Hands of a Killer

[Mitch's POV]

"Don't drink in front of Kena, please." I pleaded, thinking of my blonde-haired angel.
She meant the world to me, and I didn't want her influenced by the alcoholic life of the band scene.
It was because of the music scene that I rarely had the chance to see her, let alone spend the day with her. Now that she had finally come up, Danny had insisted on dragging me away from her.
"Fine."
Sending him a grateful smile, I reached for the beer I had ordered. Sure, I might be a hypocrite when it came to Danny's drinking, but who cared?
Before I could remark, my phone started ringing and I sent the guys an apologetic smile as I answered the private number.
"Hello?"
"Mitch?" the familiar, feminine voice replied, a hint of sweetness to the tone. If this was the million dollar question, I would be rich.
Or, so I thought.
"Hey, Jolie!" I smiled, my facial expression relaxing as I hurried out of the restuarant and into the crisp air.
There was a carefree laugh on the other end, bringing a sense of peace to my head. Danny and I could argue all day, but those worries always fled when I heard my wife's voice.
"How's it going?" I asked. "Why are you calling?"
"Kenadee."
The word was muffled, almost as if she was talking away from the phone. Jolie was probably in the kitchen, getting herself something.
"Kenadee's fine." I answered, absentmindedly pacing towards a hidden alleyway behind the restuarant. "She's with Alan right now."
The call dropped.
Leaning against the stone wall, I scrolled through my contacts with the intention of calling her back.
"Oh, Jolie." I sighed, my thumb hovering above her name. "You never were good with the phone of yours."
"Hello?" a slightly accented and gruff voice answered, the underlying smirk evident in his non-visible face.
"Jolie?" I questioned, confused.
"Guess again." the voice slurred, and suddenly my cell phone was slapped out of my hands and being stepped on.
There was someone standing before me, but it was too dark to place a name to a face. All I knew was, it was familiar.
"What's going o-" I tried to speak.
The last word came out as a ragged breath, as this shadow landed a punch to my gut and kicked my shin.
"What the fuck?" I demanded, pushing him off.
"I've had enough of your bullshit." the voice bristled. "Ever since this tour started, it's been all about you! Just because your band is bigger than ours, and you're Mitch fucking Lucker!"
Tour?
"Wait, what are you talking about --" I attempted again, his name barely reaching my tongue as I recognized the faded accent.
His hands gripped my shoulders, and slammed me against the brick wall. My head hurt like a mother-fucker, my surroundings spinning.
"Stop." I choked out, sliding onto the floor.
"It's too late." he smirked, reaching into his pocket and pulling out something that glinted in the dim light. "You stole everything from me!"
His hand shot forward, the silvered blade sinking into my skin. "Fuck!" I tried to shout, but no sound would come out.
"You left me with nothing!" he continued, letting the blade pierce me in a different place; over and over, again and again.
There was a warm pool underneath me, flowing into the dusty cracks of the road as the temperature dropped.
The world was fading into darkness as he stood up and watched me die with a satisfying glint in his eye.
"W-why?" I choked out, my voice sounding hoarse.
"You know, I was scared of the world, but I was praying it would all go away." he whispered, wiping the knife on my shirt and walking off.
Watching him leave, I couldn't help but wonder if I was going to be found. I couldn't see the street from here.
My torso was burning, and my heartbeat was starting to slow down. I could feel myself take my last dying breaths.
Blood was trickling from a shallow gash near my throat.
He had attempted at finishing this cleanly, but I had been able to push him off before he ended me.
Fuck.
This wasn't the way I wanted to die; from the hand of someone I trusted. From the hand of someone I considered my fucking friend.
Who would have thought.
Groaning from the burning pain of the stab wounds, I struggled to sit up and stare at the tiny twinkling lights.
If I was dying, my last words had to be good, right?
"Kena..." I forced, agony seeping into my bones as I realized my baby girl wasn't going to see me again.
Alive, at least.
"Baby..." I whispered, thinking about her coloring on Of Mice & Men's bus. At least, she was safe from harm there.
I couldn't continue the thought. I couldn't think of her at this time. "I'm sorry." I mumbled, closing my eyes and slipping away.