Chapter 2 - Blood on the Tile
Footsteps hit the porch. Heavy. Deliberate.
I didn’t move the knife. Marcus’s eyes were locked on the front door.
“That’s not the cops,” he said. “You need to put that down.”
The door I’d already broken pushed open wider. A man in a dark hoodie stepped inside like he owned the place. Mid-thirties. Hands in his pockets. No expression.
“Marcus,” the guy said. “We got a problem.”
Then he saw me. And the knife. And the blood on Marcus’s lip.
“Who the fuck is this?”
Marcus tried to laugh. It came out broken. “Old friend. We’re just talking.”
The guy’s hand came out of his pocket. A compact pistol. He didn’t raise it yet. Just held it loose at his side.
“Talking with a knife to your throat. Cute.”
I kept the blade where it was. “You the one who helped him kill my wife?”
The guy’s eyebrows went up a fraction. “Your wife?”
“Elena Harlan. Dead on Route 9 twenty minutes ago. Wearing this asshole’s ring.”
Something shifted in the guy’s face. He looked at Marcus. Hard.
“You said she was handled clean.”
Marcus’s voice cracked. “It was clean. I don’t know how he found out so fast—”
I shoved the knife harder. A thin line of red appeared on Marcus’s neck.
“You planned it.”
The guy with the gun finally raised it. Aimed at my chest.
“Drop the knife or I drop you.”
Rain still poured outside. The clock kept ticking. Marcus’s blood ran down the blade and onto my knuckles.
I didn’t drop it.
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The guy’s finger tightened on the trigger.
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