As the words land between us, he grins and offers, “I’d be happy to take her off your hands and take care of her. It’ll be cleaner that way anyway.”
Rampage chuckles and shakes his head in admonishment. When Wagner looks his way, my brother snarls, “You’ve really fucked up now. You’re suggesting we hand our president’s Old Lady over to a crooked cop who enjoys killing women? You’re off your fucking rocker if you think that’s going to happen.”
Wagner pales, but he doesn’t back down. “Like I said,” he sounds frustrated and on the verge of tears, which I almost hope he lets fall, “I can pay you. Give me a number.”
Anchor’s voice is full of knowing, “14 million.”
I glance toward my brother, surprised at how big the number is. The last time he filled me in, he had only found half that. I knew he wasn’t done digging, but still. Damn.
Wagner’s mouth opens and closes a few times, the man clearly struggling. “I, I,” he pauses and swallows hard, his voice shaking as he asks for clarification, “14 million?”
“I’ve found all your little hidey-holes,” Anchor tells the man.
He clicks the remote and the evidence he’s been compiling projects onto the wall. I don’t look at it; I don’t need to. No, I watch Wagner’s face.
I already know it’s all there. A money trail. Pictures, if any could be found. Files he’s altered or tried to destroy. Dossiers on his accomplices—the ones who wear badges and the ones who don’t.
“We’ll be cleaning up your mess for a few months,” I inform our guest with a glimmer in my eye. “I’m looking forward to it, but you won’t be leaving this shed.”
“You can’t do that. People will be looking for me.”
I tsk and shake my head, but it’s Anchor who informs him, “No. They won’t. I’ve been putting breadcrumbs out there. When your absence is noticed and they start the search, they’re going to find a fake path that you’ve been obsessively following to find your wife’s killer. They’ll figure that your need for justice is what got you killed. Or,” Anchor shrugs, his smirk much more dangerous than Wagner could ever dream of being, “in a few months when the truth of your crimes come out, they will assume that your own bad dealings caught up to you and Kendra was caught up in your mess.”
“The cops will spin it however they need to ensure they don’t look bad. Everything will be pinned on you, and your death will feel like absolution and relief,” I inform the man.
He starts to tremble and I’m not sure if it’s from rage or fear.
Not like it matters.
When I step closer to him, knife in hand, he glances around the room with the hope of finding an ally. I know it’s futile; he figures it out pretty quickly himself.
“I was going to toy with you and ask you why you killed your wife, but I’ve realized it doesn’t matter.” I grip his hair and wrench his head back to expose his neck to me. He tries to pullout of my hold, but it’s impossible. “I don’t care enough to make this last and I have a woman who is waiting to hear that the boogie man from her nightmares is gone for good.”
Wagner opens his mouth, I’m sure to spout more bullshit, but he doesn’t get the chance. I slice his neck, the sharp knife doing the job easily and as cleanly as possible. In that moment when the violence hasn’t registered yet, everything freezes. I step back, the arterial spray barely missing me, just in time.
His head slumps forward as blood pours from the wound with every pump of his heart. It should be satisfying, but it’s really not.
“Huh,” Rampage huffs, “that wasn’t nearly as much fun as I wanted it to be.” I hear someone slap his head right before he exclaims, “Hey!”
I look over to find Ripper shaking his head and giving Rampage a look filled with judgement while the man in question rubs the back of his head. The clatter of the knife hitting the floor has my brothers turning their attention to me.
I look toward my VP, “Get a prospect to clean this shit up. You know the drill.”
Rampage turns serious and gives a nod. As Duckie slaps my shoulder and asks, “When is her cut coming in?”
“Not fucking soon enough,” I grumble as I walk out of the room, leaving the danger that had my woman running into my arms behind.
I guess I did owe the man a thank you, not that I was ever going to say the words to him. If it weren’t for him, Addyson wouldn’t have come into my life. Before we step out of the shed,I grab my cut after looking myself over for any blood. I’m kind of impressed with myself for not getting a drop on me.
It feels like it takes forever to walk back to the clubhouse. The moment I step through the doors, Addyson is there with her hands hovering over me like that piece of shit cop would ever have the chance to hurt me. Fuck, her concern does something to me.
My arms wrap around her little curvy body until I can grip her ass and pick her up and hold her against my chest. Her legs wrap around my waist, and her arms do the same around my neck while her brown eyes search my face. I stalk through the main room and toward our bedroom, not caring who is watching.
I’m going to have to build us a house. Sooner rather than later, but that’s a plan to make and put into action tomorrow.
Tonight, I’m going to worship my woman.
When the door of our bedroom slams shut behind us, the quiet descends. It’s sweet and filled with promises of tomorrow.
