ethangranger: (pensive)
[personal profile] ethangranger
"Wasn't enough to watch her die, was it? Fuck." Granger looked at the blood seeping into the carpet, and although it had been more than a decade that spilled blood made him sick, the Skinwalker's dress hiked above her head did. He knew what had gone down here. "You know, you're sick, man. This is bullshit." He shook his head eying the corpse with a deep scowl as he lit up the coffin nail. Uncomfortable silence was clamped over the room like a strong hand over a cherry colored pout. "So." He said from the doorway moments later breathing out the smoke, while leaning against the broken frame that had splintered at the lock. "The hell you called me for?" He demanded in a voice that sounded like it had been gurgled with whiskey and sand. Raze sat on the corner of the bed, the blade of the butterfly knife clicking open and closed almost meditatively, the metallic swish softened only by the slick blood running down it. Black dreadlocks fell over one eye as he looked up at Granger as if he was fuckin' stupid. And just maybe, in this situation, he was. "Don't quite get it, do you? Trailed her here from LA. A bar. I thought she was a Skinwalker." His eyes locked onto the storm behind Granger's. Slowly, he shook his head before looking down. "She wasn't."

Oh. Shhhhit. Granger's muscles tensed in action as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him. Pulling the dress down, he saw on very mortal, very dead girl lying on the floor. A bullet hole was evident in her forehead, another went through her breast. There were no signs of a silver allergy, but the bruising around her throat and the swelling made him suspicious to the real cause of death. Yeah, Raze wasn't just a bastard. He was a ADX certified bastard before "the law" made the mistake of transporting him to a lower security outfit. Granger eyed Raze sharply. "Bullshit. Bullshit. You didn't think nothing. You fell off the fuckin' wagon. Sonofabitch. You know what fuckin' state you're in jackass?" Raze was fast when he wanted to be. Was used to have to keep runnin' through state to state. Before, he could move, before the silver blade truly registered in Granger's mind as it bit into his skin just under his throat, Raze had him shoved against the wall, his hot breath still stinking with her body, billowing up his nostrils.
"Now you listen me to me, you white trash cocksucka'. How many times we save your sorry ass when you were fuckin' hopped up on your experimental serum whatthefuckever?" He shoved Ethan harder into the wall, close enough that Granger could see the discolored spots in the whites of Razes eyes. "Get off me." He said, teeth gritted tightly against his gums, but in a cool voice that betrayed his anger. Raze laughed under his breath dryly. "I'm only gonna say it one more time. Get off me." Once the blade broke skin, I'd be over. One way or another. They both knew this. The pressure increased momentarily, to remind him how close he was to be finished, but then Raze backed off, angrily pacing around the room as if he wanted to do something but didn't know what. "You ain't better than this." He said furiously, gesturing at the murder. "You ain't no different."
"No. Ain't no better, man. Just ain't as messed up either." At least, not in the same way, he figured in his head as images of those he murdered floated in and out of his head like a slideshow of macabre headstones in his life. Granger walked back to the door. "Save your fuckin' self, man. You're on your own. I'm out."
"So that's how it's gonna be boss?" A snake could not have hissed out the sarcastic words better. If you heard that voice in a dark alley you knew to grab your ankle 'cause your life was about to get fucked over.
"Clean this shit up. And stop dickin' around. You wanna hurt someone? Take it out on the Walkers or those shit sucking vampires." It was like telling someone not to breath air. Granger knew it was only a matter of time until it happened again, only a matter of time that Raze would have to be put down like the dogs he hunted. Raze nodded slowly, a show of dramatic indifference as he closed the knife and put it back in the pocket of his jeans where it was stained with blood. Dumb bastard had the balls to chuckle. Low and slow it made the air around them seem...greasy, somehow.
"How's the redhead?"
The redhead? Gillian. Oh, nice. Right. He saw where he was going with this. "Think she liked me the last time we met?" His threat was implicit. Regardless, a light scoff grated out of Ethan's throat as he turned around, watching as Raze straightened, ready and wanting a confrontation. What he obviously did not realize was that Granger here, was not a confrontational sort of guy. He simply took care of business. And then it was done. "Shouldn't of said that." But Raze had won simply by eliciting a reaction. Usually, Granger would have shrugged, he should have shrugged with indifference. Instead, the loud shot rang out through the air before Raze doubled forward and tumbled onto the ground next to his victim. "YOU SONOF-OW, my balls." Ethan slowly walked over to the hunter, looming over him with no remorse on his face. "Don't argue with an 18-wheeler, son. You're gonna get hit."

Raze writhed on the ground in pain while a pleased smile slowly tugged over Granger's face. It was gone before his boot even pinned Raze to the ground by his throat. "You're right. I'm no better than you." It felt good to watch Raze wheeze and cough, the reddish hues in his cheeks standing out against his dark skin. Sweat dotted his brow. Granger considered not stopping. "You so much as think her name and I will cut whatever's left of your dick off and send it to that girl's parents." In a crowning gesture, Granger spit on Raze, a show of disrespect. Walking out the door, he shoved his sunglasses on his face, ignoring the howls and screams coming from Raze and the curious onlookers starting to peek out of their rooms.

Fuck, thought Granger. Now he was down a hunter. Maybe he had acted too rashly. What was even a dozen dead innocent girls in relation to even three dead Skinwalkers? Kill three of the wolves, save at least three dozen people. Granger sighed. Was too late now. Getting on his bike, he glanced up toward the room. Whatever. The engine roared to life like a agitated beast. Some bikers had a sayin', 'never ride faster than your guardian angel can fly'. Granger was no fuckin' guardian angel.

Profile

ethangranger: (Default)
ethangranger

March 2016

S M T W T F S
  12345
6789101112
13141516171819
20212223242526
27282930 31  

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Sep. 22nd, 2017 05:01 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios