It’s near impossible not to roll my eyes at that. I’ve followed Vaughn almost blindly since day one. Trusted every word, but this... this reeks of a lie.
“The world you know is not the world you’re in now,” he continues. “There are no rules with the mafia. No pattern. No clear moral code. One day Blaze is saving Hailey from being raped, the next he’s turned Violet into his own one-personbrothel. One day Willard’s manipulating Hailey by lying through his teeth to her about who he is, the next he’s murdered his own father for threatening her. There’s no black and white in this world. It’s all fucking gray.”
3
Ryder
“That’s it, baby. That’s it.” The words echo through Broadway’s apartment, punctuated by Violet’s moans, the symphony hitting my ears as soon as the elevator doors open in his living room. “Such a pretty girl, Violet. Come for me.”
Fuck. My. Life. Just my damn luck.
“Don’t hold it. Let me hear you.”
It’s eight am for God’s sake. HeknewI was coming over. Hetoldme to come over.
“Almost there, almost—”
“Rise and shine, lovebirds!” I yell, interrupting Broadway’s encouraging monologue.
Violet’s mewls cease as if my greeting pressed a mute button on her vocal cords. That doesn’t mean they’re done, though.
If I know Broadway—and I do—he won’t take his dick out of her until she screams his name.
I force my feet to move, marching toward the tablet on the wall, and start the first playlist I find, giving them a false sense of privacy. I’m also saving what’s left of my psyche.
“Cravin’” by Stileto and Kendyle Paige fills the space. He better thank me later. This is a tune you can properly fuck to. I could have blasted “Baby Shark” on loop to kill the mood.
I jab my finger into the plus sign, turning up the volume until Broadway’s“Close your fucking ears, Ryder!” is lost among the thumping beat.
Dropping my duffel bag on the coffee table, I pull out my laptop and set up the equipment requested by the currently occupied fuckboy down the hall.
It’s been a month since his last killing spree. He’s getting—rightly so—rather impatient to eliminate the remaining two men who hurt his girl. Locating them gets harder and harder with every passing day. I think they know they’re on a list. That they’ll die if they can’t hide.
And die they do in gruesome ways.
The last target died an interesting death twenty-seven days ago. The body is yet to be discovered, and considering the man’s many pieces were cremated, the cops will be looking for... well, forever.
The night I found culprit number seven, we were all sitting at Carter’s. The two lovey-dovey couples—the shit Carter and Broadway do for their girls is astounding—were enjoying a few drinks while watching a movie.
Whatever the romantic comedy was, it gave birth to another one of Broadway’s grizzly-bear moments.
A chill runs down my spine when I recall the cold-as-fuck Alaskan setting and the almost naked man face-down in the snow. He shivered in the sub-zero temperature, his nose and the tips of his fingers turning a bruising shade of purple.
Frostbite, however, was the last thing he should’ve worried about. Worse things were planned for that day.
Carter stood beside me, shoulders squared back, his grave attention on Broadway—his deranged right-hand man. Koby toyed with his knife while I crouched in the snow, much more interested in the doggies than the execution about to happen.
The freezing morning flashes before my eyes in a kaleidoscope of short clips.
Four huskies trained for sledge pulling. Broadway’s manic smile while he roped the man’s wrists and ankles. The excitement in his voice as he yelled,“Hike!”
The dogs bolted, as they do. Once, twice, thrice.
Again.
And again.
Broadway kept yelling, watching with sick satisfaction as the dogs tore the man limb from limb.
