The Unholy never had a traitor, and one thing Crow insisted on was that we strike the word from Sundown’s flesh.
Not a problem.
Jester grabs the blade from the toolbox. He rushes back, and when he straddles the broken man’s body, the mill resonates with Sundown’s screams. I stand aside with my arms crossed to enjoy the show. Each cut Jester makes, each wail from Sundown, each drop of blood that runs onto the plastic, calms my rage.
Finally, Jester straightens and turns a critical eye to the masterpiece he created. “What do you think?”
I take two steps to the side to stand beside my friend. We tilt our heads, examining the artwork. The word Sundance once had the honor of wearing on his flesh is gone. The lettering obliterated. In its place are bloody flaps of skin, flayed open like a mutilated advent calendar. But amid the mess is a…
The fuck?
“Did you…” The effort not to laugh is too much. “Give me a fucking rag.”
Jester hands me an old rag lying on the toolbox.
I swipe at the blood seeping down Sundown’s chest. And I see it. “Nice touch.”
Jester’s smile practically glows like the Cheshire Cat’s. “Glad you appreciate it.” A sloppy, sad face sculpted deep into Sundown’s chest. “Figured it fit his mood.”
He’s not wrong.
Not only is Sundown a broken and bloody bag of shattered bones, he’s also half-dead. But I still intend to drag this on for hours…
…after I see who the hell is calling me.
I intend to let it go to voicemail, but I seehername.
Interrupting my work—again.
And here I am, pulling off my gloves and answering it, like a glutton for punishment.
“What?”
Jester mouths, “Who is it?” I flash him the screen. When he sees Kerri’s name, he makes doe eyes and flutters his lashes.
I flip him the middle finger and stride away for privacy.
“Are you busy?” Kerri’s voice is balm on an open wound. It immediately transports me back to the mountain.
Our mountain.
“Yeah.”
“Oh.” How I hate that fucking word coming out of her mouth. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”
“It’s fine.” I take a beat because talking with her eases the loneliness gnawing at me. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. It’s… We’re taking my father off life support, and…”
Her sentence drops away.
“And what, Kerri?”
There’s a question in her silence, but I don’t hope or assume anything with this woman. Not when the next beat of my heart depends on the words that might leave her mouth.
“And nothing.” She’s quiet for a moment. “I’ll let you go. Again, I’m sorry I bothered you.”
“Wait,” I bark out in a rush before she hangs up on me.
