Another girl was curled up in a recliner. A blonde babe every bit as tasty as Hank’s girl—in that cheap slut sort of way.
Will was sure these people were not the legal residents of the house.
They fell into a category one might generously label “uninvited guests.”
The people who called this once-idyllic slice of suburbia home were present, though. To Will’s left was a kitchen with a long, white-tiled island and an L-shaped counter with a gas-powered stove. A man’s severed head sat in a pan atop a burner. A headless body lay sprawled next to the island. It wore a robe that hung open to reveal a torso punctured by numerous knife thrusts. The TV screen glowed brighter for a moment, and Will saw that there was a tremendous amount of blood.
Splashes of coagulating crimson on the island tiles.
Dark pools of deep red on the floor.
The woman of the house was still alive. Will got a good look at her when he jerked his gaze away from the grisly tableau. She was a good-looking brunette in her late-thirties. A sexy silk nightie that barely reached the tops of her thighs made her look like a Victoria’s Secret model. She was prone on the floor in front of the TV, with a gag in her mouth and her hands and feet bound with duct tape.
Hank slammed the base of a palm into Will’s back, driving him farther into the room.
“Have a seat, pizza face, so’s we can sort this out.”
Will stumbled forward on legs that felt shot full of Novocain. He stepped past the smirking bikers and settled into the empty sofa. Hank stepped into the middle of the room, impeding the view of the TV.
One of the bikers groaned. “Aw, Hank, you’re blockin’ our view of the fat lesbos on Jerry Springer.”
Hank directed a malevolent glare at the insolent biker. “Shut up, Spike. We’ve got some serious business to discuss.” He eyed each of the assembled scumbags in turn, allowing them long moments to feel the fury emanating from him.
They squirmed.
Hank was the obvious leader of this gaggle of wackos.
They feared him.
Will felt a mad impulse to laugh.
Shit, you’d have to be a goddamn moron not to fear Hank.
That, or the Terminator.
“I’m gonna ask a question, and I don’t want any bullshit. Which one of you stupid meth-heads thought it’d be a good idea to order a pizza right smack in the middle of a home invasion?”
Silence.
The bikers and the blonde girl squirmed some more, fearing the sure-to-be-terrible wrath of their inquisitor.
Hank was seething. “Answer. Me. Now.” The veins on his bald scalp stood out, his eyes bulged, and his nostrils flared. His voice was low and hoarse, almost demonic. “I’m going to kill all of you if I don’t get an answer.” The blonde girl huffed. “J-Dog did it.”
“J-Dog” was apparently the other biker. He shot an angry glare at the blonde. “You lying bitch!” He jabbed a forefinger in her direction and turned his distraught face up toward Hank. “She did it, man! I swear ta fuckin’ God, Hank!”
Hank shook his head. “You idiots.” He put a hand to his temple, closed his eyes, and appeared to work at summoning a level of calm. His eyes snapped open again. “I guess I don’t care who did it. What’s done is done. However, we’re left with a dilemma.”
Spike frowned. He looked confused. “Whuh...what’s a duh...duh-lemmer?”
Hank said, “A conundrum.”
Spike’s frown deepened. “A condom...drum?” Then his face brightened, and he smiled. “Like a barrel o’ rubbers, huh?”
Hank lifted Spike off the sofa, placed him in a headlock, and laughed as the biker thrashed uselessly in his grip.
The blonde shrieked. “Don’t hurt my baby!”
Hank snapped the biker’s neck.
The body tumbled to the floor, where it twitched a time or two before going still.
The blonde squealed.
She slid off the recliner, knelt over the dead biker, and turned a tear-streaked, beseeching face up toward Hank. “Whuh-whuh...why?”
Hank shrugged. “Nobody that stupid deserves to live.”
Will thought, This is one harsh dude.
His gaze went to the woman in the nightie.
She was looking at him, her eyes wide and full of terror.
Eyes that communicated desperation.
Supplication eyes.
Will looked away, unable to bear the woman’s imploring gaze a moment longer.
Hell, what could he do for her?
He couldn’t even help himself.
Hank seized a fistful of the blonde’s hair, hauled her to her feet, and dumped her back in the recliner. “As I was saying, we’re faced with a dilemma. Pizza face has seen some shit we can’t let him talk about.”
J-Dog said, “So? We just waste his ass, right?”
Will gulped.
Hank’s girl entered the living room.
She was carrying the pizza box.
She caught Will’s eye, smiled, and walked over to him.
Will liked the way her hips moved.
She sat down next to him, folded her legs beneath her, and leaned toward him. “Want a slice?”
She opened the box.
The top flap covered his lap.
Which was good, because he didn’t want Hank to get a glimpse of the woody he was sporting. The girl’s bare knees were pressed against his thigh, and his vantage point allowed him an unobstructed view of the tops of her breasts. The plunging neckline of the half-shirt displayed them in a way that made his mouth go dry.
She removed a slice of pizza from the box.
Wedged it into her open mouth.
She chewed lustily, slurping in dangling strands of cheese like noodles.
Hank helped himself to a piece, too. “Yeah, we could waste him.” He wolfed down the slice like a starving animal in the wild. He smacked his lips and belched. “But then he’d never get back to the pizza place. The other pizza bitches would start worrying about him. Pretty soon we’d be ass-deep in cops.”
Nobody said anything for a while. Will surreptitiously scanned their faces. They all seemed to be deep in thought, a process that looked more problematic and painful for J-Dog and the blonde. Hank was the only one who maybe had an IQ beyond the double-digit range. And he was pure-ass crazy.
For the first time, Will began to consider the prospect of his death as an imminent event. He supposed that’d been the case from the beginning, but he was only now fully conscious of the reality of it. There’d just been too much else going on, too many grotesque revelations for his brain to process.
Now, however, the likelihood of his own death displaced all other concerns.
What would it be like?
Would it hurt?
He considered the severed head in the frying pan, then willed the vision away, because the answer to his question was plainer than a blackhead on a teenager’s nose: Yep, it’s gonna hurt. It’s gonna hurt like a sumbitch.
He realized he was shaking, but he was powerless to quell his body’s involuntary reaction to possible death by dismemberment.
And what did it really matter?
Shit, he wasn’t supposed to show fear?
He could only hope they wouldn’t take their time snuffing him.
Better to die fast and relatively easy.
A litany of prayers started running through his head: Please, God, forgive me for my sins. I haven’t been such a bad guy. Sorry I knocked over my goldfish bowl that time I was stoned. I loved that fish, man. I didn’t mean to kill him. And I’m sorry about the porn. I know I watch a lot of it. I know it’s sinful. There’s just something about lesbian porn, ya know? But I’m sorry, I know it was wrong. The body is a temple. I shoulda been more respectful of the holy creation that is Woman. Ahh...oh, hell, I’m just sorry, sorry as can be, God.
Hank was scowling at him.
Will blinked. “Uh...was I saying any of that out loud?”
His girl giggled. “I like all-girl porn, too.”