Closer: A Novella Read Free

managed to get his teeth into it and trotted off with his prize.
    A car backfired in the distance and he adjusted the rearview mirror, staring at himself. Not many men had hazel eyes as captivating as his. They were a beautiful olive green on the outside with a splatter of orange in the center—as if an ink pen leaked from his pupils. His brows arched into a wicked slant that gave him a look of mischief.
    Kane pulled off the right glove and wiped his sweaty palm down his jeans before adjusting his seat. The adrenaline wasn’t wearing off and his heart was galloping out of control. If he didn’t take some deep breaths and chill, he was going to pass out.
    “What the fuck are you doing?”he muttered.
    The wallet creaked as he folded the leather back and memorized Mr. Psycho’s address. Instead of getting his ass pulled over in a stolen car while looking for a junkyard at two in the morning, it made more sense to drive to the owner’s house. He could dump the car and go on foot from there.
    “Andrew Butcher,” he said, staring at the license of a smiling man with a gap between his teeth. “Are you kidding me? A. Butcher?” He gave an exasperated sigh and tossed the wallet in the passenger seat. Andrew was the kind of guy who might have squeaked by as a normal citizen, but something evil lurked behind the steely eyes in the photo that made Kane uneasy.
    The ignition turned over with a noisy complaint and the engine sputtered, coughed, and decided to start up.
    Kane’s black boot punched the gas and he wondered if it was a good idea to leave the scene so quickly. Did he leave any evidence left behind? The last place he wanted to end up was in Breed jail, because punishment never came with parole or a second hearing. You served your time if proven guilty and the accommodations were not stellar. A guy at work had spent fifty years in one of their small cells and didn’t have a favorable thing to say about it. A death sentence would be an act of kindness in comparison, and if you received one of those, it was carried out within the month.
    He drove for over an hour trying to locate the address by using a map he’d found in the glove compartment.
    The fan belt screeched as he slowed down on a long, shadowy street. It wasn’t a picturesque neighborhood, either. The dilapidated houses looked fifty years old and even the twisted roots of the trees looked like they were trying to escape. Two dim lamps cast eerie silhouettes, and most of the houses had iron doors that resembled prison bars. Creepy would have been a compliment.
    “Twenty-eight, twenty-nine… bingo.”
    The siding on Butcher’s house looked like it was made from roof shingles and the evergreen bushes in front of the windows were out of control. Kane leaned against the steering wheel and stared at a garage big enough to fit one car. It was an automatic door because it lacked a handle. The keychain didn’t have a clicker, so he ran his hand along the top of the visor until he found a small clip and hit the button to open the garage.
    As the car rolled up the driveway, he flipped the headlights off and took one last glimpse around. Once the car was inside, he pulled out the key and the engine hissed like a poisonous viper. Kane got out and scoped the garage for a second clicker to shut the door.
    “Shit, where did you hide it?” he whispered, pacing around the dark room that smelled of paint fumes.
    Maybe Andrew Butcher only had one. If that was the case, Kane was going to have to lean in, hit the button, and make a dash beneath the door before it shut on him.
    His worn boots tapped against the smooth concrete behind the car. As he scanned the neighborhood one last time, his bare finger slid along the edge of the trunk.
    Kane froze.
    It felt like the fingernail had ripped away from his skin and exposed the quick. Alarm raced up his spine and his heart pounded against his chest. A repulsive combination of terror and exuberance licked at his fingertips from