“Do you have a vat of it?” I ask with a wry expression.
He tilts his head. “Give me five and I will.”
Oz clears his throat. “So what I was saying is that you eitherfishor you flop. And if a guy is a flopper? I want that d.” He skips across the room and plops on a rolling stool, a wide grin covering his pierced-up face.
I shake my head. “You fuck dudes with non-existent dicks all the time, bro.”
Oz mocks a gasp, hand to his chest. “How wouldyouknow?”
Nico nods in agreement. “Because you complain about themconstantly.”
“It was like aninnie.” I mimic his voice.
“Felt more like a clit,” Nico chimes in with a smug smile.
“How would you know what a clit feels like?” Valen astutely asks, his tone genuine and careful. His mask covers up his expression, but I can sense one raised eyebrow.
Oz helps me with the knot I’m working on, but quietly murmurs, “I’ve been in a few group piles. And, unfortunately, some clitties got in the way.”
I scowl in disgust at the same time as Nico chokes on his smoke.
“Dude. Please never use that word again,” I say through gritted teeth. “Gross.”
“Clitties? You don’t likeclitties? Thought you liked the taste of them, Mr. President.” He laughs, tugging the band tighter.
“I do, but just… Can we drop it? Especially…” I pull on the band and tighten it, but finally give up. I sigh heavily. “Because I’m a married man. And you’re not talking about my wife. Not in that way.”
Under his breath, Nico mutters, “Should’ve gotten the other clamps.”
“Peroxide barrel on the way,” Valen says quietly. Robotically.
“Is it—” I ponder.
“Quiet, smooth, and clean,” he says with reassurance. “Should we call Lex to dispose of this when we’re done?”
I take a deep inhale of motor oil and old engine fumes. “No.” Poking the shoulder in front of me, the man groans. “This is not officialDeltabusiness. Just the four of us are involved. No more.”
“Well, five…for now.” Oz says, dramatically waving a pistol through the air.
I hold up a hand to stop him from doing something rash. “I got this.”
“Doyou? Because you’re going to need these towels,” Nico says, dropping the pile and shoving them toward me with his boot.
The bandages don’t hold. Red blooms through faster than we can wrap. Dragging Dean Dutta in here left a trail that may take all night to clean. He made this happen. Getting rowdy to the point I had to pistol whip him.
I stand in front of him, my hands on my hips. His eyes are dazed but staring straight into mine. Fortunately, my coveralls protect my clothes, so my trousers don’t get blood on them.
Bored, I pull out my Glock and rack the slide. “Any final words? Oh…” I chuckle to myself. “The gag. I almost forgot.”
Without removing the oily rag from his mouth, I press the barrel of my handgun to his forehead. He cries with fear, tears leaking over his cheeks. I squeeze the trigger without a moment of hesitation, then smile.
“Never mind. No one touches my wife and speaks again.”
His head ricochets with the bullet, then hangs. Body slumps. More blood seeps through all the bandages we’d wrapped him in and tied him up with so we can put him into the acid barrels in the back.
There are advantages to owning multiple garages. Privacy is one of them.
I could’ve delegated this task away to Lex Lynx and other initiates ofDelta. Could’ve made Dean Dutta disappear quietly. But if someone’s going down for protecting my wife, it’s going to be me.
