Designed for Murder (Killer Style 4)

The masked man shrugged. “We all make choices.”

“Why do you even care?” Roger asked, his gun aimed right at Carlos’s head. “It’s not like you’re going to see the sunrise.”

Mika spun on her heel and ran toward him. He held up his hand to hold her off. The last thing he wanted was for her to get hit in the crossfire.

“Stand down,” the masked man yelled.

Roger shook his head, and his face had turned a molten, angry red. “He’s seen my face.”

“Like I said before…” The masked man raised the nine-millimeter, pointing it at Roger’s head. “We all make choices. Yours was to walk in here without a mask.”

He pulled the trigger, and the shot boomed in the studio. Mika screamed. The metallic scent of blood filled the room. Roger’s body hit the ground. Carlos took a running leap in her direction, curling his arms around her and covering her like a human shield, ready for whatever came next as long as she was safe.

But nothing happened. He looked up. The desk hid Roger’s corpse from view, but blood and brains splattered the wall.

“Roger was an idiot and a loose end. I’m not going to shoot yo

u,” the masked man said. “As long as you do what I want, I’ll walk away and never look back.” His finger moved back to the trigger, and he adjusted his aim, pointed the gun at them. “If you don’t, I’ll kill her while you watch. You’ll see her take her last breath, and then I’ll tear this place apart until I find it. Either way, I’m taking the fabric.”

Understanding settled like an ice block against his chest. Carlos couldn’t have it both ways. He had to pick. Mika twisted in his grasp, looking up at him with a mix of fear and determination in her eyes. Mi cielo. My heaven. But she wasn’t his and never would be.

“I’ll get the fabric.” Carlos unwound himself from around Mika and walked to the cabinet. The bolt of tainted fabric was lighter than expected but still awkward at nearly six feet tall.

“Put it on the couch. Then sit down on the floor.” The masked man pushed the barrel of the nine-millimeter against Mika’s head. “Don’t get any ideas.”

A red haze ate away at the edges of Carlos’s vision. “Leave her alone.” He wanted nothing more at that moment than to wrap his fingers around the man’s neck and choke the life out of him.

Ignoring him, the masked man kept the gun against Mika’s skull as he brought out a handful of zip ties from his pocket. He dropped them near Mika’s feet. “Get your ankles first.”

Her hands shook as she wrapped the skinny plastic around her ankles, threaded it, and pulled it tight. Impotent to do anything but watch as long as the other man had the gun on Mika, Carlos took in every detail he could about the man, from the way he favored his left leg to his narrow shoulders to the faded scar at the base of his throat peeking out from the bottom of the ski mask. It might not be much, but Carlos would find a way to track him down. This wasn’t over. If it was the last thing he did, Carlos would track him down and see justice delivered.

“Now your wrists.” After she complied, he waved Carlos over to sit next to her. “Your turn.”

Not liking it one little bit, Carlos followed orders the whole time, searching for an opening to exploit, but the man wasn’t taking any chances and the gun never lost contact with Mika’s head. Carlos sat next to Mika, and a pair of zip ties fell onto his lap.

“Put them on,” the man said.

He looked down at the plastic zip ties. His gut clenched. He couldn’t fucking do it. He fisted his hands and tensed to jump up. A flash of black in his periphery. Mika’s scream. Pain exploded above his temple and knocked his brains loose. Everything went black.

Gentle hands reached through the darkness, brushing Carlos’s face. A quiet murmuring. Soft words he could barely hear through the roar in his ears. A throbbing behind his closed eyes that threatened to take him under again.

“Carlos…please wake up.” Mika’s voice pulled him to the surface.

He opened his eyes and sat up. The floor and the ceiling changed places in his vision and he slammed his eyelids down. “Is he gone?”

An ice pick of déjà vu jabbed him in the brain as he reopened his eyes. This time he wasn’t waking up alone in Ivy’s living room. Instead, Mika, worry etched into her forehead, looked up at him. He willed his stomach to settle and blinked slowly until the last of the blackout vanished from the edges of his consciousness.

“Are you okay?” he asked Mika, searching her face for signs of trauma and finding none.

“I’m okay,” she said, her voice shaking. “Are you?”

He nodded. It was a mistake. The world swam in front of his eyes.

“How long?”

“About fifteen minutes.” She held up the zip tie connecting their wrists. She clutched his phone in her hands. “I found it under the couch. Cops and the ambulance are on their way.”

It shouldn’t have gotten this far. He shouldn’t have let it. A half a million dollars’ worth of cocaine was going to hit the streets tomorrow because he’d lost focus on a case. Again. He had given up his old life as penance, but he hadn’t learned a damn thing. How many times did he have to repeat history before he stopped making the same fucking mistakes?