable in her own skin. She looked like she’d never experienced the atrocity that’d happened to her yesterday.

Mercy held out her gun for me to look at. A pink .38 that fit her small hand like a glove.

“You come here often?” I asked, touching the pink grips with the tip of my finger.

She nodded. “Every
Monday. I thought it best to keep up my regular routine.”

I could understand that. Routines were important to most normal people…but to people that were fucked up…routines were crucial.

Something I knew all too well.

“This is a good place to come. You want to shoot with us?” I asked.

I expected her to say no, but she surprised the shit out of me by saying, “Yes.”

She must’ve read the surprise written all over my face, because she laughed softly. “I’m out of bullets.”

I smiled. “Lucky for you we have enough ammo to hold off a small siege.”

She raised her hand and ran it up and down my arm. “Thank you, Miller.”

I lifted my own and patted her hand. “Anytime, Mercy Me.”

She grinned. “Mercy Me. I like it.”

I raised my eyebrows at her. “Now, let’s see what you can do with a real gun.”

She snorted as she followed me over to where my brothers were standing, guns on the counter in front of them.

“Is it safe to walk the target out there?”
Trance asked.

Mercy giggled. “Sorry. I was a little…distracted.”

Trance, nor Foster, said anything, but I could tell they wanted to.
That just went to show they knew how to handle women.

“Now, you may show me what the big boys play with,” she teased.

I smiled wide at her. “Your wish is my command.”

Foster snorted, and a smile played at Mercy’s lips as she tried her best not to comment.

Although she was still slightly nervous, she started to come out of her shell when, not only me, but my brothers, started showing off their prized possessions.

She shot nearly two clips out of each handgun that we’d taken to the range with us.

By the time we were gathering up our belongings to head to the rifle range, Mercy had become comfortable around the three of us.

It was when I was walking her to her car that she stopped and looked up at me.

“Thank you for helping me, Miller,” she replied thankfully.

I touched the tip of her nose with one of my fingers, eyes alight on the freckles she had dusted over her cheeks and nose. “That was all you, honey.”

She smiled sadly at me. “No, it was
not
.”

When she made a move to go to her car, I stopped her by taking a hold on her wrist.

Her skin felt smooth beneath my work roughened palms, and her bones felt tiny.

I could literally wrap my thumb and forefinger around her wrist with my thumb nearly touching my second knuckle.

She looked back at me with a raised brow in question. “What?”

I moved closer when I heard my brothers’ step out of the range behind us.

“You really did do it on your own. I haven’t done a thing for you that you couldn’t have done for yourself. You’re an amazing woman, Mercy. Your coping skills amaze me,” I said truthfully.

An embarrassed smile tilted up the corners of her lips. “You don’t even have the first clue, Miller. I’m not that girl. I just put on a good act.”

With that she left, and I was left feeling that maybe I should check on her later in the day.

At least to double check that she was all right.

That was purely for her benefit…wasn’t it?

Dad, you’ve always been like a father to me.

-Coffee Mug

Mercy

Two days later

There was a knock at the door, and I peeked my head out from under the blanket I was hiding under.

Literally hiding.

The only way I could sleep was if the lights were on, the TV was blaring, and the comforter covered me from head to foot.

It’d taken a little getting used to, but I’d managed it. Especially when it was the only way I was able to sleep.