Part 5 of the series. The full series is here.
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I could shoot him in the back of his head right now and he’d never see it coming. I could make this quick and painless.
Why would I want to do that?
He’s still on all fours when he looks up at me. In seven years, he’s aged twenty. His new life in god-knows-where must not have been as cushy as he expected.
“Get up,” I say.
The bastard has the balls to smile at me. And as he stands, I see a flicker of our dad dressed in my brother’s clothes. Forget this.
“Somebody hand me a gun.” I put my hand out. A gun slides in, front-heavy with the silencer attached.
He closes his eyes. “Do it,” he says, and drops his baseball cap.
I chew the side of my tongue and stare at that damn baseball cap lying in a oily puddle on the asphalt. He’s a Cubs fan now? What the hell?