“Cool. I’ll stay here and make sure Jordy doesn’t leave.”
“Asshole.”
I blow Havoc a kiss. “Hey, if you have to spend the day cutting up and dissolving a body in lye, you might as well be doing it with someone who’ll make it fun.”
Do I hear a reluctant grunt of laughter as Havoc pulls open the door that leads inside Tate’s? Yep, I do indeed. I watch him go inside, with the door slamming shut behind him.
Alone with Jordy, I think about the choices I made that led me to this moment. Maybe other people would have all sorts of regrets. Nay. Not me. Could be worse. I could have made different decisions and ended up dead with a needle in my arm because no matter where I went or what I did, I couldn’t find satisfaction anywhere but inside a syringe.
Instead, here I am, happy for the first time since high school. The kind of happy that makes me hate going to sleep because it ends the day. A happy that also makes me excited to wake up because it means I get to start a new one that includes Faith.My girl, who I should have married years ago even though we’re still so damn young. And yet practically ancient by Unholy standards. My name may not be worth much, but she’s my everything, and it’s all I have to give her.
Oh, and a drug-free town to raise our kids.
So, yeah, we’re going to put a stop to this shit. Even if I have to personally “question” every single resident in Brighton until I find out who the fuck is putting onyx onmygoddamn streets.
Havoc returns carrying a black leather bag containing the tools of our trade. Typically, we have cleaners for this. Professionals who come in and literally clean up after us. As enforcers, we don’t handle housekeeping. But in certain instances—like today—things need to be contained. So, we’re rolling up our sleeves to do the messy work.
And man, will it be messy.
Downright gooey.
Discord comes stomping back outside, miserable. As an assassin, he’s another one who rarely does the grunt work. He goes in, does his thing, and gets out. He’s a living shadow. If he lets you see him, you’re already dead.
He just hasn’t killed you yet.
“How is it possible he stinks worse now than he did ten minutes ago?” Discord complains.
Havoc punches him this time. “You’re not going to bitch the entire time.”
It’s not a question, and when Havoc takes that tone, little brother usually listens.
“Fine.” Discord stretches like he’s preparing to go for a run. “Okay, so who gets the head, and who gets the feet?”
I lift a brow and pull a quarter out of my pants pocket. “Coin flip?”
“Sure,” Discord says.
Well, fuck me.
Why do I always get the shit end of things?
I got heads—the messiest part.
Hopefully, Faith’s day is going better. I mean, it has to be. At least she doesn’t have to cut up a corpse behind a tavern in this heat. Nor will she have to heft it in bags down to the mill to dissolve it in lye. Pulverize the bones and sprinkle them in the river. Thankfully (or not, depending on how you view it), Jordy has no family. No one will miss him. No one will even realize the poor lost soul is gone.
What a fucking tragedy.
This is one reason I joined the Unholy.
I didn’t want to end up like Jordy. I want people to mourn me when I’m gone. Now, I can’t help but think of Faith crying for me, and it physically hurts my heart. Unholy rarely die of old age. We go out in a blaze of bullets or at the end of a blade. Some of us can’t even have an open casket. If I’m destined to leave this life young and bloody, I won’t be like Havoc or Malice. Frigid and alone. I want to spend my time loving Faith. Loving her so well that after I’m gone, she’ll be ruined for any other man.
It helps that I have good hip thrust action and I know how to use my tongue.
LOL
No, but seriously, I hope my girl is having a better time than me, because holy shit, cutting off a head isn’t as easy as they make it seem in the movies.
And I’m also getting a farmer’s tan.
