Knocked Up by the Killer

He fired twice again. Both bullets slammed into the cabinets above my head.

I fired back and missed. He rolled to the side as I jumped up over the counter then leapt off it.

I slammed into him as he gained his footing. He let out a grunt as my weight slammed him into the floor. I grabbed his wrist and twisted, made him drop the gun just as he slammed a knee into my groin.

Pain flared through my balls and stomach. I let out a moan of pain and dropped my own weapon as I scrambled for purchase against him.

We wrestled on the floor. I tried to push the pain in my balls away but it ached like something popped. I elbowed him in the stomach and jammed a thumb in his eye. He grunted, punched my jaw. I grabbed his mask and ripped it off.

Bennigan’s gray-blue eyes stared back at me.

“What— the fuck— are you doing—” I grunted and tried to throw him to the side, but he steadied himself on the table and slammed an elbow into my ribs.

“Let go,” he growled.

I landed a punch to his throat. He gagged and rolled off. I scrambled for a gun but he got to his feet and kicked me in the face. I gasped and thought I felt my nose break. I rolled away as he aimed another kick and got to my knees. He advanced, hands up, and I blocked a kick before catching a punch. I used him as leverage to stand and pushed off the back of the counter, forcing him backward.

He gained his footing. We traded punches, body blows. Bennigan’s eyes glowed in the air with menace.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” I said through clenched teeth.

He grinned. Blood covered his gums. I wasn’t sure when I got his mouth.

“You’re the dead man, Tanner,” he said. “Decided to protect a mark? What kind of insane shit is that?”

“The girl’s innocent,” I said.

“The girl’s dead already,” he said. “Just a matter of time before reality matches up.”

I came at him hard. He ducked and swore, keeping distance, but I landed a left jab to his chin. His knees buckled but he didn’t drop. He caught my next punch, turned it, kneed me in the gut. I grunted and shoved away, staggering back into the TV. A black and white detective whipped out his gun and shot someone first try.

If only it was that easy in real life.

Bennigan made a break for a gun. I caught up, kicked the gun away before he could grab it. I shoved him and he staggered, slammed against the door. I jumped at him and landed a couple punches before I heard a stifled scream.

Elise stood in the hall to our left. Her hands covered her mouth. She stared with wild eyes.

Bennigan used that opportunity to knee me in the balls again.

That fucking little shit.

I gasped and swiped at him but had no power. He shoved me away then turned and ran into the hall.

“You fucked up, Tanner,” he said. “Only a matter of time.”

Then disappeared down the steps.

I stood there breathing hard. I leaned over and put my hands on my knees.

“Motherfucker hit me in the balls,” I said. “Twice.”

Elise ran to me. She threw her arms around me and I grimaced. I hurt too much for her to hug me right then. I got the door closed and fortunately the bolt and knob still held. I locked them tight.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“I think so,” I said. “But my balls might never recover.”

She chewed her lip. “They sent him to kill me, didn’t they?”

I nodded. “Bennigan.”

“Who?”

“Help me into the bathroom,” I said. “And I’ll tell you.”

She took some of my weight. I left the guns on the floor and limped into the bathroom. I turned on the water and drew up a warm bath then sat down on the toilet lid to take off my shirt.

I probed myself for serious injuries. Nothing felt broken. There’d be bruising, maybe a few lumps. My nuts felt like they were going to explode.

But I wasn’t dead.

She helped me get my pants off. When it was time to take off my boxer briefs, her cheeks turned red and she looked away.

“No need to be shy,” I said. “I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I know,” she said.

I chuckled, took off my underwear, got into the water.

I sank down and let out a groan of pain and comfort.

She sat on the toilet lid and crossed her legs.

“You seem like you know that guy,” she said.

“Right. Bennigan.”

“Who is he?”

“Another hitman, like me,” I said.

“So you’re colleagues.”

I snorted. “Bennigan is a jumped-up thug.”

“What are you then?”

I gave her a look. “I’m Picasso. He’s… Bob Ross.”

“Don’t hate on Bob Ross.”

“I’m not,” I said. “Just making a point. Bennigan is a ruthless thug with no moral compass and no technique. He smashes in and makes a mess.”