It’s true. I smile more now. I smile a lot, actually. More than I think I ever have. And it’s all thanks to my Yellow Crayon.”
“Gives me hope that Kannon and I aren’t completely fucked. Probably, but there’s still a chance there’s someone out there for us, too.”
Capone’s issues stem from his childhood, and I don’t blame him for being as cynical as he is. Or why he chose to distance himself from his family like he has. He was used as a pawn, and it fucked him up pretty badly.
Kannon Reed, though, had it all once. He wasn’t like us, but then his wife and daughter died. The spiral of something like that happening is enough to kill a man, but he almost had another chance.
Paris was the only woman he’d ever gotten relatively serious with, but then his demons took over. The drinking almost killed him, and he drove her away.
She put up with more than most women would have. Unlike some of the other women who left our men behind, not a single one of us blames her for taking off.
“Finally done,” I say as the program finishes. “If any of these assholes show up here, we’ll know. And we’ll fucking kill them.”
Now, I can go and eat my dessert like I planned.
Both of us snap our heads to the door as pounding echoes in the relatively small room. Capone goes to open the door and gasps.
“Phoebe? What are you doing here?”
I’m out of the seat and at the door in a second. “Phoebe?”
“I had to do it,” she says, her face pale. “I had to stab him.”
“Well, that explains the knife in her hand,” Capone says. “Where’d you stab someone, sweetheart? Where is he?”
She points a shaking finger down the hallway, and we run in that direction. Why Phoebe’s here, let alone with a knife, is a question for later.
“In here,” Queenie calls.
Both of us stop short as she stands with a gun pointed at a man bleeding profusely on the ground. A man I recognize.
“Fuck, that bitch stabbed me!” he shouts. “He told me to come and get off before killing the head bitch, but I didn’t bargain for getting fucking stabbed!”
“Who the fuck is this?” Capone asks.
My stomach sinks. “Who told you to do this?” I growl.
If this was my brother, he’s working with the fucking Venom. And it’s more than just personal at that point.
“Butch! It was my reward for doing great work, and he wants to fucking piss you off. Goddamn it, I’m bleeding out, here. You gotta get me to a hospital!”
It’s not much better, but at least it’s not my brother. My family didn’t do this.
“What work are you doing for Butch?” Capone asks, taking the gun from Queenie. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I got this.”
She hands him the gun, but the man stops talking. In fact, he might actually be dying.
“He makes Venom Dust,” Phoebe says, her voice quiet from the doorway. “Jake works in the desert. The snake dens or whatever.”
“Pits,” the three of us correct her.
Capone turns to my girl. “You know him?”
“I used to date him,” she says before bursting out into laughter. “I really know how to pick ’em, don’t I?”
The laugher turns maniacal, and Capone shoots me a glance. She’s about to lose it.
“Baby, let’s go get you cleaned up, okay?” I say.
